J. Robb - Judgment in Death

She walked upstairs, stripping on her way across the bedroom. Before she could step into the shower, Roarke took her hand. "No, into the tub. You'll sleep better for it."

He ran the water himself. Hot, because she liked it hot, added scent to soothe, programmed the jets to comfort. He undressed, got in with her, and drew her back against him.

"He did it for me. Clooney was going for me, and Webster knocked me down and stepped into the knife."

Roarke pressed his lips to the top of her head. "Then I owe him a debt I can never repay. But you can. By finishing it. And that's what you'll do."

"Yeah, I'll finish it."

"For now, rest"

Fatigue was a weight bearing down on her. She stopped resisting and fell under it.

– =O=-***-=O=-

She woke to sunlight and the scent of coffee. The first thing she saw was Roarke, with a mug of coffee in his hand.

"How much would you pay for this?"

"Name your price." She sat up, took it from him, drank gratefully. "This is one of my favorite parts of the marriage deal." She let the caffeine flow through her system. "I mean, the sex is pretty good, but the coffee… The coffee is amazing. And you're all-around handy yourself most of the time. Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

She took his hand before he could rise. "I wouldn't have slept easy last night without you being here." She gave his hand a squeeze, then shifted toward the bedside 'link. "I want to call and check on Webster."

"I've already called." She wouldn't want it cushioned, so he told her exactly what he knew. "He made it through the night. They nearly lost him twice and took him back in for more surgery. He remains critical."

"Okay." She set the coffee down to scrub her hands over her face. "Okay. He felt like he needed vindication. Let's give it to him."

– =O=-***-=O=-

Purgatory had taken on an edge. Glamour with a bright smear of sin.

"Fast repair work," Eve muttered as she wandered through, scanning the trio of winding, open stairs with their treads edged with hot red lights. On closer study, she noted the banisters that curved down them were sleek and sinuous snakes, and every few feet, one was swallowing its brother's tail.

"Interesting."

"Yes." Roarke ran one of his elegant hands over a reptilian head. "I thought so. And practical. Start up."

"Why?"

"Humor me."

With a shrug, she climbed the first three. "So?"

"Feeney? Do we register on weapon check?"

"You bet. Scanner shows police-issue laser on staircase one, and secondary weapon in ankle harness."

Eve glanced up toward Control, and the hidden speakers where Feeney's voice boomed. With a thin smile, she looked back at Roarke. "Why don't you come on up for a weapon scan, ace?"

"I think not. Similar scanners are set in all entrances and exits, in the bathrooms, and privacy rooms. We'll know what we're up against in that area."

"Boomers," she said, coming down again. "Knives?"

"We can scan for explosives. Knives are trickier, though the metal detectors will take care of any fashioned from that material. An hour before opening, the entire building will be swept a final time, just as a precaution."

"Where do you plan to hold the meet?"

"We've divided the area into twenty-two sectors. Each will have individual security, and all will line to the main control. I'll have a privacy booth in sector twelve, there."

He gestured to a table on the edge of the entertainment platform. She ran her gaze up over the gold and red poles that lanced up from the stage, the pie plate-topped columns, the human-sized gilded cages.

"Close to the action."

"Well now, the show must go on. The booth's been rigged specifically for our purposes. Audio and video will be transmitted directly to the control."

"He'll insist on a scan, probably a jammer."

"Yes, he will, but the system design will override anything he has."

"You're awfully cocky."

"Confident, Lieutenant. I designed the system myself and have already tested it. Two of my hand-picked security will be onstage, performing, during the meet."

"You've got security strippers?"

"Don't hate them because they're beautiful. If it's necessary to deal with any of Ricker's men, they'll do so."

"The deal didn't include civilian hammers. We'll have cops in every sector."

He nodded pleasantly. "I could, of course, simply set up my personal security team without informing you of it. But as a temporary civilian attache, I feel obliged to relay all pertinent information to the team commander."

"Smart-ass."

"I love you, too."

"The bathrooms are mag," Peabody reported as she strode up. "Wait till you see, Dallas. The sinks are like little lakes, and there are like a million miles of counter. All this sexy art painted on the walls. And even sofas."

She caught herself before Eve could reply, cleared her throat. "McNab and I completed our run-through, sir, and all security-audio, visual, and scans-are operational."

"Your uniform jacket is improperly secured, Officer Peabody."

"My…" She looked down, turned bright pink to the roots of her bowl-cut hair, and hastily began to secure the brass buttons McNab had so hastily undone.

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Peabody, are you a damn rabbit? Go fix yourself up somewhere and put your hormones on hold for awhile."

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

Peabody slunk away and left Eve scowling at Roarke. "Don't think I don't know what a big, fat kick you're getting out of this. I told you this thing with McNab was going to screw up my aide."

"As a recent liaison to the NYPSD, I found the conduct disgraceful." He turned back, leading with the grin that made his face impossibly young, ridiculously beautiful. "Absolutely disgraceful. I think we should go do a run-through of the lounges personally. Right now."

"Pervert." She jammed her hands in her pockets and was about to walk away from him and up to Control when the main door opened. Rue MacLean stepped in.

She hesitated when Eve's cold stare blasted her, then straightened her shoulders and crossed the room. They met in front of the bar where Kohli had served his last drink.

"Ms. MacLean."

"Lieutenant. I'm perfectly aware of what you think of me, and you're entitled to say it to my face."

"Why waste my breath? I walked through a cop's blood on this floor. That says enough."

"Eve." Roarke touched her shoulder. He turned to Rue. "You've seen Ricker?"

"Yes. He's-"

"Not here." He gestured to the side wall. The control panel, as the elevator it operated, was hidden in the mural depicting the fall of Adam. The door slid open to a small private car. They rode silently to the owner's office.

Roarke moved to a friggie behind a smoked mirror, took out chilled bottles of spring water, poured. "Why don't you sit down, Rue? Conversations with Ricker have a tendency to shake the spirit."

"Yes, thanks."

"Aren't we polite?" Furious, Eve gestured away Roarke's offer of water. "Aren't we just delightful and civilized. You want to trust her, pal, that's your privilege. Don't expect the same consideration from me. She set you up."

"That's right." Roarke put the glass in Rue's unsteady hand. "And now she's returning the favor. And not without risk."

Roarke took Rue's hand, and though she tried to jerk free, he calmly unbuttoned her cuff and rolled the sleeve up on the arm he'd noticed her favoring.

Dark, ugly bruises ran from wrist to elbow.

"He hurt you. I'm sorry."

"He likes hurting people. Bruises fade. I'm sure your wife will agree, I deserve a great deal worse."

"He has fingers like spikes," was all Eve said, but she felt herself shift inside. "Why did he use them on you?"

"Because he could, for the most part. If he hadn't believed me, I'd have gotten that and worse. Passing on the information from you put him in a good mood."