Judgment in Death

"And business is still business."

"I'd heard you've had a little trouble with yours."

"Nothing that hasn't been dealt with."

"Really? You lost a few of your clients last year."

"I did some… restructuring."

"Ah yes. A wedding present perhaps, to your most charming wife."

"Leave my wife out of it."

"Difficult, if not impossible." It was satisfying, extremely satisfying, to hear that hint of tension in Roarke's voice. There'd been a time, Ricker thought, it wouldn't have shown. "But we can discuss just what you're willing to trade for that kind of consideration."

As with an effort, Roarke took a breath, appeared to calm himself. "We'll use my booth. I'll buy you a drink."

As he started to turn, one of Ricker's guards laid a hand on his arm, stepped in to check him for weapons. Roarke simply shifted, gripped the man's thumb, and jerked it backward.

Too much weakness too quickly would, after all, be suspect.

"Do that again, and I'll rip it off at the knuckle and feed it to you." His eyes went back to Ricker's. "And you know it."

"I'm glad to see at least that much hasn't changed." Ricker gestured his man back. "But you can hardly expect me to have a drink without some basic precautions."

"Have one of the sweepers scan me and the booth. If that doesn't satisfy, fuck yourself. It's my place now."

A muscle in Ricker's cheek jumped, and he felt the rush of heat through his gut. But he nodded. "I never cared for that Irish temper of yours, however colorful. But as you say, it's your place. For the moment."

"All right," Eve said. "They're moving to the booth. Feeney, tell me his system's going to override their scan."

"It overrode mine. I asked him to show me the design, but he just smiled." He swiveled toward a secondary monitor. "Look, see, their sweep's coming up clean, getting just what Roarke said it would get and nothing else. Now we'll settle us down for a little alcoholic refreshment and conversation."

"Peabody," Eve said, reading off the weapons scan. "Your man is left end of the bar, mixed race, black suit. Five-ten, a hundred fifty, shoulder-length black hair. He's armed with a police-issue laser, waist holster. Got him?"

At Peabody's nod, she continued. "Everyone keep individual targets in close visual range, but do not move in, do not move in to apprehend or disarm until ordered. Martinez, your man is…"

– =O=-***-=O=-

"Your droid squad stays out of the booth," Roarke said as he stepped into the tube. "I don't talk business with an audience."

"My thoughts exactly." Ricker moved into the privacy dome, sat as the opening whisked shut behind him.

He had what he wanted now, what he'd pla

"Hell of a view," he commented as the dancers spun onstage. "You always did have a taste for women. A weakness for them."

"True enough. As I recall, you just like to knock them around. You put bruises on my wife."

"Did I?" Ricker asked i

Roarke took out his cigarettes, tapping one on the table as he met Ricker's sneer. An i

"The same, for old times' sake."

"Two whiskeys. Jameson's. Doubles, and straight up." Then he sat back, lighted the cigarette. "And I'll say this straight up, and that's for old times' sake as well. My marriage stays out of your reach."

Roarke's voice took on an edge; then he paused as if to control it. "You've tried for my wife, and she's tossed what you've sent at her back at you."

"She's been lucky." But Ricker's mouth was tight as he reached for one of the glasses of amber liquid that came through the serving slot. "Luck eventually breaks."

Roarke's hand shot out. As if he caught himself at the last moment, he drew it back, glancing out toward the guard who had moved closer, whose own hand had drifted under his coat.

"What do you want in trade for a guarantee of her safety?"

"Ah." Pleased, Ricker sat back again. "That's a reasonable question. But why, I wonder, should you think I'd offer a reasonable answer to it?"

"I'll make it worth your while," Roarke said quickly. Too quickly for pride or business sense.

"That will take some doing." Thrilled, already desperate to push, he leaned forward. "You see, I find I enjoy hurting your wife."

"Listen-"

"No, you'll listen. You'll shut that arrogant mouth of yours as I should have shut it for you years ago, and you'll listen. Do you understand?"

"The man must have a death wish."

Roarke heard Feeney's voice clearly enough, appreciated the truth of his observation. He fisted both hands on the table, let his breath in and out audibly. "Yes, I understand. Just give me some terms, damn it. We're businessmen. Tell me what you want."

"Please."

Christ, you miserable prick, Roarke thought. Carefully, he cleared his throat, picked up his whiskey. Drank. "Please. Tell me what you want."

"Better. Much better. A number of years ago, you rashly severed our association, and did so in a ma

"And what, precisely, will that ten million buy me?"

"Precisely, Roarke? Your wife's life. Transfer that amount to an account I'll give you by midnight tonight, or I will initiate the contract on her that I have pending."

"You need to give me a little time to-"

"Midnight, or I terminate her."

"Even you should hesitate before contracting on a cop, and such a high-profile one."

"I owe you a great deal more than one cop. Your choice. Keep the money, lose the woman." He ran the saber points of his nails over the side of the glass in a nasty, shrieking sound. "It's not negotiable."

"That's enough right there," Eve murmured. "It's enough to put him away."

"He'll get more." Feeney shifted in his seat. "He's just warming up."

"She's worth ten million to me, but…" Roarke lifted his glass, sipped slowly now, as if calculating. "I believe we forge a truer trust in this matter by adding to the arrangement. I'm interested in more than a single deal. I have some funds I'd prefer to invest in a ma

"Tired of being an upstanding citizen?"

"In a word? Yes." He shrugged, glanced around, and let his gaze linger just a moment too long on the dancer grinding out her routine on the other side of the dome.

And in doing so, he felt Ricker's amusement.

"I'm considering changing my home base, doing some traveling. I'm looking for some new business ventures. Something with some juice."

"And you're coming to me? You would dare to come to me, as if we're equals? You'll have to crawl before I throw you a scrap."

"Then this conversation is pointless." Roarke shrugged again, but made it jerky, drained his glass.

"You used to be so cocky, so cold. Now look at you. She's sucked you dry. Gone soft, haven't you? Forgotten what it's like to give orders that change lives. That end them. I could end yours now with a snap of my finger." Ricker's eyes gleamed as he leaned close, whispered. "Maybe I will, for old times' sake."

It was brutally hard not to smash that leering face with his fist and take out the guard with his hand under his coat. "Then you won't get your ten million or anything else from me. Maybe you have a right to be angry with the way I backed out on you before."