Nora Roberts - Remember When

"She's your ex, what do you care what she used to say?"

"Miss her sometimes. Haven't found anyone else who interests me half as much as she did. Talk about obsessions." He stopped, blocking the doorway. "She got so wrapped up in that book she couldn't think about anything else. Didn't want to go out, barely noticed if I was around. And what's the big deal? Just a rehash of family stories, and that bullshit about diamonds. Who cares? Could it be more yesterday?"

Yes, Trevor thought, it would be a pleasure to kill this tedious moron. "You never know what'll juice the unwashed masses."

"You're telling me. The thing's selling like it was the new Word of the Lord.

You were pretty interested," he remembered. "Did you ever read that copy I passed you?"

"Scanned through it." Another reason to snip this thread, he reminded himself.

And quickly. "It wasn't as compelling as I'd thought it would be. Like you said, it's yesterday. I'm a little pressed for time now, Chad."

"Sorry, sidetracked." He turned toward the wide etched-glass door. Through it Trevor could see the floating shelves, the glossy black cabinets all lined or filled with antique toys and games. "Keep it locked and passcoded. Don't trust the cleaning service."

The lock light continued to blink red, and the computer's voice informed him he'd entered an incorrect passcode.

"That's what I get on three martinis. Hold on a sec."

He reentered while Trevor stood vibrating behind him. He'd spotted the shining yellow bulldozer, parked blade-up on a wide, floating shelf.

"You're going to need a box for it," Dix commented as he rekeyed. "I keep some stored in the utility closet off the kitchen. Some padding there, too."

He paused, leaned on the glass door until Trevor imagined bashing his head against it. "You're going to have to promise to return it in the same condition, Trev. I know your father's careful, and you've got a decent collection yourself, so you know how important it is."

"I won't be playing in the dirt with it."

"I actually did that when I was a kid. Can't believe it now. Still have a couple of trucks and one of the first model airbuses. Bunged up pretty bad, but sentimental value there."

The light went to green, and the doors slid open. "Might as well get the full effect. Lights on full."

They flashed on, illuminated the nearly invisible shelves from above and below. The brightly painted toys shone bright as jewels with their ruby reds, sapphire blues, ambers and emeralds.

Trevor's gaze tracked across, and he noted the wide curved window, without privacy screen. Casually, he crossed over, as if studying the collection, and checked the windows on the building next door.

Screened. He couldn't be sure, not a hundred percent sure there wasn't someone on the other side looking over. He'd have to make certain Dix was out of view when he put him down.

"Been collecting since I was ten. Seriously since I was about twenty, but in the last five years I've really been able to indulge myself. Do you see this?

Farm section. It's an elevator, John Deere replica in pressed steel at one-sixteenth scale. Circa 1960. Mint condition, and I paid a mint for it, but it was worth it. And this over here..." He took a few steps, swayed. "Whew.

Gin's gone to my head. I'm going to grab some SoberUp. Look around."

"Hold on." That wouldn't do, not at all. Trevor wanted the alcohol, and plenty of it, in his system. Added to that, the impairment of it would make it simpler to kill him. "What's this piece?"

It was enough to draw Dix's interest, to have him shift direction and move just out of the line of sight of the side window. "Ah, game department," Dix said cheerfully. "It's a pinball machine, toy-sized version, baseball theme.

Circa 1970. Be worth more in the original box, but there's something to be said for the fact it saw a little action."

"Hmm." Trevor turned around, grinned broadly. "Now, that's a hell of a piece."

"Which?" Dix turned as well. "In the military section?"

Trevor slipped his accordion baton from his pocket. "The tank?"

"Oh yeah, that's a jewel."

As Dix took a step, Trevor snapped his wrist to extend the baton. He swung it up in an arc, then brought it down across the back of Dix's skull.

Dix fell as Trevor had positioned him, away from the shelves and out of the line of sight of the unprotected window.

"Spending this much time in your company," Trevor said as he took out a handkerchief and meticulously cleaned off the lethal wand, "I've discovered something I only suspected previously. You're an unbearably tedious geek. The world's better off without you. But first things first."

He stepped over the body, toward the toy that had once been his father's. As he reached out, the doorbell buzzed.

His heart didn't leap, but stayed as steady as it had when he'd fractured Dix's skull. But he spun around, and calculated. To ignore it-and how he wanted to ignore it, to take what was his and see it at last-would be a mistake.

They'd been seen coming into the building, riding up in the elevator. In a building like this there would be security cameras in the halls outside. He'd have to acknowledge whoever was at the door and dismiss them.

More irritated than uneasy, he hurried to answer the summons. He engaged the security screen first and studied the thin young man in an eye-searing pink shirt covered with purple palm trees. The man looked bored and was chewing what appeared to be a fist-sized wad of gum. He carried a thick zip-bag. Even as Trevor watched, the man blew a bubble the size of a small planet and hit the buzzer again.

Trevor flicked on the intercom. "Yes?"

"Delivery for Dix. Chad Dix."

"Leave it there."

"No can do. Need a sig. Come on, buddy, I gotta get back on my horse and ride."

Cautious, Trevor widened his view. He saw the purple skinpants, the pink air boots. Where did these people get their wardrobes? He reached for the locks, then drew his hand back.

Wasn't worth the risk. There'd be too many questions if he accepted a package, if he signed Dix's name, or his own, for that matter.

"Leave it with the downstairs desk. They'll sign. I'm busy."

"Hey, buddy-"

"I'm busy!" Trevor snapped, and disengaged the intercom. He watched, just to be sure, and sneered as the messenger flipped up his middle finger and walked out of view.

Satisfied, he switched off the screen. It was time he accepted his own special delivery, long overdue.

***

"Shut down the coms and screens," Eve ordered Feeney through her communicator.

"We'll have to take the door."

"Shutting them down."

She turned to McNab. "Nice job. I'd've bought it."

"If that was Dix and he wasn't under duress, he'd have opened the door." McNab drew his weapon from the base of his spine and holstered it at his side.

"Yeah. Take care of the locks," she told Roarke. "Weapons on stun," she ordered the team. "I don't want a hostage taken down. Hold fire until my command. Peabody and I go in first. You take the right. McNab, you're left.

You, you, you, fan out, second wave. I want this door secured behind us.

Roarke?"

"Nearly there, Lieutenant." He was crouched, delicately disarming locks and alarms with tools as thin as threads.

She squatted beside him, lowered her voice. "You're not going in."

"Yes, I don't believe I heard my name in today's lineup."

She suspected he was armed-illegally-and that he would-probably-be discreet about it. But she couldn't justify the risk. "I can't take a civilian through the door until the suspect is contained. Not with this many cops around."

He shifted his gaze and those laser blue eyes met hers. "You don't need to explain or attempt to quell even my infamous ego."

"Good."