Strangers In Death

“See, you should’ve been a cop.”

He only sighed. “Why would you want to start another fight when we’ve just made up?”

“We have to have sex to really make up.”

“Well then.”

“Not now, ace.” She gave him a light shove back. “Work first, makeup sex later.” Rising, she wondered if she’d regret scarfing down that last slice of pizza. “I need to take another hard look at the case file on the old man’s death. Her father-in-law. Pick it apart, find the chinks. People don’t commit perfect murders, and she sure as hell didn’t pull off every last detail twice. If I can find the cracks there, they could lead to the cracks here. Or vice versa.”

“I guess you’ll be wanting that hammer again.”

She gri

“That’s my one-track mind.” He stood, pulled her close and took her in a kiss that had her eyes rolling to the back of her head. “Just collecting my down payment,” he told her.

She glanced back at the room as they walked out together. “Redecorating, redecorating. How much lead time did you need to get somebody in to do the room?”

“Essentially none, but I do own the firm who did the job.”

“Yeah, you being you. How much for normal people?”

“It would depend on the size of the job, the demands of the client, and how much money the client was willing to throw at the decorating team.”

“I bet your people could find out easy who Ava used, and when she had her first consult.”

“I bet they could. I’ll make a call.” He gave her ass a friendly pat. “I’ll be in shortly. I want to change out of this suit.”

She kept going, then turned, walked backward. “Roarke?”

He glanced back. “Hmm?”

“I’d have fallen for you even if you had twice as much money, which is virtually impossible. But still.”

“I’d have fallen for you even if your head was twice as hard, again virtually impossible. And still.”

“We’re good,” she said, then continued on to her office.

19

WHEN HE CAME IN, SHE SAT AT HER DESK, HER jacket tossed on the back of her sleep chair. The jacket, he knew, would bother her while she worked. The weapon she still wore? Its weight wouldn’t register any more than the weight of her own arms.

Steam rose out of the mug on her desk. Coffee, he thought, nearly equaled the weapon as part of her essential makeup.

She hadn’t yet worked herself into exhaustion on this one. He’d seen her work, worry, wrangle with a case until her system simply collapsed from neglect. But this one, he realized, was different. She was juiced.

“It’s a competition.”

She glanced over, brows knit. “What?”

“You’re as involved and determined as you are, always. You’ve made the victim yours, as you always do. But you’re not suffering this time around.”

“Suffering? I don’t suffer.”

“Oh, but you do, darling Eve. Murder infuriates you, insults you, and the victims haunt you. Every one. But for this, for this particular one, it’s challenged you above all else. She challenges you-and your attitude toward her, which strikes me as a personal level of dislike, kicks that up a notch. You’re damned if you aren’t going to beat her.”

“Maybe. Whatever works. Whatever gets the job done. So, the efficient Leopold came through. I’ve got his incoming here, the list of parents Ava tapped for grunt work. The ones he had some record of or remembered, anyway. We’ll split those if you’re up for it.”

“Shoot my share to my unit.”

“Okay. We’ll divide by alpha. We should…I don’t like her,” Eve said suddenly. “Didn’t like her pretty much from the jump. Didn’t like her when I stood watching her on the security screen as she walked into the house the morning of.”

“With her well-groomed hair and coordinating wardrobe,” Roarke remembered.

“Yeah. It was…” Eve snapped her fingers. “But that screws objectivity, so I pushed it back. Thing is, it kept pushing back in again. It took me a while-well, not that much while, but some-to figure out why.”

Since he sensed something there, he sat on the corner of her desk. “All right. Tell me why.”

“Don’t get bent over it.”

He angled his head. “Why would I?”

“She reminds me of Magdelana.”

He said nothing for a moment, just watched her face, then rising, he walked over to the murder board to study Ava’s.

“Not just the high-class blonde thing,” Eve began.

“No,” he said quietly, “not just.” He thought of Magdelana, the woman he’d once cared for. The woman who’d betrayed him, and on the return trip had done everything in her power to hurt Eve and chip away at their marriage.

“Not just,” he repeated. “They’re both users, aren’t they? Manipulators with a wholly selfish core polished over with sophistication and style. Very much the same type. You’re right about that.”

“Okay.”

Hearing the relief in her voice, he looked over at her. “Did you think I’d be a

“Maybe some, maybe more if I’d finished it out and said that because she reminds me of Magdabitch, I’m going to experience a tingly, even orgasmic satisfaction by bringing her down.”

“I see. Revenge by proxy.”

“She deserves the cage on her own merits or lack thereof. But yeah, maybe some element of revenge by proxy.”

Walking back, he leaned down, kissed the top of Eve’s head. “Whatever works. And now that you’ve pointed it out, I’ll enjoy some of that tingly satisfaction as well. Thanks for that.”

“It’s small, petty, and probably inappropriate of us.”

“Which will make it all the more orgasmic. Send over the file. I’ll just cop some of your coffee, then get started.”

Whatever works, Eve thought again as he strolled into the kitchen. What really worked, was them.

She ordered her unit to copy and send Roarke’s unit the names on file begi

Plenty of little slaves and servants to pick from, she thought. A nice wide field of the vulnerable, the needy, the grateful. The bitch just had to keep circling until…

“Wait. Whoa. Wait.”

With coffee in hand, Roarke stepped back in. “That was fast.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Scooping back her hair, Eve launched to her feet. “Computer, display on screen, data for Custer, Suza

“Who might that be?” Roarke wondered.

“Wait, wait. Computer, display on second screen, data on Custer, Ned.”

Roarke did wait, studied both photos, the basic identification data. “Husband and wife, and he’s deceased. Recently.”

“He’s Baxter’s.” She dropped back down into the chair. “I didn’t keep the damn file. I need the damn case file on this guy.”

“Move,” Roarke ordered. “Get up. Give me a moment.”

“Don’t hack into Baxter’s police unit. I’ll tag him and-”

“And I’ll have it for you a great deal quicker. It’s hardly hacking, as it’s ridiculously easy. And you’re authorized in any case.” He gave her shoulder a light, but purposeful shove. “Give me the chair a minute.”

“All right, all right.” In any case, it gave her time to pace and think. She stared at the woman on screen-pretty in a toned-down, tired-eyed kind of way. Couple of kids, professional mother’s stipend, philandering, heavy-handed husband.

“Coincidence, my ass.”

“Quiet,” Roarke muttered. “Half a minute more here. Ah, and there we are. What do you need from this?”

“Take down the data on screen, put that up. We’ll scroll through.” She felt it, felt it in her bones. But…“I want your take here without any of my input first.”

He read, as she did, of the quick and nasty death of one Ned Custer by person or persons unknown. Cheap sex flop, slit throat-attack from behind-castration, no trace or DNA, no witnesses. No trail.

“So the wife was well-alibied, I see.”

“Solid. They ran the ’link calls, confirmed the source. She was in her apartment when he got sliced. No boyfriends, no close relatives or friends. Baxter and Trueheart are thorough, and they didn’t pop anything on this.”