Rapture in Death

"My first offer of the day." Roarke smiled. "You know where the kitchen is, Feeney. You're welcome to the AutoChef, or you can ask Summerset to arrange for the meal of your choice."

"Around here, that means real eggs." He stretched kinks out, popped joints. "You want me to tell him breakfast for three?"

"You get started," Roarke suggested. "We'll be down shortly." He waited until Feeney had sauntered out, whistling at the thought of eggs Benedict and blueberry pancakes. "You haven't much time, I know."

"I have enough, if you have something to say."

"I do." It was rare for him to feel awkward. He'd almost forgotten the sensation until it swamped him. "What Feeney just pointed out to you, about his opinion on the capabilities here. The fact that it's unlikely for the subject to be influenced to act out of character, to do something abhorrent."

She saw immediately where he was going and wanted to curse. "Roarke – "

"I'll finish this. I've been the man who took you last night. I've lived in that skin, and it hasn't been so long ago that I've forgotten him. I turned him into something else because I wanted to. And I could. Money helped, and a certain need for… polish. But he's still there. He's still part of me. I was reminded of that rather violently last night."

"Do you want me to hate you for it, to blame you for it?"

"No, I want you to understand it, and me. I came from the kind of man who hurt you last night."

"So did I."

That stopped him, had emotion swimming back into his eyes. "Christ, Eve."

"And it scares me. It wakes me up in the middle of the night, the wondering just what's inside me. I live with it every single day. I knew where you came from when I took you on, and I don't care. I know you've done things, broken laws, lived outside them. But I'm here."

She huffed out a breath, shifted her feet. "I love you, okay? That's it. Now, I'm hungry, and I've got a full day ahead of me, so I'm going down before Feeney cleans us out of eggs."

He stepped in front of her before she could storm out. "One more minute." He framed her face with his hands, lowered his mouth to hers, and turned her scowl into a sigh with a kiss so tender it made her throat ache and her toes curl.

"Well," she managed when he eased back. "That's better, I guess."

"Much better." He linked his fingers with hers. And because he had used it when he'd hurt her, he balanced that out by using it now. "A ghra."

"Huh?" A line appeared between her brows. "Is that Gaelic again?"

"Yes." He brought their joined fingers to his lips. "Love. My love."

"It's got a nice ring."

"It does, yes." He sighed a little. It had been a long time since he'd let himself hear the music of it.

"It shouldn't make you sad," she murmured.

"It doesn't. Just thoughtful." He gave her hand a friendly squeeze. "I'd love to buy you breakfast, Lieutenant."

"Talked me into it." Comfortable, she tightened her grip. "We got any crepes?"

The trouble with chemicals, Eve thought as she set up for the next interview with Jess Barrow, was that no matter how safe, mild, and helpful they claimed to be, they always made her feel false. She knew she wasn't naturally alert, that underneath that surging, induced energy, her body was a mass of desperate fatigue.

She kept imagining her system wearing a huge clown's mask of enthusiasm over a gray, exhausted face.

"Back in the saddle, Peabody?" Eve asked as her aide walked into the white-walled, uncluttered room.

"Yes, sir. I briefed myself via your reports, dropped by your office on the way here. You have a message from the commander on hold, and two from Nadine Furst. I think she smells a story."

"She'll have to wait. I'll relay to the commander during our first break here. Know anything about baseball, Peabody?"

"I played short for two years at the Academy. Golden Glove."

"Well, warm up. When I toss you a ball, you field it, zing it back. We're going Tinker to Evers to Chance here, with Feeney coming in before the end of the i

Peabody's eyes lit. "Hey, didn't know you were a historian."

"I have many hidden facets. Just field the ball, Peabody. I want to dust this son of a bitch at the plate. You've read the report, you know the drill." She signaled for the suspect to be brought in. "Let's cook him. If he lawyers up, we'll have to juggle. But I'm banking on him being too arrogant to go that route initially."

"Mostly, I like cocky men. I guess I'll have to make an exception here."

"And he's got such a pretty face," Eve added, then moved aside as a uniform delivered her man. "How's it going, Jess? Feeling better today?"

He'd had time to regroup and time to stew. "I could hang you on undue force. But I'm going to let it pass because before this is done, you'll be the top joke of your idiot department."

"Yep, he's feeling better. Have a seat." She stepped to the small table, engaged the recording unit. "Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, with Peabody, Officer Delia, as aide. The time is oh nine hundred, September 8, 2058. Interview subject Barrow, Jess, file number S-one nine three oh five. Would you please state your name for the record?"

"Jess Barrow. You got that much right."

"I have, during our previous interview, given you your rights and options under the law, is that correct?"

"You gave me the drill, sure." For all the good it had done him, he thought, and shifted carefully in his seat. His cock ached like a rotted tooth.

"And you understand those rights and options as stated?"

"I got them then; I get them now."

"Do you wish, at this time, to make use of your right to an attorney or representative?"

"I don't need anybody but myself."

"All right then." Eve sat, linked her fingers, smiled. "Let's get started. In your previous statement, you admitted to the design and use of equipment built for tampering with personal brain patterns and behavior."

"I didn't admit to shit."

She kept smiling. "That's a matter of interpretation. Do you now deny that during a social gathering at my home last evening, you utilized a program you have designed to make certain suggestions, subliminally, to the subject Roarke?"

"Hey, if your husband took you off and tossed your skirts over your head, it's your business."

Her smile never faltered. "It certainly is." She needed to hang him here, on this one point, to hang him on the rest. "Peabody, perhaps Jess is unaware of the penalty for giving false statement to a police official during Interview."

"That penalty," Peabody said smoothly, "carries a maximum term of five years in full lockup. Shall I replay the pertinent data from the initial interview, Lieutenant? The subject's memory might be faulty due to the injury received while assaulting an officer."

"Assault, my ass." He snarled at Peabody. "You think you can double-team me this way? She struck me without provocation, then let that bastard she married come in and…"

He trailed off, remembering the warning Roarke had issued in a soft, silky voice directly in his ear. While the pain, almost sweet in its intensity, had radiated through his system.

"You wish to make an official complaint?" Eve asked.

"No." Even now, a light line of sweat beaded on his upper lip and made Eve wonder just what Roarke had done to him. "I was upset last night. Things got out of hand." He took a steadying breath. "Listen, I'm a musician. I take a lot of pride in my work, in the art of it. I like to think what I do influences people, touches them. My pride in that might have given you the wrong impression as to the scope of my work. Basically, I don't know what all the fuss is about."

He smiled again, with a good deal of his usual charm, and spread his handsome hands. "Those people you talked about last night. I don't know them. I've heard of some of them, sure, but I didn't know them personally or have anything to do with their decision to self-terminate. I'm against it, myself. In my opinion, life's too short as it is. This is all a misunderstanding, and I'm willing to forget it."