The In Death Collection 06-10 (18 page)

He was swearing viciously by the time he caught her. Even the whiff of amusement was extinguished. “Yes, I loved her, and what we once had was important to me. Even so it wasn’t so much as a shadow against what I feel for you. Is that what you want to hear?”

Shame rushed over her, smothering temper. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s all pushing into my head.” Feeling helpless, she lifted her fingers to press at her temples. “None of the others mattered because . . . I don’t know, they just don’t matter to me. She does, and I hate myself for being jealous, even for a minute, of a dead woman.”

“Eve.” He laid a hand on her cheek. “From the first moment I met you, every other woman paled for me.”

She only felt more foolish. “I wasn’t groping, it’s just—”

“You’re all,” he murmured, touching his lips to each pounding temple in turn. “You’re only.”

The burning around her heart turned to an ache, sweet and strong. “I need you.” Her arms came tight around him, her mouth fused to his. “For so many things.”

“Thank God.” He deepened the kiss, gentled it until she sighed. “We’ll take that hour now. Together.”

She could think again. Until she’d met Roarke, Eve hadn’t realized how many benefits sex had to offer. Feeling limber, focused, and energized, she settled down in her office.

The new computer Roarke had arranged to have installed that morning was a beauty. Eve indulged herself, admiring it, tinkering with the tonal qualities. Her mood lifted even higher as it gobbled up the data she inputed like a hungry, yet well-mannered wolf.

“Oh, you honey,” she murmured and stroked its sleek, stylishly black armor. “Okay, let’s see what you can do. Run probability scan, file A data. What is the probability that victims Brennen, Conroy, and O’Leary were murdered by same perpetrator?”

Working
, the computer announced in a creamy baritone enlivened with a hint of Parisian French. Before Eve could finish her grin, the scan was complete.

Probability ninety-nine point six three percent.

“Dandy, remain in file A. What is the probability that suspect Summerset committed murders?”

Working . . . . Probability eighty-seven point eight percent. With current data arrest warrant for murder, multiple, first degree, is recommended. Please advise if list of available judges is desired.

“No thanks, Bruno, but I appreciate the advice.”

Please advise if you wish to contact the prosecuting attorney’s office.

“Eve.”

She looked over, saw Roarke in the doorway. “Hold on, Bruno.” Eve swiped her hair back, rolled her shoulders. “I told you I was going to work.”

“Yes, so you did.” He wore only jeans, unhooked at the waist and obviously tugged on as an afterthought.

Despite the fact that her blood was still warm from him, it heated now. She found herself fantasizing about tugging those unfastened jeans off again, then maybe nipping her teeth into his firm, naked butt for good measure.

“Huh?” she managed when his voice got through her fantasy.

“I said . . .” He paused, then, recognizing the glint in her eyes, arched a brow. “Christ Jesus, Eve, what are you, a rabbit?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” She shifted back and stared hard at her monitor.

“You certainly do, and I’m more than happy to accommodate you . . . after you explain why you’re running probabilities on Summerset. I thought you agreed he was innocent.”

“I’m doing my job, and before you start,” she continued, holding up a hand, “I’ll explain. I’ve run the probability from my file A, which contains all the data, all the evidence that I’m free to pass on through official channels
at this time. This analysis indicates that I’ll be carting Summerset off to maximum lockup in restraints. It’s not a lock at under ninety percent, but nobody would argue with the arrest.”

She rolled her shoulders again, blew her bangs out of her eyes. “Now we’ll run the scan using file B, which is everything I know, everything I have. Computer—”

“I thought its name was Bruno.”

“Just a joke,” Eve muttered. “Computer, run probability scan, suspect Summerset, using file B.”

Working . . . With additional data probability index drops to forty-seven point three eight percent. Warrant is not advised with available data.

“Cuts the probability by more than half. And I’d say with Mira’s testing results logged in after tomorrow, it’ll drop more. File A will drop some, too, maybe just enough to keep his ass from swinging.”

“I should have known.” Roarke moved behind her, leaned down to press his lips to the top of her head.

“He’s not clear yet. The God guy’s counting on me not being willing to trade you off for Summerset—and he’s got that right.”

“But he’s underestimated you.”

“Goddamn right. And he’s overplayed, Roarke, I can use that with Whitney, too. A man smart enough to pull off these murders isn’t stupid enough to leave such an obvious trail. It stinks from setup. And he’s going to want to play again. Riddles. Games,” she mused, leaning back in her chair. “He likes to fall back on God, but he likes his games. Games are for children.”

“Tell that to the linebacker for Big Apple Arena Ball and see where it gets you.”

She only shrugged. “So, men are children.”

He barely sighed. “Thank you so much.”

“Men are more into toys, games, gizmos as status symbols. You’ve got a house full of them.”

A bit nonplussed by her opinion, he slipped his hands into his pockets. “I beg your pardon?”

“I don’t just mean the toy toys like video and holo rooms.” Her forehead was furrowed now, the line between her brows deepening. “Cars, planes, entertainment centers, spar droids, VR equipment, hell, your businesses are toys.”

Now Roarke rocked back on his heels. “Darling Eve, if you want to tell me I’m shallow, don’t be concerned with bruising my feelings.”

“You’re not shallow,” she said with an absent, back of the hand gesture. “You just overindulge.”

He opened his mouth, struggling to be insulted, and ended up laughing. “Eve, I adore you.” He slid his hands down over her breasts, his mouth to her neck. “Let’s go overindulge each other.”

“Cut it out. I want to—” His fingers grazed over her nipples and caused her thigh muscles to thrum. “I really have to—Jesus, you’re good at that.” Her head fell back just enough to make her mouth vulnerable to his.

Before it had been soft and easy, a kind of healing both of them had needed. This was fire, hot and fast and all for greed. She reached up, circling her arms around his neck, and left herself open for him.

He made quick work of her robe, parting it so that his hands could roam flesh already damp, so he could race down and find her, already wet. She came with delightful ease, shuddering as she felt the climax roll through her and flood his hand.

Then she was struggling free, turning in the chair and rising on her knees to clutch at him. “Now, now, now.” She gasped it out, punctuating each demand with nips and bites as she jerked at the jeans riding his hips.

He slid into the chair, gripping her hips as she straddled him. And he watched her throat, the lovely arch of it, the tiny pulse pushing in fast rhythm against the flesh as her head dipped back. She gripped the back of the chair, dizzy when he sucked her breast hard into his mouth, as the chair rocked, as she rocked, tormenting them both with the friction.

The pace was hers, and he let her ride, let himself be taken. His fingers dug into her hips while she drove him, while the breath strangled in his throat. And when it seemed his blood would burst from his veins like flames, he emptied himself into her.

Her hands slid limply down his damp shoulders. Her heart was still pumping viciously as she raced quick, delirious kisses over his neck and throat.

“Sometimes I just want to gobble you whole, eat you alive. You’re so gorgeous. You’re so beautiful.”

“What?” His senses were slowly swimming back, the roar in his ears subsiding like the tide.

She caught herself, appalled, mortified. Had she actually said that aloud? she wondered. Was she insane? “Nothing. I was . . .” She took several deep breaths to level her system. “I was just saying I only wanted to bite your ass.”

“You wanted to bite my ass.” He shook his head clear. “Why?”

“Because it’s there.” Relieved, spent, satisfied, she grinned at him. “And it’s a pretty great ass all in all.”

“I’m glad you—” He blinked, narrowed his eyes. “Did you say I was beautiful?”

“Give me a break.” She snorted, then quickly wiggled off him. “You must be hallucinating. Now, fun’s fun.” She picked up her robe, pulled it on. “But I have to get back to work.”

“Mmm-hmm. I’ll get us some coffee.”

“There’s no use both of us going without sleep.”

He smiled, ran a finger over her wedding band. “Want some pie?”

“I guess I could choke some down.”

Within an hour Eve had moved the investigation into Roarke’s private office. The lists she would run now couldn’t be viewed by the all-seeing eye of CompuGuard.

“Six men,” she muttered. “The six who killed Marlena generate over fifty in family alone. What’s with you Irish, haven’t you ever heard of Zero Population?”

“We prefer the go forth and multiply rule.” Roarke pondered the list that took up two screens. “I recognize a dozen or so. I might do better with faces.”

“Well, we’ll eliminate the females, for now. The barmaid at the Shamrock said Shawn was talking to a man, the kid on the West Side—”

“His name’s Kevin.”

“Yeah, the kid said a man. And the creep who’s been calling me—even if he’s using voice alteration to sound like a man—has a male rhythm to his speech. And typical male responses to insults and sarcasm.”

“It’s illuminating for me,” Roarke said dryly, “to discover your fascinating opinion on my gender.”

“When push comes, men are different, that’s all. Computer, delete female names from screen.” Eve paced in front of it, nodding. “That’s a little more manageable. Best place to start is at the top. O’Malley’s group, father, two brothers.”

“On screen three.” Commanding manually now, Roarke shifted the three names onto the next screen. “Full data, with image. Ah, Shamus O’Malley, the patriarch, I do remember him. He and my father had some dealings together.”

“Looks like a violent tendency,” Eve commented. “You can see it in the eyes. Major scar on the left cheek, a nose
that’s been broken more than once by the look of it. This makes him seventy-six, and he’s currently a guest of the Irish government for first degree assault with a deadly.”

“A prince of a man.”

Eve hooked her thumbs in her robe pockets. “I’m going to eliminate anyone doing time. It’s impossible to say if our guy’s acting alone, but we’ll concentrate on him.”

“All right.” Roarke tapped a few keys and ten more names disappeared.

“That wipes the smiling O’Malleys.”

“They were always a bad lot, and not bright with it.”

“Go to the next.”

“Calhouns. Father, one brother, one son. Liam Calhoun,” Roarke mused. “He ran a little food shop. He was a decent sort. The brother and the boy I don’t remember at all.”

“The brother, James, no criminal record. Guy’s a doctor, attached to the National Health Services. Forty-seven, one marriage, three children. Reads like pillar of the community.”

“I don’t recall him. Obviously he didn’t run in my circles.”

“Obviously,” Eve said so dryly Roarke laughed. “The son, also Liam, is in college, following his uncle’s footsteps it appears. Young Liam Calhoun. Good-looking . . . nineteen, single, top ten percent of his class.”

“I remember a boy, vaguely. Scruffy, quiet.” Roarke studied the image of a cheerful face and sober eyes. “Looks like he’s making something of himself from the academic data.”

“The sins of the father don’t always transfer. Still, medical knowledge would have come in handy in these particular murders. We’ll hold these two, but put them at the bottom of the list. Bring up the next group.”

“Rileys. Father, four brothers—”

“Four? God Almighty.”

“And all of them a terror to decent citizens everywhere. Take a good look at Brian Riley. He once kicked my head in. Of course two of his brothers and a close personal friend were holding me down at the time. Black Riley, he liked to be called.”

Roarke reached for a cigarette as the old, well-buried bitterness punched its way free. “We’re of an age, you see, and you could say Riley had a keen dislike for me.”

“And why was that?”

“Because I was faster, my fingers lighter.” He smiled a little. “And the girls preferred me.”

“Well, your Black Riley’s been in and out of cages most of his young life.” Eve angled her head. Another good-looking man, she mused, with fair hair and sulky green eyes. Ireland appeared to be filled with handsome men who looked for trouble. “But he hasn’t served any time in the last few years. Employment record’s spotty, mostly as head knocker at bars and skin clubs. But this is interesting. He worked security for an electronics firm for nearly two years. He could have picked up quite a bit in that amount of time if he has a brain.”

“There was nothing wrong with his brain, it was his attitude.”

“Right. Can you get into his passport?”

“The official one, easily enough. Give me a minute.”

Eve studied the image while Roarke worked. Green eyes, she mused. The kid—Kevin—had said the man he’d seen had green eyes. Or he’d thought so. Of course eye color could be changed as easily as a spoiled child’s mind.

“Immigration records, screen four,” Roarke told her.

“Yeah, he’s visited our fair city a time or two,” Eve noted. “Let’s log these dates, and we’ll see if we can find out what he was up to while he was here. Were the brothers close?”

“The Rileys were like wild dogs. They’d have torn out each other’s throat for the same bone, but they’d form a pack against an outsider.”

“Well, let’s take a good, close look at all four of them.”