J. Robb - Immortal in Death

"Two," Roarke said and had the pleasure of seeing that intense face go blank.

"Two what?"

"He ordered two. I swung by Eden on my way back on planet, had a talk with Engrave's daughter. I asked if she could find the time to do some cross-checking. Redford ordered his first specimen nine months ago, using another name and a forged license. But the ID numbers are the same. He had it shipped to a florist on Vegas II, one with a dubious reputation for dealing in contraband flora." He paused to tap his ash into a marble bowl. "I'd say it was sent from there to a lab, where the nectar was distilled."

"Why the hell didn't you tell me before?"

"I'm telling you now. It was just confirmed five minutes ago. You can probably contact security on Vegas II and have the florist questioned."

She was swearing as she pounded to her 'link, gave orders for just that.

"Even if they crack him, it'll take weeks to cut through the bureaucracy and have him transported on planet so I can have a go at him." But she rubbed her hands together, anticipating it. "You might have mentioned you were doing this."

"If it came to nothing, you wouldn't be disappointed. Instead, you have to be grateful." His eyes sobered. "Eve, this doesn't change the situation overmuch."

"It means Redford was working on his own longer than he wanted us to know about. It means – " She broke off and dropped into a chair. "I know she could have done it, Roarke. On her own. She could slip out of Young's apartment without detection. She could have left him sleeping, come back, cleaned up. Every fucking time. Or he could have known. He'd go to the wall for her, and he's an actor. He'd toss Redford to the wolves in a heartbeat, but not if it implicated Jerry."

She lowered her head to her hands a moment, fingers rubbing hard over her brow. "I know she could have done it. I know she could have seen a window of opportunity and gotten into the drug hold. She might have decided to end it her way, it suits her personality. But it just doesn't feel right."

"You can't blame yourself for her death," Roarke said quietly. "For the obvious reason that you aren't to blame, and also a reason you'll accept, guilt clouds logic."

"Yeah. I know." She rose again, restless. "I've been off my stride with this one. Mavis, remembering about my father. I've missed details, overlapped where it wasn't necessary. All these distractions."

"Including the wedding?" he suggested.

She managed a weak smile. "I've tried not to think too much about that. Nothing personal."

"Consider it a formality. A contract, if you like, with a few trimmings."

"Have you considered that a year ago we didn't even know each other? That we're living in the same house, but for a good deal of the time we're on two different steps? That all this… stuff we feel for each other might not really be the sort of thing that holds up in the long stretch?"

He looked at her steadily. "Are you going to piss me off the night before we're married?"

"I'm not trying to piss you off, Roarke, You brought it up, and since it has been one of the distractions, I'd like to clear it up. These are reasonable questions and deserve reasonable answers."

His eyes went dark. She recognized the warning and braced herself for the storm. Instead, he rose, spoke with such icy calm she nearly shuddered. "Are you backing out, Lieutenant?"

"No. I said I'd do it. I just think we should… think," she said lamely, and hated herself.

"Well, you think then, find your reasonable answers. I have mine." He glanced at his watch. "And I'm running late. Mavis is waiting downstairs for you."

"For what?"

"Ask her," he said with the slightest edge to his voice as he walked out.

"Damn it." She kicked the desk with enough force to have Galahad eyeing her maliciously. She kicked it again because pain had some rewards, then limped out to go find Mavis.

An hour later, she found herself being dragged into the Down and Dirty Club. She'd suffered through Mavis's orders to change her clothes, to do something about her hair, her face. Even her attitude. But when the music and noise hit her like a roundhouse punch, she balked.

"Jesus, Mavis. Why here?"

"Because it's nasty, that's why. Bachelor parties are supposed to be nasty. Christ, look at that guy onstage. His cock's big enough to drill spikes. Good thing I asked Crack to save us an A table. The place is sardine city, and it's barely midnight."

"I have to get married tomorrow," Eve began, finding it a handy excuse for the first time.

"That's the point. Jesus, Dallas, loosen up. Hey, there's our party."

Eve was used to shocks. But this was a doozy. It was a bit more than credulity could bear to see a table directly under a cock swinger crowded by Nadine Furst, Peabody, a woman who she thought was probably Trina, and, dear God Almighty, Dr. Mira.

Before she could close her mouth, Crack swooped up behind her and hoisted her off her feet. "Hey there, skinny white girl. Gonna party tonight. Got you a bottle of champagne on the house."

"You've got any champagne in this joint, pal, I'll chew the cork."

"Hell, it sparkles. What you want?" He gave her a quick spin, to the vocal appreciation of the crowd, caught her midair, and thumped her down in a seat at the table. "Ladies, y'all enjoy yourselves now, or I'm gonna hear about it."

"You have such interesting friends, Dallas." Nadine puffed on a cigarette. No one was going to worry about tobacco restrictions in there. "Have a drink." She lifted a bottle of unknown substance, poured some into what looked like a fairly clean glass. "We're way ahead of you."

"I had to get her to change." Mavis hipped her way into a seat. "She bitched all the way." Then Mavis's eyes filled. "She only did it for me." She took Eve's drink, swilled it down. "We wanted to surprise you."

"You did. Dr. Mira. It is Dr. Mira, isn't it?"

Mira smiled brilliantly. "It was when I walked in. I'm afraid I'm a little fuzzy on details at this point."

"We gotta have a toast." Rocky on her pins, Peabody used the table for balance. She managed to raise her glass without spilling more than half its contents on Eve's head. "To the best fucking cop in the whole stinking city, who's gonna marry the sexiest sumbitch I, personally, have ever laid eyes on, and who, because she's so goddamn smart, has seen to it that I'm perman'ly attached to Homicide. Which is where any half-blind asshole could tell you I belong. So there." She downed the rest of her drink, fell backward into her chair, and grinned foolishly.

"Peabody," Eve said and flicked a finger under her eyes. "I've never been more touched."

"I'm shit faced, Dallas."

"The evidence points to it. Can we get any food in here that doesn't promise ptomaine? I'm starved."

"The bride to be wants to eat." Still sober as a nun, Mavis bolted to her feet. "I'll take care of it. Don't get up."

"Oh, and Mavis." Eve jerked her down, murmured in her ear. "Get me something nonlethal to drink."

"But, Dallas, it's a party."

"And I'm going to enjoy it. I really am, but I want to be clear-headed tomorrow. It's important to me."

"That's so sweet." Weeping again, Mavis lowered her face to Eve's shoulder.

"Yeah, I'm a regular sugar substitute." On impulse she jerked Mavis around and kissed her square on the mouth. "Thanks. Nobody else would have thought of this."

"Roarke did." Mavis mopped at her eyes with the glittering fringe swinging from her sleeve. "We worked it out together."

"He would, wouldn't he?" Smiling a little, Eve took another dubious look at the naked bodies gyrating on stage. "Hey, Nadine." She topped off the reporter's glass. "The guy up there with the red tail feathers has his eye on you."

"Oh, yeah?" Nadine looked blearily around.