J. Robb - Survivor in Death

“Only this one, and you may send an officer. Or you may take it with you. I apologize that this will take a few moments. I have ordered all communications and transmissions since the beginning of the partnership.”

“No problem.” He was upset, Eve thought. Holding it in, but struggling with the emotion of realizing he may have done business, years of business, with a murderer. His cooperation could very well lead them to close the case.

“Master Lu.” She spoke with respect and his eyes lifted toward her. “It takes more than skill-even the level of yours-it takes more than training and discipline to go undefeated, to accomplish what you have without once falling to an opponent. How did you do it?”

“Training, yes, skill developed through that training and through discipline-both physical and mental. Spiritual, if you will. And with that, instinct. Anticipation of the opponent and a belief that you can, indeed must, prevail.”

Now he smiled, quickly, charmingly. “And I like to win.”

“Yeah.” Eve grinned back at him. “Me, too.”

THE SHUTTLE TRIP TO PHILADELPHIA PLAYED hell with Roarke's schedule. He'd just have to put in some long hours, perhaps make a few out-of-town trips, to make up for it. It couldn't be helped.

He couldn't-wouldn't-discuss Nixie's situation, her custody, her life, via 'link or holo. In any case, he wanted a face-to-face with Leesa Corday, a personal meeting that would give him a sense of her rather than just straight background data.

His name had cleared the way, gotten him an immediate appointment with her. He imagined she thought he was considering putting her and her firm on retainer. That could be arranged.

It would be simple enough for him to throw some of his business her way as support for Nixie. Money had its uses, after all.

The firm had a strong reputation-he'd checked on that, as well. And while the nature of his business was unknown, he was given what he recognized as the VIP treatment as he was met in the black and silver lobby by Corday's assistant, whisked across the marble floor, and into a private elevator.

The assistant-young, male, in a conservative gray suit-offered him coffee, tea, beverages of any nature. Roarke imagined he'd been primed to arrange to have a trio of LCs deliver it-and anything else- should it be requested.

It was the sort of brown-nosing that irritated him.

Corday's office level was done in strong reds and frothy creams. Lots of translucent automatic doors and a single massive workstation manned by five more assistants.

He was shown through a set of doors into what he recognized as one of the power centers. Corday hadn't yet climbed to the corner office, but she was next in line.

And waiting for him, standing-strategic position-behind her L-shaped black desk, the city's skyline behind her.

Her ID photo had been a good one, reflective of the woman. He knew her to be thirty-eight. He knew where she had her hair styled and where she'd bought the black pinstriped suit she was wearing.

He knew she'd be financially able to hire good child care providers, to afford good schools. And if she needed a bit of incentive, he would offer to set up a trust fund for Nixie's care and education.

He was willing to negotiate.

She had an attractive, soft-featured face, which she sharpened with enhancements-discreet ones. Her hair was a quiet brown worn short, with a kind of triangle at the nape.

The suit showed off a good body as she came around the desk to offer her hand and a welcoming smile. “Mr. Roarke. I hope your trip in was uneventful.”

“It was.”

“What can we offer you? Coffee?”

“Thanks, if you're having some.”

“David?” She turned away from the assistant, obviously expecting him to jump into action.

A point in her favor, in Roarke's opinion.

She gestured to a seating area, waited until he chose one of the wide, black chairs.

“I appreciate you seeing me on such short notice,” he began.

“It's my pleasure. Do you have other business inPhiladelphia?”

“Not today.”

The assistant hurried over with a tray, the coffeepot, cups and saucers, a little bowl of sugar cubes, and a small pitcher of what might have been actual cream.

“Thank you, David. Hold my calls. Now, how would you like your coffee?”

“Just black, thanks. Ms. Corday, I'm aware your time is valuable.”

Her smile was easy as she crossed her legs. “I'm happy to invest as much of it as you need.”

“Appreciated.” He accepted the coffee, and cut through the amenities. “I'm actually here on a personal matter. I'm here on behalf of your niece.”

Her eyes, as quiet a brown as her hair, met his. The brows above them lifted in puzzlement. “My niece? I don't have a niece.”

“Nixie, your stepbrother's daughter.”

“My stepbrother? I assume you're speaking of…” He could almost see her flip through her files for a name. “Grant. My father was married to his mother for a short time. I'm afraid I don't consider him my stepbrother.”

“Are you aware that he and his wife, and his son, were recently murdered?”

“No.” She set her coffee down. “No. God, that's horrible. How?”

“In a home invasion. They were killed, along with a young girl who was spending the night with their daughter, with Nixie. Nixie wasn't in her bedroom, but in another part of the house, and survived.”

“I'm very, very sorry to hear this. Tremendously sorry. I did hear something in the media about these murders. I'm afraid I didn't put it together. I haven't seen or had contact with Grant in years. This is shocking.”

“I'm sorry to tell you this way, but my concern now is for Nixie.”

“I'm a little confused.” She shook her head, touched her fingers to the seed pearls at her throat. “Did you know Grant?”

“I didn't, no. My involvement in all this happened after the murders.”

“I see.” Those quiet eyes sharpened. “Your wife is with the NYPSD, isn't she?”

“She is, yes. This is her case.” He waited a beat, but she failed to ask what the status of that case might be. “At the moment, Nixie is in an undisclosed location, in protective custody. She can't stay there indefinitely.”

“Surely Child Protection-”

“Your stepbrother and his wife named legal guardians, but circumstances prevent those guardians from fulfilling the agreement. As a result, this child has no one who knew her family, no one who had a connection with them, with her, to care for her. I'm here to ask you to consider doing so.”

“Me?” Her head snapped back as if he'd slapped her. “That's impossible. Out of the question.”

“Ms. Corday, you're the closest thing she has to family on planet.”

“Hardly family.”

“All right, then. A connection to family. And her family was murdered, all but in front of her eyes. She's a child, grieving and frightened, and innocent.”

“And I'm sorry, truly sorry for what happened. But it's not my responsibility. She's not my responsibility.”

“Then whose?”

“There's a system in place for circumstances like this for a reason. Frankly, I don't understand your involvement, or why you'd come here expecting me to take on a child I've never even met.”

He knew when a deal had gone south, and when it was best to let it go. But he couldn't quite make himself. “Your stepbrother-”

“Why do you insist on calling him that?” Irritation snapped in her voice. “My father was hooked up with his mother for less than two years. I barely knew the man. I wasn't interested in knowing him, or his family.”

“She has no one.”

“That's not my fault.”

“No. It's the fault of the men who walked into her home, slit the throats of her parents, her brother, her young friend. So now she has no home.”