Rapture in Death

  “You just veered way out of orbit.”

  “And Pearly? What’s the connection there? Political statement? Were you looking ahead? You’re a real visionary. He’d have tossed his weight against legalizing your new toy. Why not use it on him?”

  “Hold it. Hold it.” He got to his feet. “You’re talking about murder. Christ, you’re trying to wrap me up with murder.”

  “Then Fitzhugh. Did you need a couple more demonstrations, Jess? Or did you just get a taste for it? Powerful, isn’t it, being able to kill without getting your hands bloody?”

  “I never killed anyone. You can’t wrap this on me.”

  “Devane was a bonus, with the media right there. You got to watch. I bet you really love to watch, don’t you, Jess? I bet you got hot watching. Like you got hot thinking about where you’d push Roarke tonight with your goddamn toy.”

  “That’s what’s rocking you, isn’t it?” Furious, he leaned on the desk. His smile wasn’t charming now, but feral. “You want to sting me because I wired into your man. You should be thanking me. I bet the two of you fucked like wild minks.”

  Her hand was in a fist, her fist slamming into his jaw before her brain registered the act. He went down like a stone, face first, arms splayed, and sent her ’link flying.

  “Goddamn it.” Breath hitching, she uncurled her fist, clutched it again. “Goddamn it.”

  Peabody’s voice came cool and calm through the buzzing in her ears. “Let the backup record show that subject physically threatened the lieutenant during questioning. As a result, subject lost his balance and struck his head on the desk. He appears to be momentarily stunned.”

  While Eve could do no more than stare at her, Peabody rose, stepped over, and dragged Jess up by the collar of his shirt. She held him there a moment, as if considering his condition. His knees sagged, his eyes rolled back white.

  “That’s affirmative,” she stated, then dumped him into a chair. “Lieutenant Dallas, I believe your recorder has been damaged.” With a brush of her hand, Peabody tipped Eve’s coffee onto the unit, effectively frying its chips. “Mine is in working order and will be sufficient for reporting this interview. Are you injured?”

  “No.” Eve shut her eyes, snapped her control back into place. “No, I’m fine. Thank you. The interview breaks at oh one thirty-three. Subject Jess Barrow will be transported to the Brightmore Health Center for examination and treatment, and there be detained until nine hundred hours, when this interview will continue at Cop Central. Officer Peabody, please arrange for transport. Subject is to be held for questioning, charges pending.”

  “Yes, sir.” Peabody glanced over as the door to Roarke’s office slid open. It only took one look at his face to realize that there might be trouble. “Lieutenant,” she began, careful to keep the recorder turned away. “I’m getting interference on my communicator, and your ’link may have been damaged when the subject knocked it to the floor. Permission to use another room to send for the MTs.”

  “Go ahead,” Eve said and sighed as she watched Roarke come in and Peabody stride out. “You had no business monitoring this interview,” she began.

  “I beg to differ. I had every business.” He glanced down at the chair as Jess moaned and shifted. “He’s coming around. I’d like my moment with him now.”

  “Listen, Roarke—”

  He cut her off with one swift, ice-edged stare. “Now, Eve. Leave us alone.”

  That was the trouble between them, she decided. Both of them were so used to giving orders that neither of them took orders well. But she remembered the stricken look in his eyes when he’d backed away from her. They had both been used, she thought, but Roarke had been victimized.

  “You’ve got five minutes. That’s it. And I’m going to warn you right now. The record shows he’s relatively undamaged. If there are marks on him, it’s going to swing back on me and compromise my case against him.”

  His lips twitched in a bare flicker of a smile as he took her arm and led her to the door. “Lieutenant, give me some credit. I’m a civilized man.” He shut the door in her face, locked it.

  And, he thought, he knew how to cause great discomfort to the human body without leaving so much as a dent.

  He walked over, hauled Jess out of the chair, and shook him until his eyes blinked into focus. “Awake now, are you?” Roarke said softly. “And aware?”

  Sweat pooled cold at the base of Jess’s spine. He was looking into the face of murder, and he knew it. “I want a lawyer.”

  “You’re not dealing with the cops now. You’re dealing with me. At least for the next five minutes. And you have no rights or privileges here.”

  Jess swallowed, struggled for a show of cool. “You can’t lay a hand on me. If you do, it’ll slap right back on your wife.”

  Roarke’s lips curved and struck a fresh fist of terror in Jess’s gut. “I’m going to show you just how mistaken you are in that.”

  His eyes never left Jess’s face as he reached down, grabbed onto his penis, and twisted. It was some satisfaction to see every drop of blood drain out of the man’s face and watch his mouth work like a guppy’s as it gasped for air. With his thumb, he pressed gently on Jess’s windpipe and cut off even that thin passage of air until the silver eyes bulged.

  “Hell, isn’t it, to be led around by the cock?” He gave one last jerk of the wrist before letting Jess collapse into the chair and curl up like a shrimp.

  “Now, let’s talk,” he said pleasantly enough. “About private matters.”

  Out in the corridor, Eve paced up and down, glancing every few seconds at the thick door. She knew very well if Roarke had implemented the soundproofing, Jess could be shrieking his lungs out and she wouldn’t hear.

  If he killed him . . . Good God if he killed him, how was she going to handle it? She stopped, appalled, and pressed a hand to her stomach. How could she even consider it? She was duty bound to protect the bastard. There were rules. Whatever her personal feelings, there were rules.

  She marched to the door, coded in, and hissed out a breath as her code was denied. “Son of a bitch. Goddamn it, Roarke.” He knew her too well. With little hope, she raced down the corridor, into his office, and tried the connecting door.

  Entrance denied.

  She streaked to the monitor, cued up the security camera for her office, and found he’d locked her out of that as well.

  “God almighty, he is killing him.” She rushed the door again, beat on it uselessly with her fist. Moments later, like magic, the locks slicked back, and the door slid quietly open. She went through at a dead run and saw Roarke calmly sitting at her desk, smoking.

  Her heart pounded as she looked down at Jess. He was pale as death, his pupils the size of pinpricks, but he was breathing. In fact, he was wheezing out air like a faulty temperature control.

  “He’s unmarked.” Roarke picked up the brandy he’d poured himself. “And I believe he’s begun to see the error of his ways.”

  Eve leaned down, peered closely into Jess’s eyes, and watched him cringe back into the chair like a kicked dog. The sound he made was barely human. “What the hell did you do to him?”

  He doubted Eve or the NYPSD would approve of the tricks he’d picked up in his more shadowy travels. “Much less than he deserved.”

  She straightened and now took a long, hard look at Roarke. He looked like a man about to entertain late night guests or chair an important business meeting. His suit was unwrinkled, his hair unmussed, his hands perfectly steady. But his eyes, she noted, were just on the down side of wild.

  “Christ, you’re scary.”

  Carefully, he set his brandy down. “I’ll never hurt you again.”

  “Roarke.” She pushed back the urge to go to him, close her arms around him. It wasn’t what the moment called for, she decided. Or what he wanted. “This can’t be personal.”

  “Yes.” He drew in smoke, blew it out slowly. “It can. And is.”

  “Lieutenant.” Peabody stepped in
, her face bland. “The MTs are here. With your permission, I’ll accompany the suspect to the health center.”

  “I’ll go.”

  “Sir.” Peabody slid a glance toward Roarke. He’d yet to take his eyes off Eve, she noted. And those eyes looked more than a little dangerous. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe you have more pressing matters here. I can handle this. You still have a number of guests in the house, including the press. I’m sure you’d prefer this matter remain quiet until its disposition.”

  “All right. I’ll contact Central from here, make the necessary arrangements. Prepare for second phase interview tomorrow, nine hundred hours.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.” Peabody glanced over at Jess, lifted a brow. “He must have hit his head pretty hard. Still looks dazed, skin’s clammy.” She offered Roarke a wide smile. “I know just how that feels.”

  Roarke laughed, feeling more of the tension drain away. “No, Peabody. In this case, I don’t believe you do.”

  He got up, walked to her and, framing her square face with his elegant hands, kissed her. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured before turning to Eve. “I’ll see to the rest of our guests. Take your time.”

  As he walked out, Peabody touched her fingertips to her lips. Pleasure had radiated down to her toes and out through the reinforced tips of her boots. “Oh wow. I’m beautiful, Dallas.”

  “I owe you, Peabody.”

  “I think I just got paid.” She stepped back to the door. “Here come the MTs. We’ll get our boy out of here. Tell Mavis she was absolutely ultra.”

  “Mavis.” Eve pressed her fingers to her eyes. How was she going to tell Mavis?

  “If I were you, Dallas, I’d give her tonight to glow. You can tell her about this later. She’ll be fine. In here,” she called, gesturing. “We got us what looks like a mild concussion.”

  chapter sixteen

  Getting a warrant for search and seizure at two in the morning was a tricky business. She lacked the straightforward data to cop an automatic clearance and needed a judge. Judges tended to be cranky about calls in the middle of the night. And trying to explain why she needed clearance for a sweep and scan of a music console currently on her own premises was a dicey job.

  This being the case, Eve tolerated the clipped, angry lecture from her judge of choice.

  “I understand that, Your Honor. But this can’t wait until a decent hour in the morning. I have a strong suspicion that the console in question is linked to the deaths of four people. Its designer and operator is currently being detained, and I cannot expect his immediate cooperation.”

  “You’re telling me music kills, Lieutenant?” The judge snorted. “I could have told you that. The crap they’re pumping out these days could murder an elephant. In my day, we had music. Springsteen, Live, Cult Killers. That was music.”

  “Yes, sir.” She rolled her eyes. She’d had to pick a classic music buff. “I really need that warrant, Your Honor. Captain Feeney is available to begin the initial scan. The operator had admitted to using the console illegally, on the record. I need more to tie it to the cases in question.”

  “You ask me, those music consoles should be banned and burned. This is piddly shit here, Lieutenant.”

  “Not if the evidence bears out my belief that this console and its operator are linked to the death of Senator Pearly and others.”

  There was a pause, a wheeze. “That’s a big leap. No pun intended.”

  “Yes, sir. I need the warrant to bridge the gap.”

  “I’ll send it through, but you better have something, Lieutenant. And it better be solid.”

  “Thank you. Sorry to have disturbed—” The ’link clicked in her ear, forcefully. “Your sleep,” she finished, then picked up her communicator and tagged Feeney.

  “Hey, Dallas.” His face was flushed with fun, wide with a grin. “Where ya been, kid? Party’s just breaking up. You missed Mavis doing a set with a hologram of the Rolling Stones. You know how I feel about Jagger.”

  “Yeah, he’s like a father to you. Don’t take off, Feeney. I’ve got a job for you.”

  “Job? It’s two A.M., and my wife’s feeling, you know—” He winked sloppily. “Interested.”

  “Sorry, put the glands on hold. Roarke will arrange to have your wife taken home. I’ll be up in ten. Take a dose of Sober-Up if you need it. It could be a long night.”

  “Sober-Up?” His face fell into its usual morose lines. “I’ve been working all night to get drunk. What’s this about?”

  “Ten minutes,” she repeated and cut him off.

  She took the time to change out of the party dress, and discovered bruises she hadn’t been aware of throbbing fresh. She took a quick moment to slap a coat of numbing cream where she could reach and winced her way into a shirt and trousers.

  Still, she was true to her word and walked onto the roof terrace ten minutes later.

  Roarke had been at work here, she noted, and had cleared out lingering guests. If there were any stragglers, he was dealing with them elsewhere, giving her a clear stage.

  Feeney sat alone on a chair beside a decimated buffet spread, glumly eating pâté. “You sure know how to put me out of a party mood, Dallas. The wife was so dazzled to get a limo ride home, she forgot she was going to jump me. And Mavis was looking all over for you. I think she was a little hurt you didn’t hang around to congratulate her.”

  “I’ll make it up to her.” Her porta-link hummed, signaling an incoming transmission. She read the display, hit print out. “Here’s our warrant.”

  “Warrant?” He reached for a truffle and popped it in his mouth. “For what?”

  Eve shifted, gestured toward the console. “For that. Ready to work your magic?”

  Feeney swallowed the truffle, looked toward the console. The light some would have called love gleamed in his eyes. “You want me to play with that? Hot damn.”

  He was up, almost bounding toward the equipment and running reverent hands over it. She heard him mumbling something about TX-42, high velocity sound trips, and mirror merging capabilities. “The warrant clears me to override his lock off code?”

  “It does. Feeney, it’s serious.”

  “You’re telling me.” He lifted his hands, rubbing fingertips together like an old-world safe cracker about to hit the big time. “This baby is one serious mother. The design’s inspired, the payload’s off the scale. It’s—”

  “Very likely responsible for four deaths,” Eve interrupted. She walked over to join him. “Let me bring you up to date.”

  Within twenty minutes, using the portable kit out of his car, Feeney was at work. Eve couldn’t understand what he was muttering about, and he didn’t take it kindly when she leaned over his shoulder.

  That gave her time to pace, then to call in for a report on Jess’s status. She had just finished ordering Peabody to turn duty over to a uniform guard and go home to get some sleep when Roarke came in.

  “I gave your regrets to our guests,” he told her and helped himself to another brandy. “I explained that you’d been called to duty suddenly. I had much sympathy on living with a cop.”

  “I tried to tell you it was a bad deal.”

  He only smiled, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It placated Mavis. She’s hoping you’ll get in touch tomorrow.”

  “I will. I’ll need to explain things. Did she ask about Barrow?”

  “I told her he was . . . indisposed. Rather abruptly.” He didn’t touch her. He wanted to, but he wasn’t quite ready. “You’re hurting, Eve. I can see it.”

  “You pinch my nose again, and I’ll flatten you. Feeney and I have a lot of work here, and I have to be sharp. I’m not fragile, Roarke.” The message was in her eyes, asking him to put it aside. “Get used to it.”

  “Not yet.” He put down his brandy, slipped his hands into his pockets. “I could help there,” he said, inclining his head toward Feeney.

  “It’s police business. You’re not authorized to touch
that unit.”

  When he only shifted his eyes back to hers with some of the old humor in them, she let out a huge sigh. “It’s up to Feeney,” she snapped. “He outranks me, and if he wants your fingers in his pie, it’s his deal. I don’t want to know about it. I’ve got reports to put together.”

  She started out, irritation in every body line. “Eve.” When she stopped and scowled over her shoulder at him, he shook his head. “Nothing.” He lifted his shoulders, feeling helpless. “Nothing,” he said again.

  “Put it to bed, goddamn it. You’re pissing me off.” She stalked out, nearly making him smile.

  “I love you, too,” he murmured, then wandered toward Feeney. “What have we here?”

  “Brings tears to my eyes, I swear it. It’s beautiful, brilliant. I tell you the guy’s a genius. Certified. Come here and take a look at this image board. Just look at it.”

  Roarke slipped off his jacket, hunkered down, and went to work.

  She never went to bed. For once, Eve buried her prejudice and took her sanctioned dose of uppers. The Alert All cleared the drag of fatigue and most of the cobwebs from her brain. She used the shower off her office, broke down and wrapped an ice bandage over her sore knee, and told herself she’d deal with the bruises later.

  It was six A.M. when she went back to the roof terrace. The console had been methodically taken apart. Wires, boards, chips, discs, drives, panels were arranged over the gleaming floor in what she could only assume were organized piles.

  In his elegant silk shirt and tailored slacks, Roarke sat cross-legged among them, diligently entering data in a logbook. He’d tied his hair back, she noted, to keep it from falling over his face. And that face was intense, focused, the dark blue eyes ridiculously alert for the hour.

  “I’ve got that,” he muttered to Feeney. “Running the components now. I’ve seen something like this before. Something close. It’s calibrating.” He held the logbook out and under the kick panel of the console. “Have a look.”