J. Robb: Innocent In Death

“You’re damn straight. Took freaking hours.”

“Where?”

“In the kitchen recycler. I went over every damn inch of this place, kept the uniforms on to help. Why the hell didn’t I think of the recycler first?”

“How much is left?”

“All, I’d say, as it’s inside a fancy metal box embossed with her name. I can tell there’s a book inside it-the weight, and it thumps around when I shake it. Only went through one cycle, I think. Banged up. Locked tight, too. Lock’s too small for a master, and it’s caved in. Probably have to cut through it.”

“I’m swinging by to get it. Roarke will beat the lock.”

“Mag. I’ll touch on McNab, tell him to put Valentine’s on hold.”

“No.” Eve climbed into her vehicle. “It’s going to take time to put all this together. Fucking tricky business. I’ll take the diary, log it in and out of evidence.”

“Already logged it in by remote.”

“Even better. For now, you go home, have a drink, have sex with McNab if you must.”

“I must,” Peabody concurred. “I must.”

“Be sure to block video if I tag you later. I don’t wish to be struck blind. We’re going to put this together, and we’re going to lock it down.”

She clicked off. “Rayleen, you little shitbag,” she mumbled. “I got you.”

While Eve drove, contacting both Whitney and Mira to update, Roarke selected the champagne he wanted for dinner.

He’d worked most of the day, and very soon, he hoped, both he and Eve would put their responsibilities aside. And just enjoy each other.

He knew she’d be pleased, and get a good laugh out of his choice for the meal. For their intimate, at-home dinner for two, he’d chosen pepperoni pizza. A personal favorite of hers.

He’d also selected what could loosely be called lingerie for her dinner attire. She’d laugh at that, too. And he would certainly enjoy seeing his wife in the red silk chemise trimmed with white ermine.

As she hadn’t contacted him to tell him she’d gotten hung up, he thought the chances were good they’d make that dinner at eight. He’d decided they’d dine in Prague, courtesy of the holo-room. The romantic architecture, a thickly falling snow outside the windows, Gypsy violins singing in the air.

A bit over the top, he supposed, but why the hell not?

“Roarke.”

“Hmm.” He acknowledged Summerset as he completed his selections, set the programming.

“Magdelana is at the gate.”

“She’s what?”

“At the gate,” Summerset repeated. “Asking to come in, a bit tearfully. She claims she must speak with you, even for just a moment. Should I tell her you’re unavailable?”

That would be the easy way, Roarke supposed, and damned if he wasn’t tempted to take it easy. But if he didn’t deal with this now, he’d just have to deal with it later. And he could admit to a certain curiosity. Just how would Maggie explain herself this time?

“No, let her in. Show her into the parlor. I’ll deal with her.”

“The lieutenant should, I believe, be home within the hour.”

“Yes, so make it quick. Let’s move this business along and be done with it.”

Troublemaker, Roarke thought as Summerset went to give Magdelana access. He’d always known she was one, and had, in fact, found that attractive. But he hadn’t seen, not clearly, just how deep the penchant for stirring up the pot went in her.

He knew how to handle troublemakers. Once he had, she’d go off, understanding him perfectly. And that would most definitely be that.

He took his time going down. Do her good to cool her heels, he thought. And Summerset would make certain she didn’t palm any of the silver.

As he expected, Summerset remained in the parlor, and had given Magdelana, who looked pale and delicate in ivory satin, a glass of wine.

She stood by the fire, at the optimum distance, the perfect angle for the flames to sprinkle light over her skin, to glow light through the satin.

Setting the stage had always been a skill of hers. Only this time he’d been the mark. And as far as she was concerned, he still was.

“Roarke.” She lowered her head, as if in shame. But not before the thinnest sheen of tears sparkled over her eyes. “Oh, Roarke, can you ever forgive me?”

“You’ll excuse me?” he said to Summerset.

As Summerset left the room, she set down the wine with the slightest tremor in her hand. “I feel absolutely dreadful about this. I just…Roarke, I’ve been out of town for the last two days, only just got back. But I heard-and saw. I tried to contact you before I left, as soon as I…But-”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Avoiding me,” she said with those tears in her voice. “I wasn’t sure you’d see me at all. Damn paparazzi. They should all be hanged.”

“Even they have to make a living.”

“But to imply something so completely innocent was…was something illicit. We should sue them. But, of course, that only makes it worse. I know, I know.” She lifted a hand, waved it distractedly. “I can’t imagine how upset you are. And your wife. Is she very angry?”

He angled his head. “What do you suppose?”

“In her place, I’d be furious! They made it look as if we were…We were only saying good-bye. You and I know, Roarke, we were only saying good-bye.”

“We do yes, and we were.”

“Perhaps if I tried to explain to her. Is she here? I could try-”

“You’d already know she isn’t here.”

Magdelana closed her swimming eyes. Regroup, he thought. Reconfigure.

“All right, yes. I admit it. I wanted to speak to you alone first, so I called downtown. They said she was in the field, so I came right over. God, I’m such a coward.” She touched her fingers to her lips. “But if it would help, even a little, I’d try to explain to her.”

“I think not. She’s perfectly aware of the circumstances.”

“Oh. Good. Good. What a relief.”

“Perfectly aware that you set it up, that you staged it, and paid the camera to get the vid out.”

“What? That’s ridiculous. That’s…Roarke.” She said his name with a soupçon of injured feeling, just the right addition to shock. “How could you possibly think I’d do something like that? I understand you’re angry and upset-so am I-but to accuse me of deliberately trying to hurt you and your wife. For what purpose?”

It was hardly a wonder they’d done so well, professionally speaking, in the months they’d worked together. She was brilliant. “I’d say the amusement would be quite enough for you.”

“That’s a despicable thing to say to me.” She picked up the wine again. “Absolutely despicable.”

“Do you think I can’t track down the camera, that I can’t bribe well enough to learn all the details? You underestimate me, Maggie.”

She carried her wine to the window, stood with her back to him. “No. No,” she said quietly. “I could never underestimate you. Maybe I wanted you to know. Knew you would, in the end. It’s you who underestimate me, Roarke, my feelings for you. My regret.” And looked over her shoulder. “My desire. I admit it. I’m not proud of what I did, but I won’t be ashamed either. I did what I thought I needed to do. I’d have done anything to get you back. Nothing else matters to me. Only being with you again.”

He waited a beat. “Bollocks.”

“How can you mock my feelings?” She threw the wine down, shattering the glass. “How dare you when I stand here, stripped bare?”

“I’m not mocking them, I’m clearly saying you haven’t any feelings. You never did, for me or for anyone but yourself.” He let out a half-laugh. “Took me longer to get to that than it should have.”

Then even that half-laugh was gone, and he was ice. “You came here, to New York, to test the waters. I have a great deal more than I once had, and you hoped for a piece of it. She saw through you, you know. The first look.”