Survivor in Death (24 page)

“We've got pictures at my house.”

“Would you like someone to bring some pictures to you?”

“I could look at them.”

“I'll see to it, then.”

“Can I stay in here for a while, with you?”

“You can. Do you want to see what I'm doing here?” He swiveled so they could both look at the wall screen. “Those are plans for some developments on an off-planet resort and housing colony I've an interest in.”

“It says Olympus Resort. I've heard of that. It's got big hotels and amusement parks, and a beach and arcades. We were maybe going to go there one day. Maybe.”

“These are for a different sector than what's been done so far. See the first screen? Those are plans for villas, vacation villas. We're going to put a river in.”

“Do you build rivers?”

He smiled. “I'm going to build this one.”

“How do you?”

“Well, why don't I show you what I have in mind?”

While Roarke showed Nixie how a river was built on an off-planet

colony, Eve met with Yancy. “Give me good news.” “How about cautiously good?” He was young, and what Peabody would have called a cutie. And he was the best Ident artist in the city. Eve tracked him down in his domain, a generous cube filled with comp screens, portables, paper sketchpads, and pencils.

“How cautiously?”

“Your wit's enthusiastic, and she's got a good eye. Our favor. She's also prone to what I call dramination. She's rocking on the drama, and using her imagination to juice it all up. I can work with that, and we're making progress.”

“Where is she?”

“In the crib. Hey, Peabody.”

“Just settled her in,” Peabody said as she joined them. “Got her an entertainment screen, extra pillows, a meal, a brew.”

“A brew?” Eve demanded.

“You said within reason,” Peabody reminded her. “Not within regs. She's happy, though she squawked some about having to give up her pocket 'link, and not having access to another. Anyway, she's down, and I've got Invansky babysitting.”

“I wonder--just a thought that passes through my mind--why our wit is watching screen and drinking brew instead of giving us a picture of a couple of stone murderers.”

“My call, Lieutenant.” Yancy held up a hand. “She was tapped for the night. She's given us a good start, but she was starting toward hyperbole. She comes back to what we've got fresh, it's a better chance other details will spring for her.”

“Okay, okay.” Eve raked both hands through her hair, at war with her own impatience. “Show me what you've got.”

“Split screen,” he ordered, scooting over. “Current images.”

Eve looked at rough sketches--rougher, she noted, than usual when working with Yancy. Both were of square-faced, square-jawed men she'd judge to be in their early forties to early fifties. The eyebrows were straight and pale, the mouths grim but sensuously full. Dark watch caps were pulled low over both foreheads, and most of their upper faces were concealed by them and the dark, wraparound shades.

“You've got to ditch the shades. I need best probability on the eyes.”

“I will. I'm going to work some from these, but I've got a better chance of hitting it closer after I have another session with Ophelia.”

“I can't go out with this, Yancy.”

“Give me until tomorrow. She's got a good eye, like I said, but it's more impressionistic, more big-picture. It'll take a little more work for me to finesse the details out of her.”

“Just how much is she going to forget while she's slurping down a brew and watching vids? I've got two cops in the fucking morgue.”

“I know what I'm doing.” For the first time in her memory, Yancy shoved up and into her face. “Just because I never worked with Knight or Preston doesn't mean I'm stringing this out. You want results, get off my ass.”

She could have slapped him down for it. Nearly did. God knew she wanted to take a swing at someone. Close ranks, she thought, and sometimes you end up taking a bite out of one of your own.

“Step back, Detective.”

He vibrated, the muscles in his jaw worked, but he stepped back.

“You're right,” Eve said. “You know what you're doing and I'm on your ass. We're all on edge about this. I requested you because I consider you the best we have. I also know you were off duty, and came in on your own time.”

“None of us are on our own time now.” His shoulders relaxed. “Sorry for the spew, Dallas. It's frustrating for me not to be able to put this together faster. I pushed her a little longer than I should have first session. Now I've got to pull back.”

“How sure are you about the facial structure on these?”

“Sure as I get. She's got that big-picture style. I'd say the shape of the faces is on target--at least for one. If she's right on both, these guys might be brothers or cousins. Father and son.”

“Shoot me copies, will you? I'll start with what you've got--and try to stay off your ass until you have more.”

He smiled a little. “Appreciate it.”

The house was quiet when she walked in. She'd nearly bunked at Central, would have if there wasn't a nine-year-old witness in her house. She had three cops patrolling the grounds, another three inside--a situation she imagined Roarke detested more than he would a stock market crash.

He might've built himself a fortress, but he wouldn't care to be under siege.

She checked in with all the night duties and got the all-clear before she went upstairs.

She'd thought he'd be in bed--it was closing in on three in the morning--but her house scan showed him in his office yet. She went into her own, dumped some files, then opened the connecting door to his.

She wasn't quite sure what to think when she saw the kid curled up in the spare bed Roarke must have brought out of its panel--and the man himself sitting beside her, eyes closed.

It was rare for her to see him sleep--he was so often up before her-- but she didn't see how that position, with his back up against the wall, could be comfortable.

Even as she debated, he spoke. Eyes still closed. “She was restless. I took the night shift, and let her come seek me out when she woke.”

“Nightmare?”

“Worse, really. She said she dreamed they were all still alive. Woke up, and they weren't.” He opened his eyes now, heavy and blue. “She sat with me awhile, but was so worried about going back to her room, I put her here. She asked if I'd sit with her. Apparently we both nodded off. I've had the searches going on silent, haven't been able to check them.”

“Morning's good enough, since it's only a couple hours away. What do we do with her? Can't leave her here.”

“Well . . .” He looked over, studied Nixie. “I could try carrying her back. If she wakes up, it's your turn.”

“Shit. Make sure she doesn't wake up.”

He slid off the bed. “This usually works with you.” He tucked his hands under her, lifted. Nixie gave a moan, stirred, and had them looking at each other in mild panic. Then her head dropped on his shoulder.

“Don't breathe,” Eve said in a whisper. “Don't talk. And maybe you could sort of glide instead of walk.”

He merely cocked his head, then inclined it toward the elevator.

She used manual instead of voice, held her own breath until they'd completed the trip and he was easing Nixie into bed. They backed out of the room together as if the bed contained a homemade boomer.

“When does Summerset take over?”

“Six.”

“Three hours. We should be okay then.”

“I sincerely hope so. I need to sleep and so do you.” He rubbed a thumb on the smudges under her eyes. “Anything new?”

“Yancy's working on a sketch, but he wants to get back to it in the morning.” In their bedroom, she shed her jacket, then her harness. “I need a few hours down myself. Brain's mushy. I want to be back at Central around oh-seven hundred. You get any names that look good, you can shoot them to me there.”

She peeled out of her boots, her clothes. “You tired enough not to argue if I ask you to work from here tomorrow?”

“At the moment. But I may revive by sunup.”

“We'll argue then.”

They crawled into bed, his arm came around her, snuggled her back against him. “That's a date.”

He didn't wake before her--another surprise. The low beep from the monitor across the room woke her, and a check of her wrist unit confirmed it was six hundred hours.

The room was still dark, but she could see him, the shape of him. The line of cheek and jaw, the sweep of hair. She'd turned to face him sometime during that short rest. Seeking ... what, she wondered. Connection, solace, warmth.

For a moment she wished she could simply close her eyes again, curl closer, escape everything but him in the silence of sleep. Her body, her brain, felt so heavy with fatigue. She'd have to dig in, dig deep to find the energy and purpose she'd need to face the day.

As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she could see more of him. The plane of his nose, his cheek, the curve of his mouth. Beautiful. And every plane, every line, every inch was hers.

It made her feel lighter, body and mind, just to look at him.

“I can feel you staring.” His voice was a sleepy murmur, but the thumb and finger of the hand resting on her butt gave her a sharp pinch.

“How come you're not up making another million and generally laying waste to the business world?”

“Because I'm sleeping. I'll make another million later, and let someone else start the day laying waste.”

Yes, she thought, lighter and lighter.

“Why are you tired?”

“Because someone won't shut up and let me sleep.”

“Batteries run down, huh ? Maybe you need a recharge.” She wrapped her fingers around him, squeezed, and grinned when he hardened. “Apparently, not running too low.”

“Reserves. You know what happens to sexual predators?”

“You bet. I'm a cop.” She rolled on top of him. “My bats are on low, too. Need a jolt. You know how sex can rev you up?”

“I've heard rumors.” His hand stroked over her hair as she worked her way down--and his body flashed fully awake when her mouth replaced her fingers. “I don't think that's playing quite fair, but keep it up.”

She laughed, bit his thigh. “Keeping it up's never been your problem.”

“You've got a smart mouth.” His breath caught when she used it again. “Make that brilliant.”

She worked her way up, shifted to straddle him. And from across the room a child's voice demanded, “Where is Dallas?”

“Shit! Shit a brick!” Eve sprang around, instinctively reaching for her weapon and slapping her own naked side. On the monitor she saw Nixie standing in the guest room by the house scanner. “Jesus, does she ever sleep?”

“Summerset will go settle her down.” But he sat in the warm bed with his naked wife and watched the child.

“We can't have juicy sex with a kid right there. It's.. . perverted.”

“I don't mind perverted. What it is, is intimidating. It's not like she can see or hear or ... it's just that there she is. And now there's Summerset.” He sighed, pushed back his hair as he watched his majordomo go into Nixie's room. “Bugger it. Let's try the shower. It could work in the shower, you know, with the door closed, the water running.”

“It's weirded me out now, him as much as her. I've got to slap it together and get to work. Go back to sleep.”

He dropped back on the pillows when she jumped out of bed and dashed toward the bath. “Right. That'll happen.”

She was smart enough to get in and out of the shower in a blink, knowing he might try to talk them both into a quick water game. She was shutting the door on the drying tube when he came in.

“She wants pictures,” he said. “Pictures of her family. Can you get some for her?”

“I'll take care of it. Gotta check some things in my office,” she added. “See if anything came in while we slept. Then I've got to get back downtown.”

“I'll check the search results for you before you go--on the condition you have some breakfast.”

She watched him--the man had the best ass on the planet--step into the shower. “Get something in the office.” She stepped out of the tube, combed her fingers through her hair as she reached for a robe. “Update you in there if you want.”

“I'll come up as soon as I'm dressed. We'll have some breakfast while you do.”

“Deal.” She went into the bedroom, pulled out some underwear, grabbed some trousers, reached for a shirt. She was pulling it on when the in-house 'link beeped.

“Video off. What?”

“As you're up, Nixie would like a word with you,” Summerset said.

“I'm heading to my office in a minute.”

“As none of you has had breakfast, perhaps she could join you.”

Put me right in that corner, Eve thought with a snarl for the 'link. “I'm still--”

“I can program coffee.” Nixie's voice piped through. “I know how.”

“Okay, fine, sure. Do that. I'll be there in a minute.”

She buttoned the shirt, pulled on her boots, and muttered to herself about having to have conversations with witnesses before she'd had her coffee. Sex might've given her a charge, cleared the cobwebs, but no. Kid's got to start nagging at her before she's out of the damn bed.

She strapped on her weapon harness, strode to the closet for a jacket. She had work to do, damn it. Serious, concentrated work, and what was going to happen? The kid was going to start out the day with one of those long, soulful looks. And she'd have to tell her for the umpteenth time that no, she hadn't caught the murdering bastards who'd slaughtered her family.

“Oh fucking shit!”

The murder board, Eve thought, standing in plain sight in her office. She streaked out of the room, swung into the one Nixie was using. When she found it empty, she charged toward her office.

Still in her pink pajamas, the child stood, staring at the stark images of murder and death. Cursing herself, cursing Summerset, Eve strode across the room, put herself directly between Nixie and the board.

“This isn't for you.”

“I saw them before. I saw them for real. My mom and dad. I saw them before. You said I could see them again.”

“Not like this.” Her eyes were huge, Eve thought. So big in her face it seemed they'd swallow it whole.