Survivor in Death (34 page)

“You don't deal the cards,” she said carefully. “You just play them. Don't do this to yourself.”

“I cheated and stole and connived my way to what I have, or to the base of it in any case. It wasn't an innocent lying in that alley.”

“Bullshit. That's just bullshit.”

“I'd have killed him.” His eyes weren't devastated now, but winter cold. “If someone hadn't done it before me, when I was older and stronger I'd have gone for him. I'd have finished him. Can't change that either. Well.” He sighed, heavily. “This is useless.”

“It's not. You don't think it's useless when I flood it on you. I like your dick, Roarke, like it fine. But it's irritating when you think with it.”

He opened his mouth, hissed out a breath just before a choked laugh. “It's irritating when you point it out. All right then, let's finish this out with me telling you I went to Philadelphia today.”

“What the hell for?” She snapped it out. “I told you I needed to know where you were.”

“I wasn't going to mention it, and not to spare myself your wrath, Lieutenant. I wasn't going to mention it because it was a waste of time. I'd thought I could fix it--I'm good at fixing, or buying off if fixing won't work. I went to see Grant Swisher's stepsister. To talk to her about stepping in for Nixie, now that the legal guardianship's been voided. She couldn't be less interested.”

He sat now, on the arm of a chair. “I decided to make all this my concern. Magnanimous of me.”

“Shut up. Nobody rips on you but me.” She stepped to him, caught his face in her hands, kissed him. “And I'm not because--even being pissed off about you taking an unscheduled trip--I'm proud that you'd try to help. I wouldn't have thought of doing it.”

“I'd have bought her off, if that had been an option. Money fixes all sorts of problems, and why have so bloody much if you can't buy what you like? Such as a nice family for a little girl. I'd already eliminated the grandparents--found the grandfather, by the way--on my high moral grounds. But the one left, the one I hand-selected, wouldn't fall in.”

“If she doesn't want the kid, the kid's better off somewhere else.”

“I know it. I might've been disgusted with this woman's callousness, but I was furious with myself for assuming I could just snap fingers and make it all tidy. And furious that I couldn't. If it was tidy, I wouldn't feel guilty, would I?”

“About what?”

“About not considering, not being able to consider keeping her with us.”

“Us? Here? Us?”

He laughed again, but the sound was weary. “Well, we're on the same page there anyway. We can't do it. We're not the right people for it--for her. The big house, all the money, it doesn't mean a damn when we're not the right people.”

“Still on the same page.”

He smiled at her. “I've wondered if I'd be a good father. I think I would be. I think we'd be good at it, either despite or because of where we came from. Maybe both. But it's not now. It's not this child. It'll be when we know we'll be good at it.”

“That's nothing to feel guilty about.”

“How does it make me any different from Leesa Corday? Swisher's stepsister?”

“Because you tried to make it right. You'll help to make it right.”

“You steady me,” he murmured. “I didn't even know how far off balance I'd been, and here you steady me.” He took her hands, kissed them. “I want children with you, Eve.”

The sound she made brought on a quick and easy grin. “No need for the panic face, darling. I don't mean today, or tomorrow, or nine months down the road. Having Nixie around's been considerable education. Children are a lot of bloody work, aren't they?”

“Big duh.”

“Emotional, physical, time-consuming work. With undoubtedly amazing rewards. That bond you spoke of, we deserve to have it. To make it, when we're ready. But we're not, either of us, ready. And we're not equipped to parent a girl nearly ten. It would be like--for us, anyway--starting a twisty, laborious, fascinating task somewhere in the middle, without any time for that learning curve.”

He stepped to her again, laid his lips on her brow. “But I want children with you, my lovely Eve. One day.”

“One day being far, far in the future. Like, I don't know, say a decade when .. . Hold on. Children is plural.”

He eased back, grinned. “Why so it is--nothing slips by my canny cop.”

“You really think if I ever actually let you plant something in me-- they're like aliens in there, growing little hands and feet.” She shuddered. “Creepy. If I ever did that, popped a kid out--which I think is probably as pleasant a process as having your eyeballs pierced by burning, poisonous sticks, I'd say, 'Whoopee, let's do this again?' Have you recently suffered head trauma?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Could be coming. Any second.”

He laughed, kissed her. “I do love you, and the rest is all in the vague and misty future. In any case, we're talking about this child. I think Richard and Beth are a fine thought.”

She locked the rest away--where hopefully it would stay in some deep, dark mind vault. “They took that kid last year.”

“Kevin. Yes, they recently finalized the adoption.”

“Yeah, you mentioned it. Kid had it rough--bouncy for all of that, but he had it rough. Junkie LC of a mother who knocked him around, left him alone. They have to know how to handle kids with baggage, so . . .”

“They may be a good choice for Nixie. I'll talk to them, tonight if I can manage it. They'll need to meet her, and she them.”

“You could give that a push. With the Dysons bowing out, GPS is going to start squawking about fostering pretty soon. Okay. Let's get down to it. What've you got for me?”

“Some names I've ferreted out that intersect in one way or another with both Kirkendall and Isenberry.” He moved over to his console as he spoke. “Some connect to CIA, some to Homeland Security.” He glanced over at her, and thought this would be one more punch to her psyche. “Are you going to be all right with that?”

“Are you?”

“I've made my peace there, best I can. They watched an innocent, desperate child suffer for what they deemed a bigger cause. I don't forget it, but I've made my peace with it.”

“I don't forget it,” she said quietly. Eve knew it was for love of her that he'd walked away from taking vengeance on the HSO operatives who'd witnessed her abuse those many years ago in Dallas--they'd witnessed a man beating and brutalizing his own daughter, and done nothing to stop it. “I don't forget what you did for me.”

“Didn't do, more accurately. In any case, to nudge this any further, to access the data on these people through these organizations, I'll need this. Roarke,” he said, laying his hand on a palm plate. “Open operations.”

Roarke,
ID
verified, command acknowledged.

The console came to life, lights flashing on, equipment going to a low, holding hum. She came around the console to stand with him. And saw the framed photo he kept here. The baby, all vivid blue eyes and dark thick hair, held close to the young mother with her bruised face and bandaged hand.

That was private, too, she thought, and why he kept it here in this room. Something else he was making his peace over.

“Another thing I found interesting,” he told her. “Take a look.”

He ordered an image on a wall screen.

“Clinton, Isaac P., U.S. Army, retired. Sergeant. Looks like Kirkendall,” she commented. “Around the eyes, the mouth. Same coloring.”

“Yes, that caught me, too. Particularly when I noticed the birth date.” He brought up Kirkendall's image and data.

“The same date. Same health center. Son of a bitch. Different parents listed. But if the records were altered. If--”

“I think someone was naughty, and decided it would be worth a bit of hacking into those health center records.”

“Illegal adoption? Twins separated at birth. Could it be that strange?”

“Strange,” Roarke agreed, “but logical for all that.”

“They have to know. They end up in the same regiment, the same training. Guy's got your face--or close enough to make people notice--you're going to ask questions.”

“I take it you'd like that as first order of business.”

“Go.”

“This won't take long.”

He sat, began to work by voice command and manual while she paced.

Brothers, she thought. Teamwork. Twins, pulled apart, then brought back together. By fate? Luck? A higher power's vicious sense of humor?

Would the bond be stronger then, somehow? The anger deeper. And the murders even more personal. Denied their rightful family at birth. Denied one's rightful family by the courts.

Life's a bitch, so you kill.

“Was this Clinton ever married?”

“Shush,” was Roarke's response, so she looked for herself.

“Lot of mirrors here,” she noted. “He was married--the same year as Kirkendall. One kid for him, male. Both son and wife are listed as missing, the year before Kirkendall's punching bag and kids whiffed. They take off?” she wondered. “Or not get the chance?”

“Birth mothers on hospital records are the same as on later data,” Roarke said as he worked.

“Poke around, find others listed for that same day. Twin boys, deceased.”

“Already there, Lieutenant. Another moment. And here. Onscreen. Smith, Jane--original--delivered twin boys, stillbirths. I imagine the health center, and the doctor of record, gained a healthy fee on this.”

“Sold them. Yeah, betcha that's what she did. It happened. Happens,” she corrected, “even with the laws coming down on women getting themselves inseminated and incubating fetuses for big, fat fees, it happens.”

“Target couples--with the finances for it--can outline the physical characteristics they'd like, the ethnicity and so on, bypass mainstream routes with their screenings and regulations.” Roarke nodded. “Yes, healthy newborns are always a hot commodity on the black market.”

“And this Jane Smith hits the jackpot with twins. The Kirkendalls, the Clintons, walk away with bouncing boys--and their baby broker collects the fees, divvies up the rest of the shares. I'll pass this data to somebody in Child Protection Services. They'll want to dig into it, see if they can find the birth mother, the brokers. Long shot since we're talking fifty years, and I can't take time out for it unless it leads to Kirkendall. Selling kids. Pretty low.”

“It could be better to be wanted, even bought and paid for, than to be unwanted, discarded.”

“There are legitimate agencies to handle this stuff. Even ways to conceive--if that's what you want--if you have physical limitations. People like this want to cut corners, want to ignore the law and the system in place to protect the child.”

“I agree with you. And I'd say, in these cases, the ones who were wanted, bought and paid for, when learning of it, reacted badly.”

She paced. “I had a brother, and you stole him from me. I lived a lie that was beyond my control. I will take charge. So, we've got a couple of pissed-off guys who've been trained with our tax dollars to kill. Brothers, brotherly loyalty along with semperfi.”

“I think that's the marine corps, not the army.”

“Whatever. They meet up at some point, figure it out. Or one of them figures it out and seeks out the other. You're going to end up with two halves of one coin kind of deal, and the worse for it. They've changed their faces. Not only to avoid detection, but to look more alike, to what, honor their bond? Not just fraternal twins, identical. Or as close as can be to identical. Two bodies, one mind. That's how it looks to me.”

“Both their files, as well as a few others I found, indicate assignments from both CIA and Homeland, as well as Special Ops.”

I see you now, Eve thought. I know you now. I'll find you now. “How long will it take you to get in, pull it out?”

“A bit. You're restless, Lieutenant.”

“I need . . .” She rolled her shoulders. “Something physical. A good workout. Haven't managed one in a few days. More, I just want to pound on something awhile. Something that hits back.”

“I can help you with that.”

She lifted her fisted hands. “Want to go a round, ace?”

“Actually, no, but give me a minute to set this up.” He gave the machines orders, in the e-speak Eve could never fully translate. “It can start without me, then I'll come back to finish it off. Come with me.”

“It'd go quicker with you working it.”

“An hour or so won't make much difference.” He drew her into the elevator. “Holoroom.”

“Holo-room? What for?”

“A little program I've been playing with. I think you'll like it. Especially considering our recent discussion of Master Lu and our mutual admiration for his skill.”

He stepped with her into the blank square of the holo-room. “Initiate martial arts program 5A,” he said with a smile whispering around his lips. “Eve Dallas as opponent.”

“I thought you said you didn't want to--”

The room shimmered, swam, and became a dojo, with a wall of weapons and glossy wood Boor. She looked down at herself, studied the traditional black gi.

“Icy” was all she could think of saying.

“How much of a workout do you want?”

She rolled to the balls of her feet, back on the heels. “Hard and sweaty.”

“I've got just the thing. Triple threat,” he ordered. “Full cycle. Have fun,” he added to Eve when three figures appeared.

Two male, Eve noted, one female. The woman was small, with her siren red hair pulled back in a sleek tail to leave her stunning face unframed. One male was black, well over six feet, solid muscle, good long reach. The second was Asian, black eyes like marbles, and the lithe sort of build that told her he'd be quick and agile as a lizard.

They waited for her to step forward, then with a snap of their gis, bowed. She mirrored the gesture, then shifted smoothly to fighting stance as they began to circle.

The woman came first, a graceful handspring followed by a scissoring kick that whizzed by Eve's face. To counter, Eve dived, swept out her legs, and landed the first blow on the Asian. Gained her feet on a roll, blocked with a forearm.

And felt the smack of flesh to flesh vibrate.

Testing moves at first, backhand, jump kick, pivot, punch.