J. Robb - Vengeance in Death

Roarke angled his head, nodded. "Point taken. I'll have a look, personally, at my electronic security."

"Fine, that's a start." She slopped coffee into a cup. "I'm putting a tag on Summerset."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm tagging him." The fury was bubbling, couldn't be stopped. "For his own welfare. The next time I find a body, I want him well alibied. I put a tag on him, fit him with a security bracelet, or cage him. I figure the first is the easiest choice."

"Perhaps it is." Roarke decided brandy would go down easier than coffee. "And do you intend to put a tag on me, Lieutenant?''

"If I thought one could stick, damn right I would. Since you'd peel it off within an hour, it would be a waste of time."

"Well." He lifted his snifter in salute. "We understand each other."

"I think we do." She drew a breath. "I contacted the ME. There were traces of a tranq in Jennie O'Leary's system."

Roarke stared into his brandy. "Had she been raped?"

"No, there were no signs of sexual assault, no indication of struggle. She was still tranq'd when he strung her up. But the token – there was another token – the ME found it in her vagina. Again, there was no bruising or indication of force or struggle. It would appear that the token was inserted while she was unconscious. I'm sorry, but I thought you'd want the details."

"I do, yes."

"The ME reports that you've requested – as the victim has no next of kin – to be given possession of the body when it's released."

"She'd want to go back to Ireland."

"I assume you'll take the body back yourself."

"Yes."

The burn in her gut spread to her heart. "I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know when you've finalized your plans."

He looked up then, and the emotions swimming in those beautiful eyes stabbed her heart. "Did you think I would send her back alone? That I would wash my hands of it and go about my business?"

"No. I've got work."

"For Christ's sake."

It was the tone, impatience, frustration, and just a whiff of amusement that had her whirling on him. "Don't take that line with me, pal. Don't try to make me feel like an idiot. You loved her. Okay, fine. Do what you have to do, and so will I."

He was swearing viciously by the time he caught her. Even the whiff of amusement was extinguished. "Yes, I loved her, and what we once had was important to me. Even so it wasn't so much as a shadow against what I feel for you. Is that what you want to hear?"

Shame rushed over her, smothering temper. "I don't know what's wrong with me. It's all pushing into my head." Feeling helpless, she lifted her fingers to press at her temples. "None of the others mattered because… I don't know, they just don't matter to me. She does, and I hate myself for being jealous, even for a minute, of a dead woman."

"Eve." He laid a hand on her cheek. "From the first moment I met you, every other woman paled for me."

She only felt more foolish."I wasn't groping, it's just – ''

"You're all," he murmured, touching his lips to each pounding temple in turn. "You're only."

The burning around her heart turned to an ache, sweet and strong. "I need you." Her arms came tight around him, her mouth fused to his. "For so many things."

"Thank God." He deepened the kiss, gentled it until she sighed. "We'll take that hour now. Together."

She could think again. Until she'd met Roarke, Eve hadn't realized how many benefits sex had to offer. Feeling limber, focused, and energized, she settled down in her office.

The new computer Roarke had arranged to have installed that morning was a beauty. Eve indulged herself, admiring it, tinkering with the tonal qualities. Her mood lifted even higher as it gobbled up the data she inputed like a hungry, yet well-mannered wolf.

"Oh, you honey," she murmured and stroked its sleek, stylishly black armor. "Okay, let's see what you can do. Run probability scan, file A data. What is the probability that victims Brennen, Conroy, and O'Leary were murdered by same perpetrator?"

Working, the computer announced in a creamy baritone enlivened with a hint of Parisian French. Before Eve could finish her grin, the scan was complete.

Probability ninety-nine point six three percent.

"Dandy, remain in file A. What is the probability that suspect Summerset committed murders?''

Working… Probability eighty-seven point eight percent. With current data arrest warrant for murder, multiple, first degree, is recommended. Please advise if list of available judges is desired.

"No thanks, Bruno, but I appreciate the advice."

Please advise if you wish to contact the prosecuting attorney's office.

"Eve."

She looked over, saw Roarke in the doorway. "Hold on, Bruno." Eve swiped her hair back, rolled her shoulders. "I told you I was going to work."

"Yes, so you did." He wore only jeans, unhooked at the waist and obviously tugged on as an afterthought.

Despite the fact that her blood was still warm from him, it heated now. She found herself fantasizing about tugging those unfastened jeans off again, then maybe nipping her teeth into his firm, naked butt for good measure.

"Huh?" she managed when his voice got through her fantasy.

"I said…" He paused, then, recognizing the glint in her eyes, arched a brow. "Christ Jesus, Eve, what are you, a rabbit?"

"I don't know what you mean." She shifted back and stared hard at her monitor.

"You certainly do, and I'm more than happy to accommodate you… after you explain why you're running probabilities on Summerset. I thought you agreed he was innocent."

"I'm doing my job, and before you start," she continued, holding up a hand, "I'll explain. I've run the probability from my file A, which contains all the data, all the evidence that I'm free to pass on through official channels at this time. This analysis indicates that I'll be carting Summerset off to maximum lockup in restraints. It's not a lock at under ninety percent, but nobody would argue with the arrest."

She rolled her shoulders again, blew her bangs out of her eyes. "Now we'll run the scan using file B, which is everything I know, everything I have. Computer – "

"I thought its name was Bruno."

"Just a joke," Eve muttered. "Computer, run probability scan, suspect Summerset, using file B."

Working… With additional data probability index drops to forty-seven point three eight percent. Warrant is not advised with available data.

"Cuts the probability by more than half. And I'd say with Mira's testing results logged in after tomorrow, it'll drop more. File A will drop some, too, maybe just enough to keep his ass from swinging."

"I should have known." Roarke moved behind her, leaned down to press his lips to the top of her head.

"He's not clear yet. The God guy's counting on me not being willing to trade you off for Summerset – and he's got that right."

"But he's underestimated you."

"Goddamn right. And he's overplayed, Roarke, I can use that with Whitney, too. A man smart enough to pull off these murders isn't stupid enough to leave such an obvious trail. It stinks from setup. And he's going to want to play again. Riddles. Games," she mused, leaning back in her chair. "He likes to fall back on God, but he likes his games. Games are for children."

"Tell that to the linebacker for Big Apple Arena Ball and see where it gets you."

She only shrugged. "So, men are children."

He barely sighed. "Thank you so much."

"Men are more into toys, games, gizmos as status symbols. You've got a house full of them."

A bit nonplussed by her opinion, he slipped his hands into his pockets. "I beg your pardon?"

"I don't just mean the toy toys like video and holo rooms." Her forehead was furrowed now, the line between her brows deepening. "Cars, planes, entertainment centers, spar droids, VR equipment, hell, your businesses are toys."