Seduction In Death

"I take it you didn't get together for a quick beer after a hard day over the petri dish."

"Couldn't stand the son of a bitch. Can't knock his professional skills. There's a brilliant mind in that puffed up prima do

He sucked on his pipe a little, thinking. "He hand-selected most of the teams. Brought his doormat of a daughter in on it. What the hell was her name… Hah, who gives a shit? Good brain, worked like a dog, and had nothing to say for herself."

"Can I assume from this the project was primarily McNamara's baby?"

"He made the majority of decisions, made the blueprints for the direction the work took. It was a corporate project, but McNamara was the figurehead, spokesperson, main son of a bitch in charge. There was a lot of money riding on the deal. Corporate money, private investors. Sex sells. We had some luck in a couple areas."

"Considerable."

"Guaranteeing a man he can still get a boner when he's a hundred and two and letting a woman keep her biological clock ticking past the half-century mark." Stiles shook his head. "Money and media from that bumped things up. The less snappy stuff we accomplished – infertility aids without the risks of multiple births – wasn't as newsworthy. The brass was looking for more, and McNamara put on the pressure for us to give them more. We were working with dangerous elements, unstable ones. Tempting ones. The costs rose, and experiments were pushed too fast to make up the margin. Bad chemistry. Side effects, unsanctioned use. Recreational, too. Lawsuits started piling up, and they shut the project down."

"And McNamara?"

"Managed to stay out of the stink." Stiles's mouth turned down in disgust. "He knew what was going on. Nothing ever got by him."

"What about staff? Anyone you remember who had a particular affection for recreational use?"

"Do I look like a weasel?" Stiles barked.

"Actually… ah, you meant metaphorically, not literally."

"Give it another fifty years, you won't look so pretty either."

"Just one more thing to look forward to, Stiles." Roarke switched gears, sobered, leaned forward. "This is hardly gossip. Two women murdered, one in a coma. If there's a possibility the source springs back to that project – "

"What women? What murders?"

Roarke nearly sighed. How could he have forgotten who he was talking to? "Get out of the lab occasionally, Stiles."

"Why? There are people out there. Nothing fucks things up faster than people."

"There's a person or persons out there right now drugging women with the very chemicals you and this lab experimented in. Drugging them to death."

"Not bloody likely. Do you know how much it would take to induce death? The cost of the elements involved?"

"I have that data, thank you. The cost in this case doesn't seem to be an issue."

"Hell of a lot of money, even if he's cooking it himself."

"What would it take to cook it himself?"

Stiles thought for a moment. "Good lab, diagnostic and equation units, first-class chemist. Air-seal lock for holding during stabilization process. Has to be privately funded, black market. Any accredited lab or center was working on this, I'd know about it."

"Put your ear to the ground," Roarke told him, "and see if you hear about anything that's not accredited." His pocket-link beeped. "Excuse me."

He engaged privacy mode, flipped on the earpiece. "Roarke."

Eve hated cooling her heels. She particularly hated it in a space where she was considered as much Roarke's wife, maybe more, than a badge. The Palace was one of those spaces.

She hated it only slightly less after being escorted to Roarke's hotel office where she could interview the waiter who'd served Moniqua and her attacker.

She preferred her visit to Rikers where the facilities were spare, the staff snarly, and the inmates vicious. Even if her interview with Gu

"I'll have Jamal brought up to you the moment he arrives." The ruthlessly sleek lounge hostess gestured when the elevator doors opened. "If there's anything else I, or any of the Palace staff, can do to aid in your investigation, you've only to ask."

It required both a thumbprint and a code to unlock the office, and this required enlisting the help of the executive office manager.

Security was never taken for granted in a Roarke Industries holding.

"In the meantime" – the hostess smiled warmly – "may I offer you any refreshment?"

"A sparkling mango." Peabody leaped in with the request before Eve could throw up the wall against such niceties. She met Eve's dour look. "I'm kind of thirsty."

"Of course." The hostess glided over to the carved cupboard that held the refreshment center and programmed the AutoChef. "And for you, Lieutenant?"

"Just the waiter."

"He's due in very shortly." She offered Peabody the mango in a tall, fluted glass. "If there's nothing else I can do for you, I'll give you your privacy."

She stepped out, closing the doors discreetly behind her.

"These are really good." Peabody savored each swallow. "You should go for one."

"We're not here to slurp down fancy drinks." Eve wandered the room. Despite the cutting-edge equipment, it was more luxury apartment than office. "I want the waiter's statement before I hit Dr. McNamara. Stop guzzling that and check on Moniqua Cline's condition."

"I can do both."

While she did, Eve contacted Feeney. "Give me something."

"You been to Rikers already?"

"Come and gone. Gu

"Same old Gu

"Otherwise, he was a washout. He was pissed off enough to find out somebody was out there making money in his area for me to believe he doesn't know a damn thing. So give me something."

"I told you it was go

"Time's passing. One of them may have a date tonight."

"Dallas, you know how much crap's passed through this unit? It's a public rental for Christ's sake. I can't just reach in and pluck a single user out like a frigging rabbit out of a hat."

"You've got Cline's unit. Can't you run the crosscheck?"

"Do I look like this is my first day on the job? He didn't play with her on this one. Not that I can find. You want me to explain what the hell I'm doing here, or you want me to do it?"

"Do it." She started to cut off, caught herself. "Sorry," she added, then cut off.

"No change," Peabody told her. "She's still critical and comatose."

The door opened. Eve told herself she shouldn't have been the least surprised to see Roarke walk in.

"What are you doing here?"

"I believe this is my office." He glanced around. "Yes, I'm sure it is. Jamal, this is Lieutenant Dallas and Officer Peabody. They're going to ask you some questions, and require your full cooperation."

"Yes, sir."

"Relax, Jamal," Eve told him. "You're not in any trouble."

"No. This is about the woman in the coma. I saw a bulletin, and wondered if I should go to the police station or to work." He glanced at Roarke.

"The surroundings are a bit more comfortable here," Roarke said easily.

"So you say," Eve muttered under her breath.

"Sit down, Jamal," Roarke invited. "Would you like anything to drink?"

"No, sir. Thank you."

"Would you mind," Eve interrupted, "if I conducted this interview?"

"Not at all." Roarke walked over, took a seat behind his desk. "And no, I'm not leaving. Jamal's entitled to have a representative present."

"I would like to help." Jamal sat, his back arrow-straight, and folded his hands neatly on his lap. "Even if I hadn't been instructed to give full cooperation, I would want to help. It's my duty."