Betrayal in Death

"Thank God you were there. I hate to think what might have happened if he'd been alone and unable to call for help."

"You could have let me know," Liza interrupted. "I waited and waited for him at Rendezvous. I was worried sick about Vi

"Sorry. Didn't think of it. At the time, he was my priority."

"Of course." And breathing a little easier, Magda smiled. "The important thing is Vince got treatment quickly." She glanced toward the ballroom. "He's going to hate missing all this, after all his hard work."

"Yeah," Eve said. "Bad break."

"Man, Dallas, you were so good." Peabody beamed as they rode the private elevator to base control. "Maybe you should have thought about becoming an actor."

"Yeah, that was a big mistake on my part. Magda's going to have to take it on the chin tomorrow when it comes out about her son. I'm sorry for that."

She stepped out of the elevator and into Roarke's conception of base control.

"Oh. Oh, Dallas," Peabody whispered, overcome by the sheer glamour of the owner's suite.

"Don't drool, Peabody, it's unattractive. And try to remember, we're here to work."

The living area was a long sweep of warm color, plush fabrics, thick rugs in gracious patterns over acres of blond wood. A gleaming copper sculpture sleeked down one wall, spilling deep blue water in a gentle arch into a small, free-form pool decked with flowers and ferns.

Tumbling from the dome ceiling was a chandelier formed of hundreds of slim globes in that same deep blue. The tone was repeated in the grand piano and the marble hearth and mantel of a cozy fireplace.

A spiral of copper led up to a second level. On its landing, pots trailed tangled vine roses.

The atmosphere was so rarefied even the presence of cops, stacked equipment, and a half-dozen portable surveillance monitors couldn't lower it.

It was embarrassing.

When she heard a burst of laughter, Eve strode through the luxury, rounded a curve, and stared hard at the scene in the dining room.

The long table was loaded with food. The banquet, she thought, had been going on for some time from the looks of it. Plates and platters and bowls had been scavenged for their contents. The air still hung with the scents of roasted meat, spices, sauces, and melting chocolate.

Ranged around the scene of the crime were McNab, a pair of uniforms – including the young and promising Officer Trueheart, whom she'd assumed would know better – Feeney, Roarke's head of security, and the culprit himself.

"What the hell is this?"

At her voice, McNab quickly swallowed what was in his mouth, started to choke and turn beet-red, while Feeney pounded him helpfully on the back. The two uniforms came to rigid attention, Roarke's man looked elsewhere. And Roarke greeted her warmly.

"Hello, Lieutenant. Can I fix you a plate?"

"You, you – " She jabbed her finger at the uniforms. "At your stations. McNab, you're a disgrace. Wipe that mustard off your chin."

"It's cream sauce, sir."

"You." She aimed the finger at Roarke. "With me."

"Always."

He strolled out behind her, through a pretty den where another cop was snacking on cocktail shrimp and studying yet another monitor. Eve gave him a hard look, but kept going until she'd reached the relative privacy of the master bedroom suite.

Then she whirled.

"This is not a goddamn party."

"Certainly not."

"What are you doing, ordering up half the food in New York for my men?"

"Providing them with fuel. Most people require it at fairly regular intervals."

"A plate of sandwiches, a couple of pizzas, okay. But you've provided them with enough damn fuel to make them logy and stupid."

"Lieutenant, we have hours yet. Without an occasional break from the stress, tedium, and monotony, we'll all be logy and stupid."

He lifted her rigid chin, turned her face right and left, nodded. "Not bad," he decided, "but you'll want a blocker boost and another hit of anti-inflammatory."

"McNab," she hissed and made him laugh.

"You impressed the bloody hell out of him, taking that minor mountain down with one tackle. But did you have to use your face? I'm very fond of it."

"Apparently you've been brought up-to-date."

"Apparently. When will you get your shot at Yost?"

"I'll wait for tomorrow. He'll pay, Roarke. Between local and federal charges, covering two decades, he'll never see the light of day again. He'll get maximum, solitary, concrete cage. And he knows it."

He nodded again. "Yes, I've thought of that. And I'm content that his life from now on will be worse than death for a man of his tastes and habits."

"Okay." She drew a breath. "You may have to be satisfied with that. Taking Yost out was my priority, and I couldn't risk any delay in doing so. But removing him may screw up this op. I don't see him as directly involved. He's an assassin, not a thief, and his type wouldn't soil themselves by participating in a heist. But in the past few days, we've eliminated Lane, Yost, and Co

"Mick won't tip him."

She wasn't going to argue that. "Whether he does or doesn't, he's out. With Naples's main security tool ru

"Will you be satisfied?"

"No. I want the bastard. Giving Yost to Stowe was… It just was. But Naples and the rest of them would be mine. I also know that the job doesn't always give satisfaction. One way or the other, we proceed as outlined."

By midnight, she'd OD'd on coffee and had studied on monitor every inch of every public area in the hotel. With Feeney and Roarke's man she had reviewed, stage by minute stage, every variable in the security system.

When her commander came in, she rose and prepared to give him a full status report.

"A moment of your time, Lieutenant." He gestured her across the room, near the whispering waterfall. His eyes were dark and tired. "Yost self-terminated."

"Sir?"

"He was remanded to federal custody two hours ago. They were checking him into maximum holding in their facility. The clerk had a cup of coffee on his desk. The son of a bitch managed to grab it, smash it, and still cuffed, slit his own throat with a shard."

"So he got the easy way after all," she murmured. "And cost me my link to Naples."

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir. Thank you for telling me."

"Agent Jacoby's condition is promising. His medical team believes his heart is responding to treatment. He's currently stable."

"That's good. And at least he won't be around to screw this up. If there's anything to screw up."

"I'd like to see this end with you. You remain in command." He glanced around the suite. "Looks like there's plenty of room for one more."

"Check out the di

She stationed herself at the main bank of monitors in the living area. From there she could scan and search the target areas both interior and exterior. The night staff of the hotel went about its business, such as it was. Room service delivered or removed the occasional tray from guest rooms. A few guests returned from a night on the town while others strolled out to begin one.