Betrayal in Death

"Losing a friend is never easy," he murmured. "Losing one when you feel you might have done something to stop it leaves a hole."

Because she knew he lived with that, she laid her hands on his shoulders. "And going back to what you might have done helps no one."

"But you're helping her close it, just as you helped me close mine. What do you want me to do?"

"She gave me the names of three men. I want to know about these men, without sending up flags. It's not illegal to look at them. Looking from an angle that won't alert their personal security is a trickier area. But it's not against the law unless you break sealeds. I don't want that. I just want a discreet search. If you generate it, the Feebs aren't likely to hit on it. If I do, they will."

"And if you take more than a standard scan, officially, on Winifred's case file, Jacoby might clue in, might look at it closer himself. That potentially exposes Stowe."

"Exactly. Can you do it without breaking the law?"

"Yes, but I might have to bruise it slightly. Nothing that would generate more than a knuckle rap and a small fine if I were the clumsy type and got caught at it."

"I can't risk asking for a warrant again to keep it all aboveboard. We haven't plugged the leak."

"What are the names?"

She took out the memo, handed it over.

"Well now, as it happens I know these men, and we may be able to avoid too much hacking."

"You know them?"

"I know Hinrick, the German, and know of Naples, the American. I believe he's set up a more or less permanent residence in London. Gerade, the ambassador's son, is also known by reputation. On the surface he's a diplomat, a devoted husband and father, and a spotless civil servant. His father's paid a considerable amount of money to maintain that veneer."

"What's under it?"

"A spoiled, rather nasty young man, from what I've heard, with a demanding temperament, a taste for group sex, and a distressing illegals addiction. He's been through private rehab a few times, at his father's insistence. Doesn't seem to stick."

"How do you know all this?"

"He lives high when he can manage it, and that addiction and sex are expensive. He's been known to arrange for certain valuable articles, in certain households to which he had access, to change hands, let's say."

"He arranged for you to steal property?"

"No, indeed. I always arranged that quite well on my own, when I was into such regrettable activities. I simply assisted another associate with the transportation. A number of years ago, Lieutenant. I wouldn't be surprised if the statute of limitations is in effect."

"Then I'll sleep easy tonight. Before she was killed, Winifred Gates was acting as interpreter for these men on what was supposed to be a multinational communications station."

"No." He frowned, considering. "No, I'd have known if that had been in the works and certainly if it had gone through with those players. I might be out of certain areas of activities, but communications isn't one of them."

"Is that ego or fact?"

"Darling Eve, my ego is fact." He patted her arm when she snorted. "You can trust me on this. It was a cover. Naples is successful in communications, but at the base he's a smuggler. Illegals, contraband, and people in particular. Hinrick diversifies, but smuggling is one of his favored pastimes."

"And you say Naples lives in England now. Those smugglers hit in the countryside – the Hagues. Might have been on him."

He said nothing for a moment. "Yes," he murmured. "Quite possibly."

"It's not much of a stretch to draw the scenario that Winifred heard or witnessed something she shouldn't have. Something that rang enough bells with her that she contacted her pal in the FBI. For help. She needs to be taken out of the mix, Yost is hired. When a couple of independent-minded smugglers get a little too big for their britches, Yost is hired. If we can tie one or all of these men into either hit, I'm one step closer to Yost."

She paused, frowned. "Why didn't any of their criminal activities pop for the feds?"

Roarke nearly smiled. "Some of us, Lieutenant, know how to be careful."

"Are they as good as you? Delete that," she said before he could answer. "No one is. Okay, which one of the three is most likely to have hired Yost to off a civil servant?"

"I don't know enough about Gerade. If it's between Naples and Hinrick, Naples. Hinrick is a gentleman. He'd have found another way to deal with her. Killing her? Well, he'd have considered that rude."

"Nice to know I may be dealing with a polite criminal."

While Roarke used his office to dig for data, Eve settled down in her own. She correlated Stowe's files with her own, ran probables, and studied all possible matches.

Yost wasn't going to wait much longer. She had no clue as to his target, and was still several layers away from shaking off his current cover.

Someone is going to die, she thought, probably within hours. And she couldn't stop it.

She pulled up her victim files again. Darlene French. An ordinary young woman with a simple life, who should have had a long, uncomplicated future.

Site of murder: The Palace Hotel.

Co

Jonah Talbot. A bright, successful man. Upwardly mobile, who should have continued to rise.

Site of murder: rented home.

Co

Both had worked for him. Both had died while on property he owned.

French had been a stranger to Roarke. A faceless employee. But Talbot had been a friend of sorts.

The third would be closer yet.

Would he come after her? She would have preferred that, but thought it was too large a leap. Another employee, if the pattern held. But one he worked with more closely. One he knew well.

Caro, his admin? That was a good bet, and precisely why Eve had called in some favors and had the efficient woman under surveillance.

But she couldn't cover every member of his top-level teams in the city.

And if Yost jumped to another location, to one of the countless offices, plants, organizations Roarke had all over the planet and through the developed solar system, the potential targets were astronomical.

Couldn't compute.

Still, she tried to level the field, to co

She pushed that aside. It wasn't the way. If Roarke himself couldn't hazard an educated guess on potential targets, how could she?

She went for coffee, using the short walk to the kitchen and back to clear her mind.

A personal vendetta. If that was the motive, why not go after the man himself? Or at least those in his i

Business. It was business. What were Roarke's most pressing projects?

She went back to his data, rubbed her throbbing temples. It looked as though he was juggling several dozen green-lighted deals even now. It was enough to make you dizzy.

Olympus. That was his baby, she thought. A kind of pet fantasy, and as complicated as they came. He was building a goddamn world there: hotels, casinos, homes, resorts, parks. And all of it lavish.

Homes, she thought. Vacation and retirement homes. Villas, mansions, sleek penthouses, presidential suites. Something for the man who had, and could afford, everything.

Right up Yost's alley.

She turned toward Roarke's office, then stopped at the doorway.

He was at his console, captain of his ship. He'd drawn his hair back so it lay on his neck in a short, gleaming black tail. His eyes were cool, cool blue, the way they were when his mind was fully occupied.