Immortal in Death

CHAPTER TWENTY

She'd never known a week to move so fast. And she felt brutally alone. Everyone considered the case closed, including the PA's office and her own commander. Jerry Fitzgerald's body was reduced to ashes, her final interview logged.

The media went into its usual frenzy. Top level model's secret life. The killer beneath the perfect face. Quest for immortality leaves a trail of death.

She had other cases, certainly had other obligations, but she spent every free minute reviewing the case, picking through evidence, and trying out new theories until even Peabody told her to give it up.

She tried to juggle the few little details on the wedding Roarke had asked her to see to. But what the hell did she know about caterers, wine selections, and seating charts? In the end, she swallowed her pride and dumped the whole mess on a sneering Summerset.

And was told, in didactic tones, that a wife of a man in Roarke's position would have to learn basic social skills.

She told him to shove it, and they both went off, well satisfied to do what they did best. Under it all, Eve was almost afraid they were beginning to like each other.

Roarke wandered from his office into Eve's. And shook his head. They would be married the next day. In less than twenty hours. Was the bride-to-be fussing with her wedding gown, bathing herself in fragrant oils and perfumes, daydreaming about her life to come?

No, she was hunched over her computer, muttering at it, her hair tousled from constant raking with her fingers. There was a stain on her shirt where she'd spilled coffee. A plate holding what might have once been a sandwich had been set on the floor. Even the cat avoided it.

He walked up behind her, saw, as he had expected to see, the Fitzgerald file on screen.

Her tenacity fascinated him, and yes, allured him. He wondered if she had allowed anyone else to see that she suffered over Fitzgerald's death. If she'd been able, she would have hidden it even from him.

He knew the guilt was there, and the pity. And the duty. All would push her, chain a part of her to the case. It was one of the reasons he loved her, that huge capacity for emotion strapped into a logical, restless mind.

He started to bend down to kiss the crown of her head just as she lifted it. They both swore when her head connected hard with his jaw.

"Christ Jesus." Torn between amusement and pain, Roarke dabbed at the blood on his lip. "You make romance a dangerous business."

"You shouldn't sneak up behind me that way." Frowning, she rubbed the top of her head. It was just one more spot to throb. "I thought you and Feeney and a few of your hedonistic friends were going out to rape and pillage."

"A bachelor's party is not a Viking invasion. I have some time yet before the barbarism begins." He sat down on the corner of her desk and studied her. "Eve, you need a break from this."

"I'm going to be taking a three-week one, aren't I?" she hissed as he only lifted his brows patiently. "Sorry, I'm being bitchy. I can't get past this, Roarke. I've put it aside a half dozen times this past week, but I keep coming back."

"Say it aloud. Sometimes it's helpful."

"Okay." She shoved back from the desk, narrowly missed stepping on the cat. "She could have gone to the club. Some of the fancy people slum at that kind of place."

"Pandora did."

"Exactly. And they did run with the same basic crowd. So yeah, she could have gone to the club, she could have seen Boomer there. She might even have had a contact tell her he was in. This is all supposing that she knew him, which is not firmly established. And was working with him, or through him. She sees him there, realizing he's mouthing off. He's a loose end, someone who's outlived his usefulness and is now a liability."

"So far that's logical."

She nodded, but didn't stop pacing. "Okay, he spots her after he comes out of the privacy room with Hetta Moppett. Jerry has to worry now what he's said. He could have bragged, even puffed up his own connection to impress the woman. Boomer's smart enough to know he's in trouble, takes off, goes underground. Hetta's the first victim. She's got to go because she might know something. She's taken out quick, brutally, so it looks like a random rage hit. Her ID's taken. That means it'll take longer to trace her, connect her with the club and Boomer. If anyone cared to connect her, which was unlikely."

"Except they didn't count on you."

"There's that. Boomer's got a sample, he's got the formula. He had quick hands when he wanted them, and a skill for larceny. Judgment wasn't his strong suit. Maybe he pressed for more money, a larger cut of the whole. But he was good at his job. Nobody knew he was a weasel but a handful of people connected to NYPSD."

"And those who did wouldn't have known how seriously and personally you take a partnership." He cocked his head. "Under most circumstances, I'd say his death would have been chalked off to a soured drug deal, a revenge hit by one of his associates, and left at that."

"True enough, but Jerry didn't move quick enough. We found the stuff at Boomer's, started to work on that angle. At the same time, I get a first-hand look at Pandora at work. You know the story there, and you've heard the rundown on the circumstances on the night of her death. Pinning Mavis with the crime was a stroke of luck, good and bad. It gave Jerry time, presented her with a convenient scapegoat."

"A scapegoat who just happened to be near and dear to the primary's heart."

"That's the bad luck. How many times am I going to walk into a case and know the most likely suspect is absolutely innocent? Despite all the evidence, despite everything? It's just not going to happen."

"I don't know. It did with me a few months ago."

"I didn't know, I felt. After awhile, I knew." She jammed her hands in her pockets, ripped them out again. "With Mavis I knew, from the get go, I knew. So I approached the entire case from a different angle. Now I see three potential suspects, all, as it turns out, with motive, with opportunity, and with means. One of those suspects, I begin to believe, is addicted to the very drug that started the ball rolling. Just when you think it's safe to start assuming, a dealer on the East End is taken out. Same MO. Why? That's a sticking point, Roarke, one I can't clean up. They didn't need Cockroach. The odds of Boomer trusting him with any data on this are so long they reach through the stratosphere. But he's taken out, and there are traces of the drug in his system."

"A ploy." Roarke took out a cigarette and lighted it. "A distraction."

For the first time in hours, she grinned. "That's what I like, about you. Your criminal mind. Toss in a red herring to confuse the issue. Leave the cops straining to find a logical connection with Cockroach. In the meantime, Redford's manufacturing a variety of Immortality on his own, he's given it to Jerry. Along with a hefty fee. But he got that back by bleeding her for every bottle of it from then on. A smart businessman, he's gone to the trouble, taken the risk of procuring a specimen from the Eden Colony."

"Two," Roarke said and had the pleasure of seeing that intense face go blank.

"Two what?"

"He ordered two. I swung by Eden on my way back on planet, had a talk with Engrave's daughter. I asked if she could find the time to do some cross-checking. Redford ordered his first specimen nine months ago, using another name and a forged license. But the ID numbers are the same. He had it shipped to a florist on Vegas II, one with a dubious reputation for dealing in contraband flora." He paused to tap his ash into a marble bowl. "I'd say it was sent from there to a lab, where the nectar was distilled."

"Why the hell didn't you tell me before?"

"I'm telling you now. It was just confirmed five minutes ago. You can probably contact security on Vegas II and have the florist questioned."

She was swearing as she pounded to her 'link, gave orders for just that.

"Even if they crack him, it'll take weeks to cut through the bureaucracy and have him transported on planet so I can have a go at him." But she rubbed her hands together, anticipating it. "You might have mentioned you were doing this."

"If it came to nothing, you wouldn't be disappointed. Instead, you have to be grateful." His eyes sobered. "Eve, this doesn't change the situation overmuch."

"It means Redford was working on his own longer than he wanted us to know about. It means – " She broke off and dropped into a chair. "I know she could have done it, Roarke. On her own. She could slip out of Young's apartment without detection. She could have left him sleeping, come back, cleaned up. Every fucking time. Or he could have known. He'd go to the wall for her, and he's an actor. He'd toss Redford to the wolves in a heartbeat, but not if it implicated Jerry."

She lowered her head to her hands a moment, fingers rubbing hard over her brow. "I know she could have done it. I know she could have seen a window of opportunity and gotten into the drug hold. She might have decided to end it her way, it suits her personality. But it just doesn't feel right."

"You can't blame yourself for her death," Roarke said quietly. "For the obvious reason that you aren't to blame, and also a reason you'll accept, guilt clouds logic."

"Yeah. I know." She rose again, restless. "I've been off my stride with this one. Mavis, remembering about my father. I've missed details, overlapped where it wasn't necessary. All these distractions."

"Including the wedding?" he suggested.

She managed a weak smile. "I've tried not to think too much about that. Nothing personal."

"Consider it a formality. A contract, if you like, with a few trimmings."

"Have you considered that a year ago we didn't even know each other? That we're living in the same house, but for a good deal of the time we're on two different steps? That all this… stuff we feel for each other might not really be the sort of thing that holds up in the long stretch?"

He looked at her steadily. "Are you going to piss me off the night before we're married?"

"I'm not trying to piss you off, Roarke, You brought it up, and since it has been one of the distractions, I'd like to clear it up. These are reasonable questions and deserve reasonable answers."

His eyes went dark. She recognized the warning and braced herself for the storm. Instead, he rose, spoke with such icy calm she nearly shuddered. "Are you backing out, Lieutenant?"

"No. I said I'd do it. I just think we should… think," she said lamely, and hated herself.

"Well, you think then, find your reasonable answers. I have mine." He glanced at his watch. "And I'm running late. Mavis is waiting downstairs for you."

"For what?"

"Ask her," he said with the slightest edge to his voice as he walked out.

"Damn it." She kicked the desk with enough force to have Galahad eyeing her maliciously. She kicked it again because pain had some rewards, then limped out to go find Mavis.

An hour later, she found herself being dragged into the Down and Dirty Club. She'd suffered through Mavis's orders to change her clothes, to do something about her hair, her face. Even her attitude. But when the music and noise hit her like a roundhouse punch, she balked.

"Jesus, Mavis. Why here?"

"Because it's nasty, that's why. Bachelor parties are supposed to be nasty. Christ, look at that guy onstage. His cock's big enough to drill spikes. Good thing I asked Crack to save us an A table. The place is sardine city, and it's barely midnight."

"I have to get married tomorrow," Eve began, finding it a handy excuse for the first time.

"That's the point. Jesus, Dallas, loosen up. Hey, there's our party."

Eve was used to shocks. But this was a doozy. It was a bit more than credulity could bear to see a table directly under a cock swinger crowded by Nadine Furst, Peabody, a woman who she thought was probably Trina, and, dear God Almighty, Dr. Mira.

Before she could close her mouth, Crack swooped up behind her and hoisted her off her feet. "Hey there, skinny white girl. Gonna party tonight. Got you a bottle of champagne on the house."

"You've got any champagne in this joint, pal, I'll chew the cork."

"Hell, it sparkles. What you want?" He gave her a quick spin, to the vocal appreciation of the crowd, caught her midair, and thumped her down in a seat at the table. "Ladies, y'all enjoy yourselves now, or I'm gonna hear about it."

"You have such interesting friends, Dallas." Nadine puffed on a cigarette. No one was going to worry about tobacco restrictions in there. "Have a drink." She lifted a bottle of unknown substance, poured some into what looked like a fairly clean glass. "We're way ahead of you."

"I had to get her to change." Mavis hipped her way into a seat. "She bitched all the way." Then Mavis's eyes filled. "She only did it for me." She took Eve's drink, swilled it down. "We wanted to surprise you."

"You did. Dr. Mira. It is Dr. Mira, isn't it?"

Mira smiled brilliantly. "It was when I walked in. I'm afraid I'm a little fuzzy on details at this point."

"We gotta have a toast." Rocky on her pins, Peabody used the table for balance. She managed to raise her glass without spilling more than half its contents on Eve's head. "To the best fucking cop in the whole stinking city, who's gonna marry the sexiest sumbitch I, personally, have ever laid eyes on, and who, because she's so goddamn smart, has seen to it that I'm perman'ly attached to Homicide. Which is where any half-blind asshole could tell you I belong. So there." She downed the rest of her drink, fell backward into her chair, and grinned foolishly.

"Peabody," Eve said and flicked a finger under her eyes. "I've never been more touched."

"I'm shit faced, Dallas."

"The evidence points to it. Can we get any food in here that doesn't promise ptomaine? I'm starved."

"The bride to be wants to eat." Still sober as a nun, Mavis bolted to her feet. "I'll take care of it. Don't get up."

"Oh, and Mavis." Eve jerked her down, murmured in her ear. "Get me something nonlethal to drink."

"But, Dallas, it's a party."

"And I'm going to enjoy it. I really am, but I want to be clear-headed tomorrow. It's important to me."

"That's so sweet." Weeping again, Mavis lowered her face to Eve's shoulder.

"Yeah, I'm a regular sugar substitute." On impulse she jerked Mavis around and kissed her square on the mouth. "Thanks. Nobody else would have thought of this."

"Roarke did." Mavis mopped at her eyes with the glittering fringe swinging from her sleeve. "We worked it out together."

"He would, wouldn't he?" Smiling a little, Eve took another dubious look at the naked bodies gyrating on stage. "Hey, Nadine." She topped off the reporter's glass. "The guy up there with the red tail feathers has his eye on you."

"Oh, yeah?" Nadine looked blearily around.

"Dare you."

"Dare me what? To get up there? Shit, that's nothing."

"Then do it." Eve leaned over, grinned in her face. "Let's see some action."

"You think I won't." Rising, Nadine teetered, righted herself. "Hey, hot stuff," she shouted to the closest dancer. "Give me a hand up."

The crowd loved her, Eve decided. Especially when Nadine got into the spirit and stripped down to purple underwear. Eve sighed into her mineral water. She sure knew how to pick her friends. "How's it going, Trina?"

"I'm having an out of body experience. I think I'm in Tibet."

"Uh-huh." Eve cast a look at Dr. Mira. The way the woman was cheering, Eve was afraid she'd leap up onstage herself. She didn't think either one of them wanted that vision in their memory logs. "Peabody." She had to jab her fingers into Peabody's arm to get even a vague reaction. "Let's get some more food here."

Peabody grunted. "I could do that."

Following her gaze, Eve watched Nadine in a crotch grind with a seven-foot black in body paint. "Sure you could, pal. You'd bring the house down."

"It's just that I've got this little pouch." She staggered, and Eve caught her neatly by the arm. "Jake called it my jelly belly. I'm saving up to have it sucked."

"Just do some more abs. Don't go for the vacuum."

"It's heditary."

"Hereditary."

"Right." She swayed and hobbled as Eve steered her through the crowd. "Everybody in my family's got one. Jake likes ' em skinny. Like you."

"Screw him, then."

"Did." Peabody giggled, then leaned heavily on a serving bar. "Screwed our brains out. That's not what does it, though, you know that, Evie."

Eve sighed. "Peabody, I don't want to punch a fellow officer when she's impaired. So don't call me Evie."

"Right. Know what does it?"

"Food," she ordered from the server droid. "Any kind and lots of it. Table three. What does what, Peabody?"

"What does it. It. What you and Roarke got, that's what does it. Connection. Inside connections. Sex is just the extra."

"Sure. You and Casto having problems?"

"Nope. Just don't have much connection now that the case is closed." Peabody shook her head and lights exploded in front of her eyes. "Jesus, I'm plowed. Gotta use the John."

"I'll go with you."

"I can do it myself." With some dignity, Peabody nudged Eve's hand from her arm. "I don't care to vomit in front of a superior officer, if it's all the same to you."

"Suit yourself."

But Eve watched her like a hawk as she toddled across the floor. They'd been at it nearly three hours, she judged. And though fun was fun, she was going to get some food into her little playmates and see that they all got transport home.

Smiling, she leaned on the bar herself, watching Nadine, still wearing purple briefs, sitting at the table having an earnest discussion with Dr. Mira. Trina had her head on the table now and was probably communing with the Dhali Lama.

Mavis, eyes shining, was onstage, screeching out an impromptu number that had the dance floor rocking.

Damn it, she thought as she felt her throat burn. She loved the whole snockered lot of them. Peabody included, she decided, and opted to take a short peek into the toilet to make sure her aide hadn't passed out or drowned.

She made it nearly halfway across the club before she was grabbed. As it had been happening on and off all evening as hopeful clubgoers trolled for partners, she started to shake off good-naturedly.

"Try again, ace. Not interested. Hey!" The quick pinch on her arm annoyed more than hurt. But her vision was already wavering as she was muscled through the hooting crowd and shoved into a privacy room.

"Goddamn it, I said I wasn't interested." She started to reach for her badge, missed her pocket completely. At a gentle nudge, she spilled backward onto a narrow bed.

"Take a rest, Eve. We have to talk." Casto dropped down next to her and crossed his feet at the ankles.

Roarke wasn't in a partygoing mood, but as Feeney had gone to some trouble to create a monstrously hedonistic atmosphere, he played his part. It was a hall of sorts, crowded with men, many of whom were surprised to find themselves participating in such a pagan ritual. Still, Feeney, with his electronic expertise, had ferreted out some of Roarke's closer business associates, and none had wanted to risk offending someone of Roarke's stature with a refusal.

So there they were, the rich, the famous, and the scrambling, pressed into a badly lit room with life-size screens flickering with naked bodies in various, imaginative acts of sexual frenzy, a trio of live strippers already entertainingly naked, and enough beer and whiskey to sink the Seventh Fleet and all its crew.

Roarke had to admit it had been a nice gesture and was doing his best to live up to Feeney's expectations as a man on his final night of freedom.

"There you are, boy-o, another whiskey for you." After several of the Irish himself, Feeney had slipped comfortably into the brogue of the country he'd never seen – that indeed his great-great-grandparents had never set foot on. "Up the rebels, eh?"

Roarke cocked a brow. He himself had been born in Dublin and had spent most of his youth wandering its streets and alleys. Yet he couldn't claim the sentimental attachment Feeney did for a land and its rebellions. "Slainte," he said to please his friend, and sipped.

"There's a lad. Now you see here, Roarke, the ladies among us are for looking purposes only. No touching for you now."

"I'll do my best to restrain myself."

Feeney grinned and slapped Roarke on the back hard enough to stagger him. "She's a prize, isn't she? Our Dallas."

"She's…" Roarke scowled into his whiskey. "Something," he decided.

"Keep you on your toes, she will. Keeps them all on their toes. Got a mind like a fucking shark. You know, focused on one thing till the thing's done. Tell you straight, this last case had her bug-shit."

"She hasn't let it go," Roarke murmured, and smiled coolly when a naked blonde sidled up to rub her hands up his chest. "You'll have better luck with that one," he told her, gesturing to a glaze-eyed man in charcoal gray pinstripes. "He owns Stoner Dynamics."

When she looked blank, Roarke gently disengaged the hands that were gliding cheerfully toward his crotch. "He's loaded."

She shimmied off, leaving Feeney gazing wistfully after her. "I'm a happily married man, Roarke."

"So I've been told."

"It's lowering to admit I'm not but a little tempted to give a pretty young thing like that a quick ride in a dark room."

"You're a better man for it, Feeney."

"That's the truth." He sighed, low and long, then veered back to the former topic. "Dallas goes off for a few weeks, she'll put this aside, get on with the next."

"She doesn't like losing, and she thinks she has." He tried to dismiss it. Damn if he wanted to spend the night before his wedding picking apart a homicide. With a muttered curse, he steered Feeney to a quiet corner. "What do you know about that dealer who got hit in the East End?"

"Cockroach. Not much to know. Dealer, fairly slick, fairly stupid. It's amazing how many of them are both. Stuck to his own turf. Liked a quick, easy profit."

"Was he a weasel, too? Like Boomer?"

"Usta weasel. His trainer retired last year."

"What happens when a trainer retires?"

"Another one takes on the weasel, or he's let go. Didn't find any new trainer for Cockroach."

Roarke started to shrug it off, but it kept niggling. "The cop who retired? Did he work with anybody?"

"What d'you think? I got memory chips in my head?"

"Yes."

Flattered, Feeney preened. "Well, as a matter of fact, I recall he was partnered with an old pal of mine. Danny Riley. That was back in, oh, forty-one. Seems like he cruised with Mari Dirscolli for a few years to about forty-eight. Might be forty-nine."

"Never mind," Roarke muttered.

"Then he teamed with Casto a couple years."

Roarke's attention snapped back. "Casto? Was he partnered with Casto while he was Cockroach's trainer?"

"Sure, but only one leg of a team works as trainer. 'Course," Feeney murmured as his brow furrowed. "Usual procedure is to take over your partner's contacts. No record Casto did. He had his own weasels."

Roarke told himself it was his own prejudice, his own ridiculous knee-jerk jealousy. He didn't give a damn. "Not everything's locked into record. You don't find it coincidental that two weasels who worked close to Casto got hit, both of them with connections to Immortality?"

"We aren't saying Casto had Cockroach. And it's not that coincidental. You're dealing with illegals here, you got overlaps."

"What other connection have you found that links Cockroach to the other murders, other than Casto?"

"Jesus, Roarke." He ran a hand over his face. "You're as bad as Dallas. Look, a lot of Illegals cops end up with abuse problems. Caste's clean to the bone. Never had a trace in any of his testing. He's got a good rep, he's coming up for captaincy, and it's no secret he wants it. He's not going to go messing around with this kind of shit."

"Sometimes a man is just a little bit tempted, Feeney, and sometimes he gives in. You want to tell me it would be the first time an Illegals cop made a few credits on the side?"

"No." Feeney sighed again. He was sobering up with this kind of talk. And he didn't like it. "There's nothing to pin on him, Roarke. Dallas was working with him. If he was a wrong cop, she'd have smelled it. She's like that."

"She's been distracted. Off stride," Roarke murmured, remembering her own words. "Think it through, Feeney, no matter how fast she moved on this, she always seemed to be one step off. If someone had known her moves, they might have anticipated her. Especially someone who thinks like a cop."

"You don't like him because he's almost as pretty as you," Feeney said sourly.

Roarke let that pass. "How much can you dig up on him tonight?"

"Tonight? Jesus, you want me to dig shit up on another cop, go into personal records, because he had a couple of weasels knocked? And you want me to do it tonight?"

Roarke put a hand on Feeney's shoulder. "We can use my unit."

"You'll make a good pair," Feeney muttered as Roarke steered him through the crowd. "Both a couple of sharks."

Eve's vision wavered as if she'd suddenly stepped over her head into a tankful of water. Through the ripple, she saw Casto, could smell the faint scent of soap and sweat on his skin. But she couldn't home in on what he was doing there.

"What's going on, Casto? We get a call?" Blankly, she looked around for Peabody, saw the shimmering red drapes that were supposed to add sensuality to a room designed for quick, cheap sex. "Wait a minute."

"Just relax." He didn't want to give her another dose, not in addition to what she'd been drinking at her hen party. "The door's locked, Eve, so you can't go anywhere. You've got a nice buzz on to make it easier all around." He pushed a satin-edged pillow behind his back. "It would have been easier still if you'd just let go. But you didn't. You won't. Jesus Christ, I can't believe you put the hammer on Lilligas."

"Who – what?"

"The florist on Vegas II. That's cutting it too damn close. I've been using the bastard myself."

Her stomach tilted nastily. When she tasted bile at the back of her throat, she leaned forward, stuck her head between her knees and concentrated on breathing in and out.

"Downloads make some people nauseous. We'll go with something else next time."

"I missed you." She tried to focus on keeping the heavy, greasy food she'd celebrated with instead of liquor from spewing back up. "I fucking missed you."

"Yeah." He knew she wasn't speaking out of sentiment. "You weren't looking for another cop. Hey, why should you? And you had your own worries. Broke the rules, Eve. You know the primary is never, ever supposed to get personally involved. You were too worried about your friend. I admire that, really, even if it is stupid."

He took her by the hair, dragged her head back. After a quick check of her pupils, he decided the initial dose would hold her for a while. He didn't want to risk overdosing her. Not until he'd finished.

"And I do admire you, Eve."

"You sonofabitch." Her voice slurred over her thickened tongue. "You killed them."

"Each and every one." Relaxed, he crossed his feet at the ankles. "It's been hard to hold it all back, I've got to admit. Rough on the ego not to be able to show a woman like you what a smart man can accomplish. You know, Eve, I was a little worried when I learned you were in charge of Boomer." He reached out, ran a fingertip from her chin down between her breasts. "I thought I could charm you. Gotta admit you were attracted."

"Get your hand off me." She slapped out at it, missed by several inches.

"Your depth perception's off." He chuckled. "Drugs mess you up, Eve. Take it from me. I see it every shitty day on the streets. Got sick of seeing it. That's how it started. All those fancy dudes making their fancy profits and never getting their manicures sticky. Why not me?"

"For money."

"What else is there? I fell into the Immortality connection a couple years back. It was like kismet. Early days then, took my time, did my homework, used a source on the Eden Colony to slip me a sample. Poor old Boomer ferreted it out – my connection from the Eden Colony."

"Boomer told you."

"Sure he did. He had something in the Illegals market, he came to me. Didn't know I was already in on it, not then. I kept it under wraps. I didn't know Boomer had a copy of the fucking formula. Didn't know he was holding out, hoping for a nice big chunk."

"You killed him. You broke him to pieces."

"Not until it was necessary. I never do anything until it's necessary. It was Pandora, you see, that beautiful bitch."

Eve listened, righting to bring her brain and motor skills back into mesh while Casto spun her a tale of sex, power, and profit.

Pandora had spotted him at the club. Or they'd spotted each other. She'd liked the idea that he was a cop, and the kind of cop he was. He'd be able to get his hands on lots of goodies, wouldn't he? And for her, he'd been happy to do so. He'd been enchanted with her, obsessed, and yes, addicted. No harm in admitting that now. His mistake had been to share his information about Immortality with her, to listen to her ideas for cashing in. Huge profits, she'd predicted. More money than they could spend in three lifetimes. And youth, beauty, great sex. She'd become addicted to the drug quickly, always hungered for more, and she had used him to get it.

But she had been useful, too. Her career, her fame, had made it easy for her to travel, to carry more of what was then being manufactured exclusively on Starlight Station in a little private lab.

Then he'd discovered she'd brought Redford in on the deal. He'd been furious with her, but she'd been able to string him along with sex and promises. And the money, of course.

But things had started to go wrong. Boomer had pushed for money, had pocketed a bag of the drug in powder form.

"I should have been able to handle him. Little wart. Trailed him here. He was flying, running his mouth, tossing the credits I'd given him to keep him quiet around like candy. I couldn't know what he'd said to that damn whore." Casto shrugged. "You figured that out yourself. Right scenario, Eve, wrong person. I had to take her out. I was in too deep for mistakes by then. She was just a whore."

Eve leaned her head back against the wall. Her head had nearly stopped spinning now. She thanked God the dose had been light. Casto was on a roll. She could keep him talking. If she couldn't get the hell out on her own, someone was going to come looking for her soon.

"Then you went after Boomer."

"I couldn't go to his flop and drag him out. My face is too well known around there. I gave him a little time, then I contacted him. Told him we'd be able to deal. We needed him in on our side. He was stupid enough to buy it. Then I had him."

"You messed him up first. You didn't kill him quick."

"I had to find out how much he'd let out, who he might have talked to. He didn't deal well with pain, our Boomer. Spilled his guts. I found out about the formula. Really pissed me off. I wasn't going to mess up his face like the hooker's, but I lost it. Plain and simple. Got emotionally involved, you could say."

"You're a cold bastard," Eve muttered, making her voice weak and blurry.

"Now that's just not true, Eve. You ask Peabody." He grinned, gave her breast a quick tweak that sent fury and rage cycling to her gut. "I went for DeeDee when I realized you weren't going to take a nibble. Too wrapped up in that rich Irish bastard to take a look at a real man. And DeeDee, bless her, was ripe for plucking. Never could get much out of her on what you were up to, though. DeeDee's got good cop all over her. Slip a little help into her wine, though, she gets more cooperative."

"You drugged Peabody?"

"Now and then, just to pump her for any details you might have left out of your official report. And to keep her sleeping pretty when I had to go out at night. She was an airtight alibi. Anyway, you know about Pandora. That went pretty much as you had figured, too. Only I was staking out her place that night. Scooped her up the minute she came storming out. She wanted to go to that designer's. We'd pretty much finished up our sexual relationship by then. Just business now. I figured why not take her? I knew she was working to cut me out of the whole deal. She wanted it all. She didn't think she needed some street cop hanging on, even if he was the one to give her the damn stuff to begin with. She knew about Boomer, too. But that didn't bother her. What did she care about some dirty alley croucher? And she never thought, never considered that I'd hurt her."

"But you did."

"I took her where she wanted to go. I'm not really sure if I was going to do it then, but when I saw the security camera smashed, it seemed like a sign. Then the place was empty. Just her and me. They'd hang it on the dressmaker, right? Or on the little lady she'd had a fight with. So I hit her. The first strike took her down, but she was up again. That shit made her strong and mean. I had to keep hitting her, and hitting her. Fucking blood flying. Then she was down for good. Your little friend came in, and you know the rest."

"Yeah, I know the rest. You went back and took the box with the tabs. Why did you take her palm 'link?"

"She always used it to call me. She might've recorded the numbers."

"Cockroach?"

"Just something extra in the mix. To confuse things. Cockroach was always willing to sample a new product. You were hammering away, and I wanted a hit where I was well alibied, just in case. So I had DeeDee."

"You got to Jerry, too, didn't you?"

"Easy as a walk on the beach. Get one of the VT's stirred up with a quick buzz, wait for the chaos. I had a reviver for Jerry, brought her around and had her out of there before she knew what was happening. I promised her a fix, and she cried like a baby. Morphine first so she wouldn't get any idea about not cooperating. Then Immortality, then a dash of Zeus. She died happy, Eve. Thanking me."

"You're a humanitarian, Casto."

"No, Eve, I'm a selfish man looking out for number one. And I'm not ashamed of it. I've got twelve years on the streets, wading through blood, vomit, and come. I've paid my dues. This drug's going to give me everything I've ever wanted. I'll take my captaincy, and with that kind of connection, I'll feed profits from the drug into a nice numbered account for four or five years, then I'll retire to a tropical island and sip mai tais."

He was winding down now, she could tell it from the tone of his voice. The excitement, the arrogance had cooled to practicality. "You'll have to kill me first."

"I know that, Eve. It's a damn shame. I all but handed you Fitzgerald, but you just wouldn't let it be." With what might have been affection, he brushed a hand over her hair. "I'm going to make it easy on you. I've got something here that'll take you down gently. You won't feel anything."

"That's damn considerate of you, Casto."

"I owe you that much, honey. Cop to cop. If you'd let it lay, after your friend got off, but you wouldn't. I wish things had been different, Eve. I had a real taste for you." He leaned close, so close she felt his breath waft over her lips as though he were indeed about to taste her.

Slowly, she lifted her lashes, looking through them into his face. "Casto," she said softly.

"Yeah. Just relax now. Won't take long." He reached for his pocket.

"Fuck you." She brought her knee up hard. Her depth perception was still slightly skewed. Rather than connecting with his groin she knocked solidly into his chin. He went backward off the bed, and the pressure injector in his hand skittered over the floor.

They both dived for it.

"Where the hell is she? She wouldn't have walked out on her own party." Mavis tapped her spiked heels impatiently as she continued to scan the club. "And she's the only one of us still sober."

"Ladies' room?" Nadine suggested, half-heartedly tugging her blouse over her lacy bra.

"Peabody's checked twice. Dr. Mira, she wouldn't have made a run for it, would she? I know she's nervous, but – "

"She's not the running kind." Though her head was still revolving, Mira struggled to keep her speech coherent. "We'll look around again. She's here somewhere. It's just so crowded."

"Still looking for the bride?" Grinning widely, Crack lumbered up. "Looks like she just wanted a last ride. The dude over there saw her slip into one of the privacy rooms with a cowboy type."

"Dallas?" Mavis snorted at the thought of it. "No way."

"So, she's celebrating." Crack lifted his shoulders.

"Got plenty more rooms, ladies, if you got an itch."

"Which room?" Peabody demanded, sober now that she'd thrown up everything in her stomach including, she was sure, a good portion of the lining.

"Number five. Hey, you want a gang bang, I can round up some nice young boys for you. All sizes, all shapes, all colors." He shook his head as they marched off, and decided that he'd better go along to keep the peace.

Eve's fingers slipped off the injector, and the elbow to her cheekbone sent pain grinding down her face and into her teeth. Still, she had first blood, and the shock of finding her ready to fight had shaken him.

"You should have given me a bigger dose." She followed up the statement with a short-armed punch to his windpipe. "I wasn't drinking tonight, asshole." She managed to roll him over. "I'm getting married tomorrow." She punctuated this by bloodying his nose. "That was for Peabody, you bastard."

He caught her in the ribs and winded her. She felt the injector pass over her arm and heaved up by the hips to kick. She would never know if it was blind luck, her lack of depth perception, or his own miscalculation, but he dodged to avoid the gut thrust, and her feet, coming up like pistons, caught him square in the face.

His eyes rolled back in his head; his head hit the floor with an ominous and satisfying thud.

Still, he'd managed to get more of the drug into her. She crawled, drifting in the sensation of swimming through thick, golden syrup. She made it to the door, but the lock and its key code appeared to be twelve feet above her grasping hand.

Then the door burst open and all hell broke loose.

She felt herself lifted, patted down. Someone was ordering in no-nonsense tones that she be given air. Giggles bubbled up in her. She was flying now, was all she could think.

"Bastard killed them," she kept saying. "Bastard killed them all. I missed it. Where's Roarke?"

Her eyelids were pulled back and she would have sworn her eyeballs rolled like fiery little marbles. She heard the words "health center" and began to fight like a tiger.

Roarke descended the stairs, a grim set to his mouth. He knew Feeney was still upstairs, huffing and blowing, but he was convinced. A business deal of the size of Immortality's potential required an expert and an inside connection. Casto filled both those bills.

Eve might not want to hear it, either, so he wouldn't mention it. Yet. Feeney would have three weeks to poke around while they were on their honeymoon. If there was indeed going to be a honeymoon.

He heard the door open and angled his chin. They were going to have this out once and for all, he determined. Here and now. He took two more steps, then was down the rest of them in a dead run.

"What the hell happened to her? She's bleeding." There was blood in his own eye as he snatched a limp Eve from the arms of a seven-foot black in a silver loincloth.

As everybody began talking at once, Mira clapped her hands like a schoolteacher in a room of rowdy students. "She needs a quiet room. The MTs treated her for the drug, but she'll have some residual effects. And she wouldn't let them deal with the cuts and bruises."

Roarke's face went stony. "What drug?" His gaze latched on Mavis. "Where the hell did you take her?"

"Not her fault." Still glassy-eyed, Eve wrapped her arms around Roarke's neck. "Casto. It was Casto, Roarke. Know that?"

"As a matter of fact – "

"Stupid – stupid to miss it. Sloppy. Can I go to bed now?"

"Take her upstairs, Roarke," Mira said calmly. "I can tend to her. Believe me, she'll be fine."

"I'll be fine," Eve agreed as she floated up the stairs. "I'll tell you everything. I can always tell you, can't I? 'Cause you love me, you sap."

There was only one piece of information Roarke wanted at the moment. He laid Eve on the bed, took a good look at her bruised cheek and swollen mouth. "Is he dead?"

"Nope. I just beat the hell out of him." She smiled, caught the look in his eye, and shook her head slowly. "Nuh-uh, no way. Don't even think about it. We're getting married in a couple hours."

He smoothed the hair back from her face. "Are we?"

"I figured it out." It was hard to concentrate, but it was important. She lifted her hands, cupped his face to keep it in focus. "It's not a formality. And it's not a contract."

"What is it?"

"It's a promise. It's not so hard to promise to do something you really want, anyway. And if I'm lousy at being a wife, you'll just have to live with it. I don't break my promises. And there's this one other thing."

He could see her slipping, and shifted slightly so that Mira could tend the cut on her cheek. "What other thing, Eve?"

"I love you. Sometimes it makes my stomach hurt, but I kind of like it. Tired now, come to bed. Love you."

He eased back to let Mira get on with her tending. "It's all right for her to sleep?"

"Best thing for her. She'll be fine when she wakes up. Maybe a little hungover, which seems unfair since she didn't drink anything. She said she wanted a clear head for tomorrow."

"Did she?" She didn't look calm when she slept, he noted. She never did. "Will she remember any of that? What she was telling me?"

"She may not," Mira said cheerfully. "But you will, and that should do the job."

He nodded and stepped back. She was safe again. One more time safe. He glanced over at Peabody. "Officer, can I count on you to fill me in on the details?"

Eve did have a hangover, and wasn't pleased about it. Her stomach was tied in greasy knots, and her jaw was sore. Between Mira and Trina's wizardry with cosmetics, the bruises didn't show. As brides went, she supposed, studying herself, she was passable.

"You look mag, Dallas." Mavis sighed and took a slow turn around Leonardo's finest hour. The dress sleeked down, as it was meant to, the bronze tone adding warmth to Eve's skin, the lines highlighting her long, lean form. Its very simplicity made the statement that it was the woman within who counted.

"The garden's packed with people," Mavis went on cheerily as Eve's stomach roiled. "Did you look out the window?"

"I've seen people before."

"There was media doing flybys earlier. I don't know whose button Roarke pushed, but they've stopped."

"Goodie."

"You're all right, aren't you? Dr. Mira said you shouldn't have any dangerous aftereffects, but – "

"I'm fine." It was only partly a lie. "Having it closed, knowing all the facts, the truth makes it easier." She thought of Jerry and suffered. She looked at Mavis, the glowing face, the silver-tipped hair, and smiled. "You and Leonardo still planning to cohabitate?"

"At my place, temporarily. We're looking for bigger digs, one where he'll have room to work. And I'm going to start making the club rounds again." She took a box from the bureau, handed it over. "Roarke sent this up for you."

"Yeah?" Opening it, Eve felt twin tugs of pleasure and alarm. The necklace was perfect, of course. Two drapes of twisted copper studded with colored stones.

"I happened to mention it."

"I bet you did." With a sigh, Eve draped it on, then fastened the long matching drops to her ears. And looked, she thought, like a stranger. A pagan warrior.

"There's one more thing."

"Oh, Mavis, I can't stand one more thing. He's got to understand that I – " She broke off as Mavis turned from the long white box on the table, took out a sweeping spray of white flowers – petunias. Simple, backyard-variety petunias.

"He always knows," she murmured. All the muscles in her stomach loosened, all the nerves died away. "He just knows."

"I guess when somebody understands you that way, that, you know, intimately, it makes you pretty lucky."

"Yeah." Eve took the flowers, cradled them. The reflection in the mirror didn't look like a stranger. It looked, she thought, like Eve Dallas on her wedding day. "Roarke's going to swallow his tongue when he gets a load of me."

She laughed, grabbed Mavis's arm, and rushed out to make her promises.