Betrayal in Death

"Where's my ice?"

"This is better than ice."

"Officer – "

"Lieutenant, if you use this patch correctly, your face will not be swollen up like a beat-up ad blimp when you check in at the hotel to recon with security. Which means, Roarke won't haul you off to the MTs or administer first aid himself. Since you particularly dislike both of these eventualities, I suggest you take what I got you and avoid this future a

"That was good, Peabody. Really good. I hate you, but it was good." Eve snatched the box, scowled at the instructions for the patch. "How the hell does this thing work?"

"I'll do it. Just hold still."

So Peabody opened the box, activated the anti-inflammatory, and affixed the patch over Eve's aching nose. The relief was considerable, and it was quick, but one look in the mirror had Eve swearing.

"I look like an idiot."

"Yes, you do," Peabody agreed, studying the result of the white strip over Eve's face. "But you looked like an idiot without it, too. Sir. Got your sun shades?"

"No, I can never keep track of them."

"Take mine." Generously, Peabody pulled hers out of her pocket, handed them over. "Better," she said when Eve slipped the dark glasses on. "A little better. Want some water to down the blocker?"

"I don't want a blocker."

"It'll give the patch a boost. Make it work faster."

Though she suspected that was a lie, Eve took the tiny blue pill, swallowed, snarled. "There. Do you think I could get back to work now, Nurse Peabody?"

"Yes, sir, I think that's the best we can do for you right now."

She stopped by the hospital first to check on Lane. He was in a gentle twilight sleep, with his condition listed as satisfactory. The cover of allergic reaction was holding. Kept quarantined, he was allowed no visitors.

Eve was informed his mother had been to the hospital twice, and had watched him through the view glass. Liza Trent had signed in once, and had stayed for under five minutes.

If any other friends or associates had come by, they'd evaded the log. Eve had come armed with a warrant and was able to access copies of the security discs for Lane's floor with only half the usual hassle.

"Michel Gerade," she said when she played the disc back in her office. He stood, frowning at Lane through the viewing glass. "Nice of him to visit his sick pal."

"He doesn't look concerned so much as pissed."

"Yeah, and he didn't bring a get-well present, did he? This confirms Gerade's presence in New York. If he participates in this attempted heist, we may link him solid to Yost. Diplomatic immunity won't cover his sorry ass on conspiracy to commit murder."

"Neither one of the Naples men showed up on disc?"

"No. I'm betting Gerade there drew the straw for errand boy. Make sure Lane is hospitalized as advertised. See here, he goes to the nurse's station, tries to pump for information. Concerned friend. Charm, charm. She bends enough to look up the chart and give him exactly what we want him to have. Severe allergic reaction resulting in seizure. Complete bed rest and mild sedation in quarantine for forty-eight hours while tested."

Eve watched Gerade walk toward the elevator. "They won't like it, but they're not going to abort a plan this long-term and complex because one of their group's in la-la land. As far as they're concerned, he'd already done his job."

She ejected the disc, filed it. "Now let's go do ours."

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

It was seventeen hundred hours when Eve walked into The Palace Hotel. She used the main lobby entrance. She wanted to do a walk-through, using her own eyes and ears and instincts to map out the hotel and gauge its rhythm before she went up to base control.

The two-tier lobby was a sea of marble and mosaic, the kind of rich and regal colors and designs she'd seen on one of her trips with Roarke to Italy.

Exotic arrangements of flowers speared and spilled out of urns taller than a man. The staff was dressed in royal red or blue, depending on their function.

The guests dressed rich.

She watched a six-foot woman, wrapped in what looked like filmy scarves from neck to knee, lead a trio of tiny white dogs on a triple leash.

"Augusta."

"What?"

"Augusta," Peabody repeated in Eve's ear, nodding toward the whip-thin woman and her furballs. "This year's primo model. God, I'd kill to have legs like that. And that's Bee-Sting over there. Lead singer for Crash and Bum. And, oh jeez, just coming off the elevator, left bank, is Mont Tyler. Screen Queen Magazine voted him sexiest man of the decade. It sure is fun working with you, Dallas."

"If you've finished gawking, Peabody."

"If we have time, I could gawk a little longer." And her head did swivel, seesawing back and forth, up and down as she followed Eve across the lobby.

Eve was doing some sca

And as she climbed the three flights to the ballroom level, she checked out every floor between.

Security, human and droid, were on duty, flanking the entrances to the Magda Lane Display, discreetly rounding the perimeter. People queued up, wandered through to sigh and gasp over sparkling gowns, glittering jewels, the photographs, the holo-prints, the small mementos, and grand costumes.

Each display or bank of displays was ringed inside red velvet rope. That was for show. The sensor shields ringing those same displays were invisible.

Those were for security.

Auction catalogues, disc or commemorative hard copy, were on sale to those who wanted to shell out over twelve hundred dollars.

A sampling of the catalogue could be accessed onscreen in hotel guest rooms at no charge.

"They're shoes," Eve finally said, pausing by a pair of silver pumps. "Somebody else's shoes. You want to wear somebody else's shoes, you go to a recycle mart."

"But, sir, it's like buying magic."

"It's like buying somebody else's shoes," Eve corrected, and satisfied for the moment, started out.

Magda, and her entourage, stepped off the elevator.

"Eve. I'm so glad I've ran into you." Magda hurried forward, both hands outstretched. Her waterfall of hair was scooped up at the neck. And her eyes were tired. "My son."

"Yes, I know. I'm sorry he's ill. How's he doing?"

"They tell me he'll be fine. Some silly reaction. But they're keeping him sedated and quarantined. I can't even let him know I'm there."

"Now, Magda, of course he knows." Mince patted her arm, but his gaze skipped uneasily to Eve's. "Magda's worrying herself sick over that boy," he said. And his eyes said clearly: Make it stop.

"He's being well taken care of." Eve gave Magda's hands a reassuring squeeze.

"Well, I hope… In any case, I'm told you were there with him when he became ill."

"Yeah, that's right. I'd dropped by to see him to go over some of the security details."

"He was fine when I left." Liza gave Eve a piercing look. "Just fine."

"He certainly seemed to be. So, he didn't complain earlier about being a little queasy, dizzy?"

Back to you, sweetheart, Eve thought.

"No, he was fine."

"He probably didn't want to worry you. He mentioned he'd been feeling a little off. But that was after he started to look pale and clammy and I asked him if he was okay. He got shaky fast after that, said he was sorry, but he needed to lie down. My aide suggested we call the house doctor."

"Yes, sir," Peabody confirmed. "I didn't like his color."

"He didn't want the fuss. I was about to send Peabody to get him some water, when he started to seize. We called for medical assistance. There was a rash spreading just under the neck of his sweater. They clicked on allergic reaction right off."