J Robb - Imitation in Death

She was smiling, dreamily, her lips painted deep rose. Her hair was a tumble of gold around a heart-shaped face set off by wide, deep blue eyes.

Striking,Eve mused. Sensual. Powerful.

Just what, she wondered, was a woman with that much style and strength doing with a loser like Fortney?

“I’ve seen her on-screen and in mags and stuff, but this is-you know-wow. She looks like, I don’t know, a fairy queen.”

“Thank you.” The voice was silver wrapped in fog. “That was the goal,” Pepper said as she walked into the room. “It’s taken, more or less, from my role ofTitania.”

She wore a skin-suit now, in dark purple, and had a short towel hooked around her neck. Her face, still striking, was sheened with perspiration, and her hair was bundled up carelessly.

“LieutenantDallas?” She offered a hand. “Excuse my appearance. I’m in the middle of yoga. It helps keep me in shape-body, mind, spirit. It also makes me sweat like a pig.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt.”

“I assume it’s important.” She sat, dropping down on the white sofa, letting out a long sigh. “Please, have a seat. Oh God, Turney, thanks.” She took the large bottle of water the butler brought her on a silver tray.

“Mr.Fortneyis on the ‘link. He’s called three times in the last thirty minutes.”

“He should know better than to call during yoga hour. Tell him I’ll get back to him.”

She took a long drink, angled her head. “Well, what’s this about?”

“I’d like you to verifyMr.Fortney ’s whereabouts this morning betweenmidnight and three.”

The easy smile vanished. “Leo? Why?”

“His name has come up in the course of an investigation. If I can verify his whereabouts during that period, we can eliminate it and move on.”

“He was here, with me. I got home abouteleven forty-five. Maybe a few minutes later. We had a drink. I allow myself one glass of wine before bed after a performance. We talked about various things, then I went upstairs. I suppose I was in bed and asleep by twelve-thirty.”

“Alone?”

“Initially. I’m always beat after a show, andLeo ’s a night owl. He was going to watch some screen, make some calls. Something.” She lifted one elegant shoulder.

“You a light sleeper,Ms.Franklin?”

“Hell, I sleep like the dead.” She started to laugh, then caught the implication. “Lieutenant,Leo was here. Honestly, I can’t imagine what sort of investigation you might be pursuing whereLeo ’s name came up in any way.”

“You’re aware it’s not the first time his name’s come up in a police investigation.”

“Those incidents are in the past. He had some bad luck with women, until me. He was here when I got home, and we had coffee together this morning at about eight. What’s this about?”

“Last fallMr.Fortney purchased, inLondon, some stationery.”

“Oh for God’s sake.” Pepper tipped the bottle back for another drink. “I’m still angry with him about that. Ridiculous, and careless. Unrecycled. I don’t know what he was thinking. Don’t tell me he brought it with him into theU.S.?” She rolled her eyes, then stared at the ceiling. “Really, I know it’s against the law, technically. I’m very active in environmental groups, which is why I could have skinned him for buying that stationery. In fact, we had a row about it, and I made him promise to get rid of it. I’m sure there’s a fine, and I’ll see he pays it.”

“I’m not a Green Cop. I’m Homicide.”

Those brilliant blue eyes went blank. “Homicide?”

“Early this morning, a licensed companion identified asJacieWooton was murdered inChinatown.”

“I know.” Pepper’s hand crawled up to her throat. “I heard the report this morning. You can’t possibly believe…Leo? He’d never do such a thing.”

“Stationery, of the typeMr.Fortney purchased inLondon, was used for a note left with the body.”

“He… he’s certainly not the only idiot who bought that stationery.Leo was home last night.” She bit off the words so that each one was highlighted. “Lieutenant, he’s occasionally foolish, tends to be a bit of a show-off, but he’s not vicious or violent. And he was home.”

– -«»--«»--«»--

She was going home herself, dissatisfied. She’d done all she could forJacieWooton in one day, but it wasn’t enough.

She needed to clear her mind. Take a couple hours’ downtime, then go back, read over the reports, the notes, juggle it around in her home office.

Fortney andFranklin just didn’t match for her. The guy was a putz, a braggart, a fake with a handsome face. Her impression ofFranklin was that the woman was the real deal. Smart, strong, stable.

Then again, you never could tell why people ended up together.

She’d given up trying to figure out how she and Roarke had become a unit.

He was rich, gorgeous, sneaky, just a little dangerous. He’d been everywhere and had bought most of it. He’d done everything, and a great deal of what he’d done didn’t fall on her side of the law.

And she was a cop. Solitary, short-tempered, and unsociable.

He loved her anyway, she mused, as she drove through the iron gates of home.

Because he did, she’d ended up here, living in the huge stone palace draped in trees and flowers, surrounded by the stuff of fantasy. It was ridiculous, really, she thought, that someone who’d lived in reality, often the harshest wells of it, should end up in some sort of dreamscape.

She parked in front of the house. She’d leave her pea-green cop issue there, as sort of an homage to Summerset, the gnome in her personal dreamscape.

He might’ve still been on holiday-sing hallelujah-but since he despised her habit of parking out front of the spectacular entrance, she saw no reason to stop.

She stepped inside, into the cool and rarefied air of the house that Roarke built, and was immediately greeted by the cat. The pudgy and obviously irritated Galahad pranced up, batted his head against her ankle, and mewed shrilly.

“Hey, I’ve got to work for a living. I can’t help it if you’re alone all day with He Who Shall Not Be Named out of the country.” But she bent down, scooped the cat up. “You need a hobby. Or hey, maybe they make VR for pets. If not, Roarke will jump right on that.”

She scratched the cat as she headed out of the foyer and downstairs to the gym. “Little VR goggles for cats, with programs about war on mice, kicking a Doberman’s ass, that sort of thing.”

She dumped him on the floor of the gym, and knowing the true path to his heart, got a bowl of tuna from the AutoChef.

With the cat occupied, she stripped down, changed into workout gear, and set herself a twenty-minute run on the video track. She opted for a beach run, and set out at a light jog, feeling her feet slap sand.

By the time she was at full pace, she’d worked up a nice sweat and was enjoying the salty breeze of the sea, the sound of the surf.

You could keep your yoga,Eve thought. Give her a good, full-out run, then maybe a couple rounds with a workout droid, follow it with a good strong swim, and you’d have your mind, body, and spirit tuned right up.

When the machine blinked end-of-program, she grabbed a towel, scrubbed it over her sweaty face. With the intention of challenging the droid to a little hand-to-hand, she turned.

And there was Roarke, sitting on a weight bench with a cat in his lap, and his eyes on his wife.

Spectacular eyes, she thought. Violently blue in a face carved by clever angels. The dangerous poet, the poetic danger, whichever way you looked at it-at him-he was amazing.

“Hey.” She tunneled her fingers through her damp hair. “How long have you been here?”

“Long enough to see you wanted a hard run. You’ve had a long day, Lieutenant.”