Thankless in Death (8 page)

He smiled to himself. “We’ll just detour to the bedroom first then. I wouldn’t mind getting out of this suit.”

EVE TOED OFF HER SHOES AS SOON AS SHE
stepped into the bedroom. She considered bare feet an indulgence reserved for private areas of home or the beach.

“Maybe just setting up a board here, fresh, will shake something loose.”

“Could be.”

She pulled off her sweater while Roarke shed his jacket and tie.

“According to the time line, he stowed the two suitcases after he left the shuttle station. The hotel transpo dropped him there—following his cover he was traveling to Miami. Then he doubled back, but I haven’t been able to track down his transpo from the station. Maybe he stayed on foot, but it’s more likely he caught a cab or bus.”

“Might he have secured the suitcases at the station, with the plan to go back after he collected the money, then take a shuttle to some other destination?”

“It doesn’t fly for me. He had all the valuables to sell, and we know he started that process after the banking. So he doubled back, had another hole to crawl into, stowed the suitcases there while he hit the banks so he didn’t have to drag them around. I’d like his transportation method back to the banks, just to have a clearer picture.”

She wriggled out of the pants and, standing in her underwear, started to open a drawer for a T-shirt and jeans.

“Bus is smarter, but—”

He cut her off by spinning her around, yanking her in, and taking her mouth. Hot, lusty, possessive, and lightly edged with humor.

When she managed to grab a breath, she attempted a quick shove. “Hey.”

He just took her mouth again, spun her again—twice and toward the bed. She considered putting up a fight, for form’s sake, but just wriggled back enough to scowl at him. “I’m working.”

“Not yet, and you’re mostly naked. Such a fine look on you, one of my favorites.”

“Then why is that closet full of clothes?”

“Because being an understanding sort, I appreciate your insistence on being fully dressed in public.”

He gripped her hips, boosted her up so he could carry her onto the platform where the bed spread like a blue lagoon. Then he tipped so they fell back on it with her pinned under him.

“Just because we postponed soufflé doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy a bite of dessert now.”

To prove it, he closed his teeth over her jaw.

“And you’re what I’ve a taste for.”

“Sex, sex, sex.”

“If you insist.”

His mouth claimed hers again, muffling the laugh she’d tried to
hold back. What the hell, she thought. He was mostly naked, too. She grabbed his exceptional ass, gave it a hard squeeze. “You better make it good.”

“I’m always up for a challenge.”

“You’re always up.” And to prove
that
, she slid her hands around, between them, and found him. The next hard squeeze brought on a moan, had him shifting his teeth to her throat.

How quickly he could make her need, each time, every time. No matter how familiar, this sweep of feelings always struck as new. And overwhelming.

The weight of his body, the shape of it, the demands of his clever mouth and skilled hands never failed to make her want and want, and revel in knowing she could have.

She let the hunger, and the greed with it, the whippy storm of sensations—all the sudden heat, the wonderful aches-—invade. She let them conquer, and gathering them turned them back to him.

She gave and she took, everything he needed to have, everything he wanted to give in return. Wrapped around him, possessing as he possessed, she met every demand, made her own.

He knew the rhythms of her body, and all the secret places to exploit, to seduce, to inflame. Yet she remained a fascination and glorious surprise to him, a constant gift for body and soul.

The way her hands wound through and gripped his hair when he fed from her breast aroused as much as that firm curve, that silky skin. Subtle as the beat of butterfly wings, her quick, rippling tremors, the catch of her breath at his touch added a keen and lusty edge.

The arch of her body—so lithe, so ready—the pounding drum of her heartbeat under his lips told him she needed, wanted, as urgently now as he.

He pleased himself, riding his hands along skin, smooth and warm over tough and disciplined muscle. Delighted himself with the long, supple length of her, his warrior, his wife.

And when his mouth came back to hers, when hers clung to his, fever-hot, that pleasure, that delight spiked beyond reason.

Wet and hot he found her, and drove her up and up, swallowing her gasps and cries like a man starving. When she broke beneath him, he didn’t relent, couldn’t, stroking those fires until she thrashed under him.

“Now. Now. Inside me. You.”

When she bowed up, quivering, he thrust inside her, hard and deep.

Now, she thought again, her breath sobbing, her hands groping. The quaking shook down to her core, shuddered toward her heart as they rode each other. The mating, fast and furious, ruled them both, carved all else away.

Again she thought, you. You. And when she broke this time, he broke with her.

She lay absorbing the aftershocks of her body, and of his. She remembered she’d thought, before Roarke, sex was a basic—sometimes complicated—method of release.

After Roarke? That didn’t start to cover it.

Even now, after fast, crazed sex, his lips brushed lightly over her shoulder. Just a simple and incredible sign of affection.

Those moments, she realized, meant the world to her.

In answer, she trailed her fingers down his back. Then, because they were who they were, pinched his ass, sharply.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered.

“Off, pal. You had your bite of dessert. Big, greedy bite.”

“You did as well.”

“Yeah. Not bad.” She grinned at him when he lifted his head, then tugged on his hair, nipped up for a quick kiss. “Not bad at all. Now I’ve got to go work it off.”

“Fair enough.” He shifted, then pulled her up to sit, stroked a hand over her hair. “Thank you for a lovely and thoughtful dinner.”

“And dessert.”

“And dessert.”

“How many pizzas do you figure it offsets?”

“Perhaps I can generate a pie chart,” he said as they rolled out of bed.

“Ha-ha. Pie chart. You’re a funny guy. I want a quick shower after that bout.”

“An excellent idea.” He only sighed when she narrowed her eyes at him. “Sex, sex, sex. Do you think of nothing else?”

“Yeah, you’re a funny guy.”

“And a well satisfied one, so you’ll have to settle for only the shower.” After giving her a light pat on the ass, he strolled into the bath ahead of her.

She was in and out of the jets within five, and tossed on clothes after a quick spin in the drying tube. Every bit as nimble as she, he walked with her to her office.

“Board first, I imagine.”

“Yeah, I want the visual.”

“While you’re at that, I’ll start the search for possible accounts. He’s no financial genius or comp geek from what you’ve said, but there’s plenty of suggestions and instructions for burying funds right on the Internet.” He smiled at her. “And those are child’s play to dig out again.”

“Go ahead and play.”

She set up her board, changing the pattern so she had a different
method than the one in her office. She added the time line, the reports, paced around it. Added more.

Then she focused on Jerry Reinhold.

“Who are you, really?” she asked aloud.

Talk to the friends again? she wondered. Give that a harder push? He didn’t strike her as someone who’d live in a vacuum. Didn’t he need someone to bitch to, to brag to?

More, she thought as she circled the board again, he’d never accomplished anything real in his life. He might see that differently, and likely considered it everyone else’s fault, but from the steps, the stages, the images of him leaving the building, in the bank, in the jewelry shop, he felt very accomplished now.

Wouldn’t he want some kudos?

From strangers, she considered. How did you brag to your pals you killed your parents, brutally, and were hiding from the police? Maybe a pickup at a bar, she considered, or maybe hire a fancy licensed companion for the night.

“Couldn’t tell them you’re a killer,” she murmured. “But you could brag about making some killer deal, being some big shot. Hitting some jackpot. That seems your style.”

The LC seemed more in line. Sure you had to pay, but that put you in charge. You were already the big deal.

Would he want or need sex? No evidence or indication he’d pursued that area since the breakup, but sex was another kind of celebration, another way for a man to prove his potency.

Maybe she’d consult on that with Charles Monroe, friend, former LC, and current sex therapist.

She checked the time, decided it was still plenty early enough, and crossed to her desk.

Her ’link signaled even as she reached for it. She noted Peabody on the readout, answered.

“Yeah, what?”

“Hey. I wanted to update you. McNab and I went by Nuccio’s place on the way home. I sent you a quick report.”

“I haven’t gotten to my incomings yet.” Not with semi-date dinners and dessert sex.

“Yeah, I saw you hadn’t picked it up. She wasn’t home yet, and the neighbor—Crabtree—came out. She’s keeping an eye out for her, even left a note on Nuccio’s door when she went out to run a few errands. Took it off when she came back.”

“Okay, we’ll hit her tomorrow.”

On the ’link screen, Peabody’s face mirrored concern. “The thing is, McNab had this idea how we might track down her shopping buddy. Getting the names of her coworkers, mining them, spreading out from them.”

“If that’s what you want to do.”

“Did do,” Peabody told her. “It seemed worth a shot, just to nail her down. And we hit. She went out with a Kasey Rider. I just finished talking to her—to Rider. They were going to make a night of it, hit some clubs, but one of their mutual friends tagged Kasey with the news about Reinhold.”

“So Nuccio knows.” A thread of concern wove its way into Eve.

“Yeah. Major freakout—denial, disbelief, then depression from Nuccio. They cut the night short, and Rider insisted on taking a cab with Nuccio to her apartment, dropped her off at about six-forty, which means McNab and I didn’t miss her by much. I got her new ’link number, but she’s not answering. And I figured since you didn’t update the file yet, she hasn’t contacted you either.”

“No, she hasn’t.” And she’d had over three hours to come through. “Maybe the neighbor didn’t hear her come in.”

“I don’t think so, Dallas. She was a hawkeye.”

“Okay. She probably doesn’t want to deal with cops tonight.” Eve turned back to the board, shifted, evaluated her own gut. “But she’s going to. I’m going to go on down there now.”

“I’m closer if you want me and McNab to go.”

“No, I’ll do it. If she’s going to be squeezed into dealing with a cop, let’s make it rank. I’ll let you know. Thanks for the heads-up.”

“No problem, but, Dallas, it just doesn’t feel right.”

“I don’t see her letting him in, or him getting by the hawkeye neighbor if he tried. I’ll get back to you.”

But, no, she thought as she clicked off. It didn’t feel right.

She strode directly to Roarke’s office where he manned his desk, his hair tied back in work mode. “I’ve got to go downtown.”

“To Central?”

“No, to the ex-girlfriend’s. Word is she’s been home for about three hours, and hasn’t contacted me or Peabody. She’s either avoiding that, or something’s wrong. I want to check.”

“Well then, I’m with you.” He gave his computer the order to continue the search on auto, rose.

“I need to get my weapon and badge.”

“And boots,” he added, gesturing to her bare feet.

A
rmed and shod, she let him take the wheel, particularly since he’d called around some sleek, sexy two-seater.

“It’s new,” he told her. “I haven’t really had it out for a good run as yet.”

It smelled like leather—a weakness of hers. And the dash held enough gauges to outfit an off-planet shuttle.

“How many of these do you have?”

“One more now,” he said, and all but flew to the gates and through.

“I didn’t say we were going in hot.”

“It’s good to take her through her paces.” He zipped to vertical, soared over a snake of traffic. “And I’ve a cop with me should the locals object. You’re worried,” he added.

“She’s probably just playing mole.”

“Ostrich, but it comes to the same. Then why are you worried?”

“She dumped him, kicked him out—after he stole from her, and reportedly gave her a couple slaps. But she doesn’t take the opportunity to talk to the cops when she finds out he’s committed double murder? I got the sense she was pretty sensible, responsible, and her neighbor would’ve pushed it. So I don’t like it.”

“Would she have let him in?”

“Don’t see it.” In her mind, Eve turned it over, around, inside out. “No, I just don’t see it. And a friend dropped her off in a cab, watched her go inside. The neighbor would’ve pounced the minute she got up there, so I’m probably wasting time. I could interview her tomorrow.”

“I trust your instincts.” He punched it.

“Or you’re looking to break the land and air records.” She liked speed, but liked it more when she was at the wheel. But she didn’t tell him to slow down, and felt some relief when he oiled the car into a tiny street-level space less than half a block from the entrance to the building.

She scanned the street as she stepped onto the sidewalk. Too early for troublemakers, in this kind of neighborhood, she judged. But the shiny red toy on the curb could bring them out.

“That’s sitting there saying: Please, steal me.”

“It has a sadistic streak, so as it says that, it’s aware it’s fully shielded and armed.”

“Good thing.” She walked to the entrance, started to buzz Nuccio’s apartment, changed her mind.

“Don’t want her to know you’re on your way up?” Roarke asked when she used her master for access.

“Not exactly.”

“You are worried.”

“Bad feeling’s sticking. Let’s take the stairs.” Her fingers danced lightly over her weapon as they climbed. “Are you shielded and armed like your latest toy?”