Midnight in Death

  Eve said nothing more until she and Roarke were in the car and headed back. “They still love him. After all he did, after what he is, there’s a part of them that loves him.”

  “Yes, and enough, I think, to help you stop him, if they knew how.”

  “No one ever cared for us that way.” She took her eyes off the road briefly, met his. “No one ever felt that bond.”

  “No.” He brushed the hair from her cheek. “Not until we found each other. Don’t grieve, Eve.”

  “He has his mother’s eyes,” she murmured. “Soft and blue and clear. She’s the one who had to change them, I imagine, because she couldn’t look in the mirror and face them every morning.”

  She sighed, shook it off.

  “But he can,” she said quietly.

  FOUR

  There was nothing else to do, no other data to examine or analyze, no other route to check. Tomorrow, she knew, there would be. Now she could only wait.

  Eve walked into the bedroom with some idea of taking a catnap. They needed to salvage some of the day, she thought. To have their Christmas dinner together, to squeeze in some sense of normalcy.

  The strong, dreamy scent of pine made her shake her head. The man had gone wild for tradition on this, their first Christmas together. Christ knew what he had paid for the live trees he’d placed throughout the house. And this one, the one that stood by the window in their bedroom, he’d insisted they decorate together.

  It mattered to him. And with some surprise she realized it had come to matter to her.

  “Tree lights on,” she ordered, and smiled a little as she watched them blink and flash.

  She stepped toward the seating area, released her weapon harness, and shrugged it off. She was sitting on the arm of the sofa taking off her boots when Roarke came in.

  “Good. I was hoping you’d take a break. I’ve got some calls to make. Why don’t you let me know when you’re ready for a meal?”

  She angled her head and studied him as he stood just inside the doorway. She let her second boot drop and stood up slowly. “Come here.”

  Recognizing the glint in her eyes, he felt the light tingle of lust begin to move through his blood. “There?”

  “You heard me, slick.”

  Keeping his eyes on hers he walked across the room. “What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

  Traditions, Eve thought, had to start somewhere. She fisted a hand in the front of his shirt, straining the silk as she pulled him a step closer. “I want you naked, and quick. So unless you want me to get rough, strip.”

  His smile was as cocky as hers and made her want to sink in with her teeth. “Maybe I like it rough.”

  “Yeah?” She began to back him up toward the bed. “Well then, you’re going to love this.”

  She moved fast, the only signal was the quick flash of her eyes before she ripped his shirt open and sent buttons flying. He gripped her hips, squeezing hard as she fixed her teeth on his shoulder and bit.

  “Christ. Christ! I love your body. Give it to me.”

  “You want it?” He jerked her up to her toes. “You’ll have to take it.”

  When his mouth would have closed hotly over hers, she pivoted. He countered. She came in low and might have flipped him if he hadn’t anticipated her move. They’d gone hand to hand before, with very satisfying results.

  They ended face-to-face again, breath quickening. “I’m taking you down,” she warned him.

  “Try it.”

  They grappled, both refusing to give way. The momentum took them up the stairs of the platform to the bed. She slipped a hand between his legs, gently squeezed. It was a move she’d used before. Even as the heat shot straight down the center of his body to her palm, he shifted, slid under her guard, and flipped her onto the bed.

  She rolled, came up in a crouch. “Come on, tough guy.”

  She was grinning now, her face flushed with battle, desire going gold in her eyes and the lights of the tree sparkling behind her.

  “You look beautiful, Eve.”

  That had her blinking, straightening from the fighting stance and gaping at him. Even the man who loved her had never accused her of beauty. “Huh?”

  It was all she managed before he leapt at her and took her out with a mid-body tackle.

  “Bastard.” She nearly giggled it even as she scissored up and managed to roll on top of him. But he used the impetus to keep going until he had her pinned again. “Beautiful, my ass.”

  “Your ass is beautiful.” The elbow to his gut knocked some of the breath out of him, but he sucked more in. “And so’s the rest of you. I’m going to have your beautiful ass, and the rest of you.”

  She bucked, twisted, nearly managed to slip out from under him. Then his mouth closed over her breast, sucking, nipping through her shirt. She moaned, arched up against him, and the fist she’d clenched in his hair dragged him closer rather than yanking him away.

  When he tore at her shirt, she reared up, hooking strong, long legs around his waist, finding his mouth with hers again as he pushed back to kneel in the center of the bed.

  They went over in a tangle of limbs, hands rough and groping. And flesh began to slide damply over flesh.

  He took her up and over the first time, hard and fast, those clever fingers knowing her weaknesses, her strengths, her needs. Quivering, crying out, she let herself fly on the edgy power of the climax.

  Then they were rolling again, gasps and moans and murmurs. Heat coming in tidal waves, nerves raw and needy. Her mouth was a fever on his as she straddled him.

  “Let me, let me, let me.” She chanted it against his mouth as she rose up. Her hands linked tight to his as she took him inside her. He filled her, body, mind, heart.

  Fast and full of fury, she drove them both as she’d needed to from the moment he’d come into the room. It flooded into her, swelled inside her, that unspeakable pleasure, the pressure, the frantic war to end, to prolong.

  She threw her head back, clung to it, that razor’s edge. “Go over.” She panted it out, fighting to clear her vision, to focus on that glorious face. “Go over first, and take me with you.”

  She watched his eyes, that staggering blue go dark as midnight, felt him leap over with one last, hard thrust. With her hands still locked in his, she threw herself over with him.

  And when the energy slid away from her like wax from a melting candle, she slipped down, quivering even as she pressed her face into his neck.

  “I won,” she managed.

  “Okay.”

  Her lips twitched at the smug, and exhausted, satisfaction in his voice. “I did. I got just what I wanted from you, pal.”

  “Thank Christ.” He shifted until he could cradle her against him. “Take a nap, Eve.”

  “Just an hour.” Knowing he would never sleep longer than that himself, she wrapped around him to keep him close.

  When she woke at two A.M., Eve decided the brief predinner nap had thrown her system off. Now she was fully awake, her mind engaged and starting to click through the information and evidence she had so far.

  David Palmer was here, in New York. Somewhere out in the city, happily going about his work. And her gut told her Stephanie Ring was already dead.

  He wouldn’t have such an easy time getting to the others on his list, she thought as she turned in bed. Ego would push him to try, and he’d make a mistake. In all likelihood he’d already made one. She just hadn’t picked up on it yet.

  Closing her eyes, she tried to slip into Palmer’s mind, as she had years before when she’d been hunting him.

  He loved his work, had loved it even when he’d been a boy and doing his experiments on animals. He’d managed to hide those little deaths, to put on a bright, innocent face. Everyone who’d known him—parents, teachers, neighbors—had spoken of a cheerful, helpful boy, a bright one who studied hard and caused no trouble.

  Yet some of the classic elements had been there, even in childhood. He’d been a loner, obsessively neat, compu
lsively organized. He’d never had a healthy sexual relationship and had been socially awkward with women. They’d found hundreds of journal discs, going back to his tenth year, carefully relating his theories, his goals, and his accomplishments.

  And with time, with practice, with study, he’d gotten very, very good at his work.

  Where would you set up, Dave? It would have to be somewhere comfortable. You like your creature comforts. You must have hated the lack of them in prison. Pissed you off, didn’t it? So now you’re coming after the ones who put you there.

  That’s a mistake, letting us know the marks in advance. But it’s ego, too. It’s really you against me.

  That’s another mistake, because no one knows you better.

  A house, she thought. But not just any house. It would have to be in a good neighborhood, close to good restaurants. Those years of prison food must have offended your palate. You’d need furniture, comfortable stuff, with some style. Linens, good ones. And an entertainment complex—got to watch the screen or you won’t know what people are saying about you.

  And all that takes money.

  When she sat up in bed, Roarke stirred beside her. “Figure it out?”

  “He’s got a credit line somewhere. I always wondered if he had money stashed, but it didn’t seem to matter since he was never getting out to use it. I was wrong. Money’s power, and he found a way to use it from prison.”

  She tossed back the duvet, started to leap out of bed when the ’link beeped. She stared at it a moment, and knew.

  FIVE

  Two teenagers looking for a little adventure snuck out of their homes, met at a prearranged spot, and took their new scoot-bikes for a spin in Central Park.

  They’d thought at first that Stephanie Ring was a vagrant, maybe a licensed beggar or a chemi-head sleeping it off, and they started to give her a wide berth.

  But vagrants didn’t make a habit of stretching out naked on the carousel in Central Park.

  Eve had both of them stashed in a black-and-white. One had been violently ill, and the brittle air still carried the smear of vomit. She’d ordered the uniforms to set up a stand of lights so the area was under the glare of a false day.

  Stephanie hadn’t been beaten, nor had her hair been cut. Palmer believed in variety. There were dozens of long, thin slices over her arms and legs, the flesh around the wounds shriveled and discolored. Something toxic, Eve imagined, something that when placed on a relatively minor open wound would cause agony. The blood had been allowed to drip and dry. Her feet speared out at sharp angles, in a parody of a ballet stance. Dislocated.

  Carved into her midriff were the signature block letters.

  LET’S KILL ALL THE LAWYERS

  He had finally killed this one, Eve thought, with the slow, torturous strangulation he was most fond of. Eve examined the noose, found the rope identical to that used on Judge Wainger.

  Another mistake, Dave. Lots of little oversights this time around.

  She reached for her field kit and began the routine that followed murder.

  She went home to write her report, wanting the quiet she’d find there as opposed to the postholiday confusion at Central. She shot a copy to her commander, then sent messages to both Peabody and Feeney. Once her aide and the top man in the Electronics Detective Division woke and checked their ’links, she was pulling them in.

  She fueled on coffee, then set about the tedious task of peeling the layers from Palmer’s financial records.

  It was barely dawn when the door between her office and Roarke’s opened. He came in, fully dressed, and she could hear the hum of equipment already at work in the room behind him.

  “You working at home today?” she said it casually, sipping coffee as she studied him.

  “Yes.” He glanced down at her monitor. “Following the money, Lieutenant?”

  “At the moment. You’re not my bodyguard, Roarke.”

  He merely smiled. “And who, I wonder, could be more interested in your body?”

  “I’m a cop. I don’t need a sitter.”

  He reached down, cupped her chin. “What nearly happened to Peabody two nights ago?”

  “It didn’t happen. And I’m not having you hovering around when you should be off doing stuff.”

  “I can do stuff from here just as easily and efficiently as I can from midtown. You’re wasting time arguing. And I doubt you’ll find your money trail through Palmer’s official records.”

  “I know it.” The admission covered both statements, and frustrated her equally. “I have to start somewhere. Go away and let me work.”

  “Done with me, are you?” He lowered his head and brushed his lips over hers.

  The sound of a throat being loudly and deliberately cleared came from the doorway. “Sorry.” Peabody managed most of a smile. She was pale, and more than a little heavy-eyed, but her uniform was stiff and polished, as always.

  “You’re early.” Eve rose, then slid her hands awkwardly into her pockets.

  “The message said to report as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll leave you two to work.” Alone, Roarke thought, the two of them would slip past the discomfort faster. “It’s good to see you, Peabody. Lieutenant,” he added before he closed the door between the rooms, “you might want to check the names of deceased relatives. The transfer and disbursement of funds involving accounts with the same last name and blood ties are rarely noticed.”

  “Yeah, right. Thanks.” Eve shifted her feet. The last time she’d seen her aide, Peabody had been wrapped in a blanket, her face blotchy from tears. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, mostly.”

  Mostly, my ass, Eve thought. “Look, I shouldn’t have called you in on this. Take a couple of more days to level off.”

  “Sir. I’d do better if I got back to work, into routine. Sitting home watching videos and eating soy chips isn’t the way I want to spend another day. Work clears it out quicker.”

  Because she believed that herself, Eve moved her shoulders. “Then get some coffee, Peabody, I’ve got plenty of work here.”

  “Yes, sir.” She stepped forward, pulling a small wrapped box from her pocket, setting it on the desk as she went to the AutoChef. “Your Christmas present. I didn’t get a chance to give it to you before.”

  “I guess we were a little busy.” Eve toyed with the ribbon. Gifts always made her feel odd, but she could sense Peabody’s eyes on her. She ripped off the red foil, opened the lid. It was a silver star, a little dented, a bit discolored.

  “It’s an old sheriff’s badge,” Peabody told her. “I don’t guess it’s like Wyatt Earp’s or anything, but it’s official. I thought you’d get a kick out of it. You know, the long tradition of law and order.”

  Absurdly touched, Eve grinned. “Yeah. It’s great.” For the fun of it, she took it out and pinned it to her shirt. “Does this make you the deputy?”

  “It suits you, Dallas. You’d’ve stood up wherever, whenever.”

  Looking up, Eve met her eyes. “You stand, Peabody. I wouldn’t have called you in today if I thought different.”

  “I guess I needed to hear that. Thanks. Well…” She hesitated, then lifted her brows in question.

  “Problem?”

  “No, I just…” She pouted, giving her square, sober face a painfully young look. “Hmmm.”

  “You didn’t like your present?” Eve said lightly. “You’ll have to take that up with Leonardo.”

  “What present? What’s he got to do with it?”

  “He made that wardrobe for your undercover work. If you don’t like it…”

  “The clothes.” Like magic, Peabody’s face cleared. “I get to keep all those mag clothes? All of them?”

  “What the hell am I supposed to do with them? Now are you going to stand around grinning like an idiot or can I get on with things here?”

  “I can grin and work at the same time, sir.”

  “Settle down. Start a run and trace on this rope.” She pushed a hard-co
py description across the desk. “I want any sales within the last week, bulk sales. He uses a lot of it.”

  “Who?”

  “We’ll get to that. Run the rope, then get me a list of private residences—upscale—sold or rented in the metro area within the last week. Also private luxury vehicles—pickup or delivery on those within the last week. He needs transpo and he’d go classy. The cage,” she muttered as she began to pace. “Where the hell did he get the cage? Wildlife facility, domestic animal detention? We’ll track it. Start the runs, Peabody, I’ll brief you when Feeney gets here.”

  She’d called in Feeney, Peabody thought as she sat down at a computer. It was big. Just what she needed.

  “You’ll both want to review the investigation discs, profiles, transcripts from the Palmer case of three years ago. Feeney,” Eve added, “you’ll remember most of it. You tracked and identified the electronic equipment he used in those murders.”

  “Yeah, I remember the little bastard.” Feeney sat, scowling into his coffee. His habitually weary face was topped by wiry red hair that never seemed to decide which direction it wanted to take.

  He was wearing a blue shirt, so painfully pressed and bright that Eve imagined it had come out of its gift box only that morning. And would be comfortably rumpled by afternoon.

  “Because we know him, his pattern, his motives, and in this case his victims or intended victims, he’s given us an edge. He knows that, enjoys that because he’s sure he’ll be smarter.”

  “He hates you, Dallas.” Feeney’s droopy eyes lifted, met hers. “He hated your ever-fucking guts all along. You stopped him, then you played him until he spilled everything. He’ll come hard for you.”

  “I hope you’re right, because I want the pleasure of taking him out again. He got the first two on his list because he had a lead on us,” she continued. “The others have been notified, warned, and are under guard. He may or may not make an attempt to continue in order. But once he runs into a snag, he’ll skip down.”

  “And come for you,” Peabody put in.