J. Robb - Vengeance in Death

He leaned forward to touch his lips to hers. "So I could tickle you in the back room? There's your reel," he added when the music brightened.

Eve glanced over, saw Brian coming back her way with neat, bouncing little steps. "I like him."

"So do I. I'd forgotten how much."

Sunshine and rain fell together and turned the light into a pearl. In the churchyard stood ancient stone crosses, pitted from age and wind. The dead rested close to each other, intimates of fate. The sound of the sea rose up from beyond rocky cliffs in a constant muted roar that proved time continued, even here.

There wasn't a single airbike or tram to spoil the sky where clouds layered over the blue like folded gray blankets. And the grass that covered the hills that rose up toward that sky was the deep emerald of hopes and dreams.

It made Eve think of an old video, or a hologram program.

The priest wore long traditional robes and spoke in Gaelic. The burying of the dead was a ritual only the rich could afford. It was a rare sight, and a crowd gathered outside the gates, respectively silent as the casket was lowered into its fresh pit.

Roarke rested his cheek on the top of Eve's head, gathering comfort as the mourners made the sign of the cross. He was putting more than a friend into the ground, and knew it. He was putting part of himself, a part he'd already thought long buried.

"I need to speak with the priest a moment."

She lifted a hand to the one he'd laid on her shoulder. "I'll wait here."

As he moved off, Brian stepped up to her. "He's done well by Jennie. She'll rest here – have the shade of the ash in the summer." With his hands comfortably at his sides, he looked out over the churchyard. "And they still ring the bells in the belfry of a Sunday morning. Not a recording, but the bells themselves. It's a fine sound."

"He loved her."

"There's nothing quite so sweet as the first love of the young and the lonely. You remember your childhood sweetheart?''

"I didn't have one. But I understand it."

Brian laid a hand on her shoulder, gave it a quick squeeze. "He couldn't have done better than you, even if you did make the unfortunate mistake of becoming a cop. Are you a good one, Lieutenant darling?"

"Yeah." Something in the way he'd asked had her looking over, into his face. "It's what I'm best at."

He nodded, and his thoughts seemed to drift as he shifted his gaze. "Christ knows how much money Roarke's passing the priest in that envelope."

"Do you resent that? His money?"

"No indeed." And he laughed a little. "Not that I don't wish I had it as well. He earned it. Always was the next game, the next deal with our lad Roarke. All I wanted was the pub, and since I have my heart's desire, I suppose I'm rich as well."

Brian looked down at the simple black skirt of her suit, the unadorned black pumps Eve wore. "You're not dressed for cliff walking, but would you take my arm and stroll along that way with me?"

"All right." There was something on his mind, she thought, and decided he wanted privacy to share it.

"Do you know, I've never been across that sea to England," Brian began as he walked slowly over the uneven ground. "Never had the wanting to. A man can go anywhere, on- or off-planet, and in less time than it takes to think of it, but I've never been off this island. Do you see those boats down there?"

Eve looked over the cliffs, down into the restless sea. Hydro-jetties streamed back and forth, skimming the waves like pretty stones. "Commuters and tourists?"

"Aye, rushing over to England, rushing over here. Day after day, year after year. Ireland's still poor compared to its neighbors, so an ambitious laborer might take a job over there, ride the jetties, or the airbus if he's plumper in pocket. It'll cost him ten percent of his wages for the privilege of living in one country and working in another, as governments always find an angle, don't they, for nipping into a man's pocket. At night, back he comes. And where does it get him, this rushing over and back, over and back for the most of his life?" He shrugged. "Me, I'd as soon stay in one spot and watch the parade."

"What's on your mind, Brian?"

"Many things, Lieutenant darling. A host of things."

As Roarke walked toward them he remembered that the first time he'd seen Eve they'd been at a funeral. Another woman whose life had been stolen. It had been cold, and Eve had forgotten her gloves. She'd worn a hideous gray suit with a loose button on the jacket. He slipped a hand into his pocket now, idly fingering the button that had fallen off that baggy gray jacket.

"Are you flirting with my wife, Brian?"

"I would if I thought I stood a chance with her. The fact is I've something that will interest you both. I had a call early this morning, from Summerset."

"Why would he call you?" Roarke demanded.

"To tell me you wanted me in New York, urgently, and at your expense."

"When did it come in?" Eve was already pulling out her palm 'link to contact Peabody.

"Eight o'clock. It's a matter of dire importance that can't be divulged except face-to-face. I'm to fly over this very day, and check in to the Central Park Arms, where I'll have a suite, and wait to be contacted."

"How do you know it was Summerset?" Roarke asked.

"By God, Roarke, it looked like him, sounded like him. Stiffer, older, but I wouldn't have questioned it. Though he wouldn't make conversation, and ended the call abruptly when I pressed him."

"Peabody. Slap yourself awake there."

"What?" Peabody, puffy-eyed and disheveled, yawned. "Sorry, sir. Yes, sir. Awake."

"Kick McNab out of whatever bed he's in and have him check the mainframe on the 'links. I need to know if there's been a transmission to Ireland – it would have been at, shit, what's the time difference here? – like three a.m."

"Kicking him out of bed immediately, Lieutenant."

"And contact me the minute you have the answer. I need to take your 'link log into evidence," she told Brian as she stuffed the palm 'link back in her pocket. "We'll dupe it for Inspector Farrell, but I need the original."

"Well, I thought you might." Brian took out a disc. "Anticipating that, I brought it with me."

"Good thinking. What did you tell the man who called you?"

"Oh, that I had a business to run, that I couldn't just be traipsing off across the Atlantic on a whim. I tried to draw him out, asked after Roarke here. He only insisted that I come, straight off, and Roarke would make it worth my while." He smiled thinly. "A tempting offer. First-class transpo and accommodations, and twenty thousand pounds a day while I'm away from home. A man would have to be mad to say no to that."

"You'll stay in Dublin." Roarke's voice was sharp, edged with fury, and put Brian's back up.

"Maybe I've a mind to go to New York City and give this murdering bastard a taste of Brian Kelly."

"You'll stay in Dublin," Roarke repeated, eyes narrowed and cold, fists clenched and ready. "If I have to beat you unconscious first, then that's fine."

"You think you can take me down, do you?" Primed for a fight, Brian started to strip off his topcoat. "Let's have ago."

"Stop it, you idiots." Eve stepped between them, prepared to deck both if necessary. "You're staying in Dublin, Brian, because the only thing this bastard's getting a taste of is me. I'll have your travel visa blocked, and if you try to leave the country you'll spend some quality time in lockup."

"Travel visa be damned – "

"Shut up. And you," she continued, swinging to Roarke. "Step back. Nobody's beating anyone unconscious unless it's me. A couple days in Ireland and all you can think of is punching somebody. Must be the air."

Her 'link beeped. "That's Peabody. Now, the two of you remember: People who act like assholes get treated like assholes."