Origin in Death

  They backed up when a couple stumbled out of one of the rooms, half-dressed, laughing wildly, and smelling very ripe.

  "I don't want their room."

  Crack just grinned, uncoded another. "This here is our deluxe ac­commodations. Crowd tonight, mostly they're going for economy. She be clean. Make yourself at home, sweet buns, and I'll bring that sexy Nadine right on up when she shows.

  "Don't you think about paying me," he said when Eve dug into her pocket. "I went to the park this morning, had a talk with my baby girl by the tree you and your man had planted for her. Don't ever think about paying me for a favor."

  "Okay." She thought about Crack's younger sister, and how he'd wept in Eve's arms beside her body in the morgue. "Ah, you got any plans for Thursday?"

  She'd been his family. His only family.

  "Gobble Day. I got me a fine-looking female. Figure we might fit some turkey-eating in between other festivities."

  "Well, if you want the full spread, without certain areas of festivi­ties, we're having a dinner thing. You can bring your fine-looking female."

  His eyes softened, and the street jive vanished from his voice. "I ap­preciate that. I'd be pleased to come and bring my lady friend." He laid the slab of his hand on Eve's shoulder. "I'll go keep watch for Nadine, even though I haven't seen either of you."

  "Thanks."

  She stepped into the room, gave it a quick study. Apparently "deluxe" meant the room had an actual bed rather than a cot or pallet. The ceil­ing was mirrored, which was a little intimidating. But there was a menu screen and an order slot, along with a very small table and two chairs.

  She looked at the bed, and a long, liquid longing rose up in her. She'd have given up food for the next forty-eight hours for twenty minutes horizontal. Rather than risk it, she went to the menu screen and ordered a pot of coffee, two cups.

  It would be hideous. Soy products and chemicals married together to, inexplicably, resemble rancid tar. But there'd be enough caffeine juiced through it to keep her awake.

  She sat, tried to focus her mind on the business at hand while she waited. Her eyes drooped, her head nodded. She felt the dream crawl­ing into her, a monster with sharp, slick claws that snatched and bit at her mind.

  A white room, blazing white. Dozens upon dozens of glass coffins. She was in all of them, the child she'd been, bloody and bruised from the last beating, weeping and pleading as she tried to fight her way out.

  And he stood there, the man who'd made her, grinning.

  Made to order, he said, and laughed. Laughed. One doesn't work right, you just throw it away and try the next. Never going to be done with you, little girl. Never going to be finished.

  She jolted out, fumbled for her weapon. And saw the pot and cups on the table, with the menu slot still closing.

  For a moment, she put her head in her hands, just to get her breath back. It was okay, she'd pulled out. She'd keep pulling out.

  She wondered what dreams bit at Avril's mind when they were too tired to beat them off.

  When the door opened, she was pouring coffee.

  "Thanks, Crack."

  "Anytime, sugar tits." He winked, shut the door.

  "Lock it," Eve ordered. "Engage privacy mode."

  "This better be good." Nadine complied, then dropped into the sec­ond chair. "It's past three in the morning."

  "And yet you look lovely, and apparently your tits are sugar."

  "Give me some of that poison."

  "Empty your bag on the bed," Eve said as she poured a second cup.

  "Up yours, Dallas."

  "I mean it. Empty the bag, then I'm going to scan you for elec­tronics. This is the majors, Nadine."

  "You should be able to trust me."

  "You wouldn't be here if I didn't. But I've got to go the route."

  With obvious ill humor, Nadine opened her enormous handbag, stomped to the bed, and upended it.

  Eve rose, passed her a cup of coffee, and began going through the contents. Wallet, ID, credits and debits, two herbal cigarettes in a pro­tective case, two notepads-paper-six pencils, sharpened. One elec­tronic notepad-disengaged-two 'links, one PPC-also disengaged. Two small mirrors, three packs of breath fresheners, a little silver box holding blockers, four tubes of lip dye, brushes-face and hair-and eleven other tubes, pots, sticks, and cakes of facial enhancers.

  "Jesus. You carry all this gunk and put it on your face? Is it worth it?"

  "I'll point out that it's three in the morning, and I look lovely. You, on the other hand, have shadows under your eyes a pack of psychotic killers could hide in."

  "NYPSD. We never sleep."

  "Neither do the defenders of the Fourth Estate, apparently. Did you catch my interview with Avril Icove today?"

  "No, heard about it."

  "Exclusive."

  "What did you think of her?"

  "Quiet, dignified elegance. Lovely in grief. A devoted mother. I liked her. Couldn't get much going on her personally as she insisted this interview deal with her father-in-law and husband, out of respect. But I'll dig down the next layers. I've got a three-part deal."

  The last two of which she would never collect, Eve thought. But there would be compensation. Big-time.

  She ran a scanner over Nadine. "Believe it or not, I did all that to protect you as much as me. I'm about to break Code Blue."

  "Icove."

  "You're going to want to sit while I outline my conditions- nonnegotiable. First, we never had this conversation. You're going to go home and get rid of the 'link you used to take my transmission. You never received the transmission."

  "I know how to protect myself and a source."

  "Just listen. You've already done extensive research on the Icoves- and connected them, independently, to Jonah Wilson and Eva Hannson Samuels, and from there to Brookhollow. Your police sources would not confirm or deny any of your research. You're going to make a trip to Brookhollow. You'll need that on your logs. You're going to connect the murder of Evelyn Samuels to those of the Icoves."

  Nadine started scribbling. "That's the Academy's president. When was she murdered?"

  "Find out. You're going to be curious and smart enough to run ID checks on the students and cross them with same on former students. In fact, you've already done that." Eve drew a sealed disc out of her pocket. "Get this in your log. Get your prints, only your prints on the disc."

  "What's on it?"

  "More than fifty student IDs that match-exactly match-former students' IDs. Falsified data. Make another copy, put it wherever you put data you want to protect from confiscation."

  "What were the Icoves doing that required falsifying data on students?"

  "Cloning them."

  Nadine broke the tip of her pencil as her head snapped up. "You're serious."

  "Since the Urban Wars."

  "Sweet little Baby Jesus. Tell me you have proof."

  "I not only have proof, I have three clones known as Avril Icove un­der house restriction."

  Nadine goggled. "Well, fuck me sideways."

  "I've had a long day, I'm too tired for sex games. Start writing, Na­dine. When we're finished you go home, you make an electronic trail that'll verify you found this information. You burn those notes and make new ones. Get to Brookhollow and dig. You can contact me, and probably should, demanding confirmation or denial. I'll give you nei­ther, and that's on record. I'll go to my superiors with the fact that you're sniffing this out. I have to. So sniff fast."

  "I've already done a lot of the legwork, put some of this together. I didn't jump this far. I figured gene manipulation, designer babies, black-market fees."

  "That's in there, too. Get it all. I've got a day, maybe a few hours more, before the whistle's blown and the government steps in. They'll cover it. Spin what they can't bury. So get it all, get it fast. I'm going to give you everything I can, then I'm walking out. I won't give you any more. I'm not doing you a favor," Eve added. "If you go out with this, you're going to tak
e a lot of heat."

  "I know how to handle heat." Nadine's eyes were razor sharp as she continued to write. "I'll be soaking in the rays while I blow this open."

  It took an hour, another pot of the vicious coffee, and both of Na­dine's notebooks.

  When she left, Eve didn't trust her reflexes and put her vehicle back on auto. But she didn't sleep, didn't close her eyes. Once home, she moved from the car to the house like a sleepwalker.

  Summerset was waiting for her. "God. Even vampires sleep some­time."

  "There's been no sanctioned or unsanctioned hit on either Icove."

  "Yeah, fine."

  "But you knew that. Are you also aware there is purportedly a fee-based operation that offers young women, educated through Brookhollow College in New Hampshire, to clients for purposes of marriage, employment, or sexual demands?"

  She struggled to focus her exhausted brain. "How did you get that?"

  "There are sources still available to me that aren't available to you, and due to his relationship with you, that are less forthcoming with Roarke."

  "And did these sources give proof of these purported activities?"

  "No, but I consider them to be very reliable. Icove was associated with Brookhollow. One of Roarke Enterprises' jet-copters logged a route to that location today, where, it seems, the president of the insti­tution was murdered. In the same manner both Icoves were murdered."

  "You're a fount of information."

  "I know how to do my job. I believe you know how to do yours. Peo­ple aren't commodities. To use education as a mask, to use them as such is despicable. Your pursuit of the woman who, in all likelihood, struck back at that, is wrongheaded."

  "Thanks for the tip."

  "You of all people should know." His words stopped her as she turned for the stairs. "You know what it is to be a child, trapped in a box, made to perform. You know what it is to be driven to strike back."

  Her hand tightened on the newel post. She looked back at him. "You think that's all this is? As vicious and ugly as that is, it doesn't even scratch it. Yeah, I know how to do my job. And I know murder doesn't stop the vicious and the ugly. It just keeps re-forming, and coming back at you."

  "Then what stops it? A badge?"

  "The badge slows it down. Nothing stops it. Not a damn thing."

  She turned away, drifted up the stairs feeling as insubstantial as a ghost.

  The light in the bedroom was on dim. It was that simple thing that broke her enough to have tired tears sliding down her cheeks.

  She shrugged off her weapon, took out her badge, and laid both on her dresser. Roarke had once called them her symbols. He was right, yes, he was right, but those symbols had helped save her. Helped make her real, given her purpose.

  They slowed it down, she thought again. That was all that could be done. It was never quite enough.

  She undressed, climbed the platform, and slid into bed beside him.

  She wrapped herself around him, and because she could, with him, let the tears fall on his shoulder.

  "You're so tired," he murmured. "Baby, you're so tired."

  "I'm afraid to sleep. The dreams are right there."

  "I'm here. I'll be right here."

  "Not close enough." She lifted her head, found his mouth with hers. "I need you closer. I need to feel who I am."

  "Eve." He said her name quietly, repeatedly, while he touched her in the dark.

  Gentle, he thought, gentle now that she was fragile and needed him to remind her of all that she was. Needed him to show her she was loved, for all that she was.

  Warm, he thought, warm because he knew how cold she could get inside. Her tears were damp on her cheeks, her eyes still gleaming with them.

  He'd known she would suffer, and still her pain, wrapped so tight in courage, tore at his heart.

  "I love you," he told her. "I love everything you are."

  She sighed under him. Yes, this was what she needed. His weight on her, his scent, his flesh. His knowledge of her, mind and body and heart.

  No one knew her as he did. No one loved her as he did. For all of her life before him, there'd been no one who could touch her, not all the way down to the tormented child who still lived in her.

  When he slid inside her, all those shadows were pushed back. She had light in the dark.

  When morning was blooming through the night, she could close her eyes. She could rest her mind. His arm came around her, and anchored her home.

  The light was still dim when she woke. It confused her, as she felt rea­sonably rested. A little hungover from overworking her brain and body, but better than she should have with just a snatch of predawn sleep.

  Obviously, she'd underrated the restorative powers of sex.

  It made her feel sentimental, and grateful. But when she slid her hand across the sheet, just to touch him, she found him gone.

  She started to sulk, then called for time.

  The time is nine thirty-six A.M.

  That news had her bolting straight up in bed. He'd darkened the windows, and the skylight.

  "Disengage sleep mode, all windows. Shit!" She had to slap her hands over her eyes as the sudden blast of sun blinded her.

  She cursed and squinted her way out of bed and into the shower.

  Five minutes later, she let out a muffled scream when she blinked water out of her eyes and saw Roarke. He stood, wearing a casual white shirt and dark jeans-and held an oversized mug in his hand.

  "Bet you'd like this."

  She peered avariciously at the coffee. "You can't set the bedroom on sleep mode without telling me."

  "We were sleeping."

  "We never set it on sleep mode."

  "Seemed like the perfect time to change our habits."

  She shoved her wet hair back, and walked, dripping, to the drying tube. She glared at him while warm air swirled around her.

  "I've got stuff to do, people to see."

  "Just a suggestion, but you'll probably want to dress first."

  "Why aren't you?"

  "Aren't I?"

  "Why aren't you wearing one of your six million suits?"

  "I'm sure I have no more than five million, three hundred suits. And I'm not wearing one of them because it seemed overly formal consid­ering we have people arriving today."

  "You're not working." She stepped out, grabbed the coffee. "Has the stock market obliterated overnight?"

  "On the contrary, it's up. I can afford to buy another suit. Here you are." He handed her a robe. "You can wear that while you have some breakfast. I'll have another cup of coffee myself."

  "I have to contact Feeney, the commander, and check in with the droids on Avril. I have to write a report, check the forensics on Samuels."

  "Busy, busy, busy." He strolled out and toward the AutoChef. An; back, he thought with some relief. The exhausted woman had regen­erated into the cop. "What you want's a nice bowl of oatmeal."

  "No sane person wants a bowl of oatmeal."

  "Fortified."

  She wouldn't laugh. "Let's go back to the beginning. You can t se: sleep mode without telling me."

  "When my wife comes home weeping from exhaustion and stress,! I'm going to see that she gets some rest." He glanced back, and there i was that steel in his eyes. The kind that warned her arguing would end 1 in a fight. "And she's lucky I did nothing more than darken the room to see she got some." He crossed to the seating area with a bowl, set down on the table.

  "Now, you'd better sit down and eat that, or we're going to start: day with one hell of a fight."

  "Figured that already," she grumbled.

  "And your schedule's already so full."

  She came as close as she ever did to pouting when she studied oatmeal. "It's got disgusting lumps.”

  “It certainly doesn't. What it's got is apples and blueberries."

  "Blueberries?"

  "Sit down and eat them like a good girl."

  "Soon as there's room in my schedule, I'm going to
punch you for that." But she sat, contemplated the bowl. It looked to her as if per­fectly good fruit had been buried in mush. "Technically, I've been on shift since eight. But I'm entitled by regs, unless requested otherwise by a superior, to take eight hours between duty. It was after two when I left the Icove place."

  "Have you decided to become a clock watcher?"

  "Peabody and McNab had put in for vacation time, starting today. I told her to go."

  "Depleting your team by two." He nodded, sat. "All within the con­fines of regulations, all perfectly aboveboard. The pace will slow. Add the holiday and it slows more. What do you intend to do with the time ?"

  "I already started doing it. I broke Code Blue. I met with Nadine and gave her everything." She poked a spoon into the oatmeal, lifted it, let the goop dribble out again. "I disobeyed a direct order, a priority or­der, and am prepared to lie through my teeth about it. I'm dragging my heels to give Avril Icove time to figure out how to disengage the bracelets, get the kids, and poof. And hoping they'll give me Deena's location, or at least the location or locations of operations."

  "If you continue to beat yourself up over it, we're going to start the day with a fight after all."

  "I've got no right to make decisions based on emotion, to circum­vent orders, ignore my duty."

  "You're wrong, Eve, on so many counts. First, you're not making this decision based on emotion, or not solely. You're basing it on in­stinct, experience, and your bone-deep sense of justice."

  "Cops don't make the rules."

  "Bollocks. You may not write them, but you edit them every day, to suit the situation. You have to because if the law, the rules, the spirit of them doesn't adjust and flex, it dies."

  She'd told herself essentially the same a dozen times already. "I didn't tell Peabody all of this, but some. And I said I didn't think I'd have been able to play this the way I am, even five years ago. She said I would have."

  "Our Peabody is astute. Do you remember the day I met you?" He reached in his pocket, took out the gray button that had come off the only suit she'd owned before he'd blasted into her life. He rubbed it be­tween his fingers as he watched her.

  "You struggled then, with procedure, the book of it. But you had then, and always had, I think, a clear sense of justice. Those two things will always be true. You'll struggle, and you'll see. It's what makes you as much as that badge makes you. Never in my life have I known any­one who has such a basic dislike of people, yet has such unstinting and bottomless compassion for them. Eat your oatmeal."