Judgment in Death

"I'll be sick. What kind?"

– =O=-***-=O=-

They ended up back on the floor with enormous bowls of Triple Fudge Decadence topped with clouds of pink whipped cream.

"I wasn't wrong," Eve said between bites.

"Of course you weren't. We're women. We're never wrong."

"Even Summerset went on my side, and he hates me."

"Doesn't hate you."

"I love the stupid son of a bitch."

"Aw, that's so sweet." Mavis's eyes, seriously blurred, went moist with sentiment. "If you'd tell him, you guys would get along better."

It took Eve a minute. "Not Summerset. Jeez. Roarke. I love that stupid son of a bitch. You'd think he could cut me a break when this case is hammering at me, and I don't know what I'm doing."

"You always know what you're doing. That's why you're Dallas, Lieutenant Eve."

"Not with the job, Mavis. I know what I'm doing with the job. With Roarke, with the marriage deal, with this love crap. You must be drunk."

"Of course I'm drunk. We each drank an entire batch of Leonardo's-isn't he the cutest thing-special screamer mix."

"You're right." Eve set her empty bowl aside, pressed a hand to her stomach. "I have to go throw up now."

"Okay. I'm next, so let me know when you're done."

As Eve stumbled to her feet, staggered out of the room, Mavis simply curled up, tucked one of the satin throws under her head, and went blissfully to sleep.

– =O=-***-=O=-

Eve washed her face, studied her pale, sloppy-eyed reflection in the mirror. She looked soft, she thought. Soft, a little stupid, and more than drunk. With some regret, she raided Mavis's supply of Sober-Up. After brief consideration, she decided to take only one. She wasn't quite ready to give up the buzz a full dose would dull.

When she found Mavis asleep on the floor, like a doll among a forest of colorful toys, she gri

She leaned down, gave Mavis's shoulder a little shake. When she got a sexy little purr as a response, she decided to forgo her plan to help Mavis to bed. Instead, she plucked one of the many fabric throws off the sofa, tucked it around her sleeping friend.

And straightening again, had her head spin.

"Yep, still half drunk. Good enough."

She left the apartment, rolling her shoulders like a boxer prepping for a bout. She would deal with Roarke all right, she thought. She was more than ready for it.

The fresh air hit her, knocked her back. She stood a moment, breathing slowly, then walked, in mostly a straight line, to her car. She had wit enough to program it to auto and let it take her home.

She was going to straighten this out, she told herself. Yes, she was. And if she had to get Roarke into bed to do it, well… the sacrifices she had to make.

That made her snort with laughter and settle back to enjoy the ride.

New York looked so cheerful, she decided. The glidecarts were doing brisk business, as the pedestrian traffic was thick. The street thieves, she thought with mild affection, were having a field day plucking the tourists and the unwary.

Greasy smoke stinking of overcooked soy dogs and rehydrated onion bits plumed in front of her car. Two street LCs were in a shoving match on the corner of Sixth and Sixty-second while a hopeful John cheered them on. One Rapid Cab tried a sneak maneuver around another, missed, and scraped fenders. The two drivers were out of the cars like jacks from the box, squaring off with fists.

God. She loved New York.

She watched a flock of the head-shaven Pure Sect, well out of their bailiwick, herd each other uptown. An ad blimp, past curfew, glided overhead and touted the delights of a package trip to Vegas II. Four days, three nights, round-trip and deluxe accommodations for two, all for the low-low-low price of twelve thousand and eighty-five.

What a deal.

The blimp chugged its way downtown as she continued up.

The pedestrian traffic thi

Welcome to Roarke's world, she thought, amused at herself.

As she approached the gates, a figure stepped into the path of her vehicle. Eve let out a yelp, and fortunately, the programming accessed the obstruction and hit the brakes. Mild a

She rolled down her window, glared at him. "You got a death wish? This is a city vehicle, and I was on auto."

"Good thing, as you look a little impaired." Sleepy, he thought. Sleepy, smashed, and sexy. "Night on the town?"

"Bite me, Webster. What do you want?"

"I need to talk to you." He glanced at the gates. "It's not easy getting into this place. How about a lift?"

"I don't want you in my house."

The engaging smile he'd fixed on his face hardened. "Ten minutes, Dallas. I promise not to steal the silver."

"I have an office at Central. Make an appointment."

"If it wasn't important, do you think I'd be hanging out in front of your house waiting to give you a chance to bust my balls?"

She wished she didn't see the logic of that. Wished she wasn't sober enough to resist the urge to roll the window up and leave him outside the gates. She jerked a thumb toward the passenger seat. While he walked around the car to get in, it occurred to her that for the last few hours, murder hadn't entered her head.

"It better be important, Webster. If you're hosing me, I'm going to do a lot more than bust your balls."

She completed the turn toward the gates. Her vehicle ID was sca

"Pretty heavy security for a residence," he commented.

She didn't nibble at that particular bait, but she wished she'd gone for both Sober-Ups so her mind would be absolutely clear.

She left the car at the end of the drive, led the way up the steps. He was doing his best not to gape at the house but didn't manage to swallow the low whistle when she opened the front door.

"I've got a meeting," she said, even as Summerset stepped into view and opened his mouth.

With her hands jammed in her pockets, she headed upstairs. Webster gave up, stared down at the elegant butler, sca

But when he stepped into her office, one Roarke had modeled to reflect her previous apartment, he nodded. "This is more like it. Streamlined and practical."

"Now that I have your approval, spill it. I've got work to do."

"You had time to go out and knock a few back tonight."

She angled her head, folded her arms. "Are you under the impression you have any say in what I do with my time, on or off the job?"

"Just an observation." He prowled the room, picking up, setting back, items at random, then nearly jolted when he saw the enormous cat curled up in his sleep chair and watching him out of narrowed bicolored eyes.

"Palace guard?"

"Damn right. One word from me, and he'll claw your eyes out and eat your tongue. Don't make me set him off."

He laughed, ordered himself to relax. "Got any coffee?"

"Yes." She stood just where she was.

He laughed again, a short, resigned sound. "I was going to say you used to be friendlier, but you weren't. Something about that mean streak of yours always did it for me. I must be sick."

"Get to the point, or get out."

He nodded, yet still he stalled, walking to her window, staring out. "Your current avenues of investigation are infringing on an IAB movement."

"Aw, I feel so bad about that."

"I warned them about you. They didn't listen. Had this idea that you could be handled." He turned back, met her eyes. "I'm here to order you off Ricker."

"You have no authority to order me off anything."

"Request," he amended. "I'm here to request you back off your investigation of Max Ricker."