J. Robb - Judgment in Death

"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 manner that cost me one point two million in cash and merchandise and twice that in reputation and goodwill. So, to start, I'll take ten million, in U.S. dollars."

"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 manner that doesn't require government scrutiny."

"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."

"Backed out? Backed out?" He pounded his fist on the table, shouting so that at the control station, Feeney's ears rang. "You betrayed me, stole from me. You threw my generosity back in my face. I should have killed you for it. Perhaps I still will."

"You want payback, Ricker, for what I did, or didn't do, I'm willing to pay. I'm willing. I know what you're capable of. I respect that."

For effect, Roarke added a slight tremor to his hand as he ordered a second round. "I've still got sources and resources. We can be an asset to each other. My connection to the NYPSD is valuable in itself."

Ricker let out a short laugh. His chest was hurting from the pounding of his heart. He didn't want another whiskey. He wanted his beautiful pink drink. But he would finish first. Finish Roarke first. "I don't need your cop, you pathetic fool. I've got a whole damn squad in my pocket."

"Not like her." Roarke edged forward, eager to deal. "I want her out, but until I convince her, she can be useful. Very useful to you."

"She's barely useful to you. Rumor is you and she are having some marital difficulties."

"Just some bumps. They'll pass. The ten million will help that," Roarke said as he took the second round of drinks. "It takes the pressure off. And I'll get her to resign before much longer. I'm working on it."

"Why? As you said, a police connection's useful."

"I want a wife, not a bloody cop. I prefer having my woman available at my convenience, not running around all hours of the day and night investigating cases." Scowling now, he drank deeply. "A man's entitled to that, isn't he? If I want a cop, I'll buy one. I don't have to marry one."

It was better, Ricker calculated. Even better than he'd expected. He'd have Roarke's money, his humiliation, and his obligation. And he could hold all of them until he killed him. "I can arrange it for you."

"Arrange what?"

"Her resignation. I'll have her out in a month's time."

"In return for?"

"This place. I want it back. And there's a little matter of a shipment I'm expecting. The client I anticipated for it hasn't proved financially solvent. Take it off my hands for, we'll say, another ten million, turn the deed to this club over to one of my subsidiaries, and we'll have a deal."

"What's the merchandise?"

"Pharmaceuticals."

"You know I don't have the contacts to deal in illegals."

"Don't tell me what you do or don't have." Ricker's voice spiked, all but cracked. "Who do you think you are to turn your nose up at me." He lunged over the table, grabbed Roarke by the collar. "I want what I want!"

"He's unstable. We need to move in." She was already striding out of the room when Feeney called out.

"Hold on! Let it play out."

"I can't stay up here."

"I'm not turning up my nose," Roarke said quickly, nervously. "I haven't developed the sources for illegals distribution."

"That's your problem. Your problem. You'll do what I say, all that I say, or get nothing. Take the deal or the consequences."

"Let me think, for God's sake. Pull your men back. Let's not have any trouble in here."

"Fine, that's fine. No trouble."

Well, he's mad, Roarke thought. Stark and raving. The rumors of Ricker's instability hadn't touched on the reality.

"Twenty million's a lot of money. But I'm willing to risk it to get what I want. And to… pay the debt I owe you. But I need to know how you'd work her out of the department without it coming back on me."

It was Ricker's breathing that was audible now, but he didn't hear it. He picked up his whiskey, and his hand trembled, but he didn't see it. All he saw was the fulfillment of a long-cherished wish.

"I can ruin her career inside of a week. Yes, in no time at all. Strings to be pulled. The case she's working on now… she annoys me. She insulted me. Laughed at me."

"She'll apologize." Roarke all but crooned it. "I'll see to it."

"Yes, she'll have to do that. Have to apologize. I won't tolerate anyone laughing at me. Especially a woman."

He had to be pushed, Roarke thought. Gently and quickly. "She will. You have the controls. You have the power."

"That's right. Of course. I do. If I let her live, as a favor to you, I'll take a fee for moving her off the case and out of the department. Misinformation, skewed data in the right computer. It works."