Judgment in Death

CHAPTER TWENTY

Eve marched into the house, emitted a low, rumbling growl at a hovering Summerset, and headed straight up the stairs. She had a great deal to say and intended to get started immediately.

The growl came again, a quiet threat, when she noted her office was empty. But the door leading to Roarke's was open. Rolling her shoulders, she started toward it, and heard the impatience in his voice as she approached the door.

"It's neither possible nor is it convenient for me to make the trip at this time."

"But, sir, the situation requires your personal attention. With Tonaka dragging their feet over this acquisition, and the delays in the environmental clearance on the tropical sector, we can't hope to meet deadline without your immediate intervention. Cost overruns and penalties will-"

"You're authorized to deal with it. I pay you to deal with it. I'm unable to make the trip to Olympus for the next several days, perhaps longer. If Tonaka is dragging feet, cut them off at the knees. Understood?"

"Yes, sir. If I could have any sort of estimate as to when you might clear the time to survey on site, it would-"

"I'll let you know when I know."

Roarke cut transmission, sat back, closed his eyes.

And two things occurred to Eve: First, that he had a complicated, vital, and demanding life apart from hers, one she too often took for granted.

Second, and more important, he looked tired.

He never looked tired.

The temper she'd hoarded like gold slipped away, unneeded. Unwanted. Still, instinct moved her into the room and kept a scowl on her face.

He sensed her instantly, his eyes opening. "Lieutenant."

"Roarke," she said in exactly the same cool and measured tone. "I have a number of things to say to you."

"I'm sure you do. Would you prefer your office?"

"We can start right here. First, in my own fumbling way, I've managed to narrow my investigation-my homicide investigation-to one suspect. This suspect will be brought in, detained, and questioned before end of day."

"Congratulations."

"Premature. Questioning is not an arrest. At the same time, through another source and through police procedure, I've tied Ricker-loosely, but tied him-to those homicides and hope to charge him with conspiracy. It's a stretch, but it could work and will certainly be enough for me to pull him in and interrogate him. I did those things without you going behind my back and over my head to formulate an operation with my superiors. An operation that puts you at considerable risk, not only physically but in ways we both understand. If the operation goes through, what's said between you and Ricker will be admissible in court."

"I'm perfectly aware of that."

"Your immunity deal will keep you out of a cage, but could-and you know it-potentially damage your reputation and your business."

Even through the fatigue in his eyes, she caught the glint of arrogance. "Lieutenant, my reputation and my business was forged in the same unsavory fire."

"That may be, but things are different now. For you."

"Do you honestly think I can't weather this?"

"No, Roarke, I think you can and will weather anything, everything. I think there's nothing beyond your capabilities when your mind is set. It's almost scary. You pissed me off," she added.

"I'm perfectly aware of that."

"You knew you would. If you'd come to me with the idea first-"

"Time was short, and we were both busy. This involves me, Eve, whether you like it or not."

"I don't like it, but maybe not for the reasons you think."

"Regardless, I did what makes sense, what's most direct. I'm not sorry for it."

"No apologies? I could make you apologize, pal."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, that's so. Because you're soft on me. Ask anybody." She moved to the desk now, watching him as he rose. "I'm soft on you, too. Don't you know that's why, or part of why I was pissed off? I don't want him close to you. I don't want what he is to touch you. Is that supposed to be your exclusive property? Not wanting someone who means you harm to lay hands on you?"

"No." He sighed, ran a hand through his hair in a rare show of frustration. "No, it's not."

"The other part was pride, and I don't have an easy time swallowing it. Neither do you. The thing you said, about me going along with you poking in when it works for me? You were right. I'm not saying that's going to change, but you were right. I'm not real happy about that, either. And this other thing I know. You only walk away like you did when you'd like to punch me."

"I must do a great deal of walking away."

She didn't laugh, as he meant her to. "No, that's the thing. You don't." She came around the counter, the console, then took his face in her hands. "You just don't."

"Eve." He ran his hands up her arms, to her shoulders.

"I'm not finished yet. It's a good plan. Not a great one, but we can fine-tune it. I'd rather another way. I'd rather you'd use that 'link to contact whoever it was you were just talking to and agree to go off planet and do whatever the hell it is you do nobody else seems to be able to pull off. I'd rather that, Roarke, because you mean more to me than anything ever has or ever could. But it's not going to happen. And if anything happens to you Friday night-"

"It won't."

"If anything happens to you," she repeated, "I'm going to dedicate my life to making yours a living hell."

"Fair enough," he murmured as her mouth came up to his.

"An hour." She wrapped herself around him. "Let's go away from this for one hour. I need to be with you. I need to be who I am when I'm with you."

"I know the perfect place."

– =O=-***-=O=-

She had a fondness for the beach-the heat, the water, the sand. She could relax there in a manner she allowed herself so rarely.

He could give her the beach for an hour, take it for himself in the holo-room, where illusions were only a program away.

The island he chose, with its long sickle curve of white-sugar sand, its lazily waving palms, and fat, fragrant flowers, was a setting that suited both of them. The baking heat from the gold ball of sun was offset by the breeze that flowed in from the sea like the tide and brought the scent of it to the air.

"This is good." She breathed deeply, felt the tension in her neck and shoulders melt away. She wanted the same for him. "This is really good." She started to ask if he'd set the timer, then decided not to spoil the moment or the mood.

Instead, she stripped off her jacket, yanked off her boots.

The water was a clear and dreaming blue, frothed with white at the shore, like lace on a hem. Why resist?

Her weapon harness came next, then her trousers. She angled her head, looked at him. "Don't you want to swim?"

"Eventually. I like watching you strip. It's so… efficient."

She laughed. "Yeah, well enjoy yourself." She tugged off her shirt, then the little scoop-necked tank beneath. Naked as a newborn, she raced to the sea and dived under the waves.

"I intend to," he murmured, and watched her strike out, always just a little too far for safety, before he undressed.

She swam like an eel, fast and fearless. For a time he paced himself to her, a companionable competition. Then he simply heeled over on his back to float in the current, to let the water, the sun, the moment, wash away the fatigue that had nagged at him.

And to wait for her.

She swam up beside him, treaded water. "Feel better?"

"Considerably."

"You looked tired before." And she wanted to stroke that fatigue away. "You hardly ever do."

"I was tired before."

She let her fingers tangle in his hair. "You get your second wind, I'll race you back to shore."

He had his eyes closed and kept them that way. "Who says I don't have a second wind?"

"Well, you're just floating there like flotsam. Or maybe it's jetsam. I never know which is which."

"I've heard, in some circles, this is called relaxing. But…" His arm sneaked under the water, then around her. "Since you have all this energy to spare."

"Hey." She laughed a little as their legs tangled. "We're way over our heads here."

"Just the way I like it." His mouth came to hers, wet and teasing. His arm drew her close against him.

And they went under.

Warm, clear water, with the sun dancing on the surface. His mouth soft on hers, his body firm. For both of them, she let herself go, sliding deeper into the liquid blue. Sliding deeper into the kiss. When they surfaced, she filled her lungs and pressed her cheek against his.

They let the water rock them, a steady, undulating rhythm that reflected the mood. Here, with light strokes over wet skin, was the tenderness they'd both needed. The brush of his lips on her shoulder made her smile and let her float on sensation as easily as she floated in the sea.

She turned her face to his, found his mouth again, and drugged herself on the taste of him.

They drifted lazily toward shore, rising up on the waves, sinking again, clinging together, drawing apart only far enough to touch.

When she felt sand beneath her feet, she stood in the waist-high water and watched his face as he traced his fingertips over her.

"I love the look of you, darling Eve. The way you look under my hands."

Her breasts, small and firm, cupped neatly in his palms, seemed to heat as he captured them. Water sparkled over her skin, tiny diamonds that turned to tears and melted back into the blue.

"Give yourself to me." His fingers trailed down her torso, over her hips. "Go under for me." And slid into her.

She let out her breath on a sigh, caught it again on a moan. Pleasure, languid, liquid, lapped at her senses. The sun dazzled her eyes until all she could see was blue. He dazzled her body until all she could feel was bliss.

Even as that pleasure swamped her, as her knees buckled from the thrill of it, the wave crashed over them, stealing her breath and sweeping them closer to shore.

He rolled in it with her, felt her release crest, her body tremble while the water sucked them down, tossed them free again. She was locked around him-trust, need, invitation-everything he wanted as they lay tangled together in the surf.

He took her mouth again, still patient, though the need had begun to throb through him like a restless heart. He skimmed his lips down her throat, her shoulders, her breasts, while her hands stroked, aroused, urged.

The water streamed over them, receded, and to its constant, endless beat, he filled her, moved with her. Dreamily, with that pulse matching his own, he watched her head arch back as the crest took her again.

"Roarke." Her voice was husky with passion, her breath already quickening again. "Give yourself to me. Go under for me."

Love swamped him; more than need, it gushed through him, took his air, his heart, his thoughts. And with his eyes on hers, still and always on hers, he let himself drown.

– =O=-***-=O=-

The hour had to end. But she wouldn't feel guilty for taking it. Dry, dressed, standing in her office, she fully intended to brief Roarke and scan his readout of the security system at Purgatory.

Feeney would take a closer look at it, she thought, and coordinate with Roarke on that end. She'd station herself in Control, where she could oversee the club, monitor the moves, supervise all members of the team.

And be ready for any move Ricker might make.

"He knew my father."

She blurted it out without realizing it was there, weighing on the center of her mind.

Roarke, about to explain the readout on-screen, turned, stared at her. She didn't have to say a name, didn't have to say anything. He knew by her face.

"You're sure of it?"

"I had a flashback last night… this morning," she corrected, feeling ridiculously unsteady. "Something tripped it, I guess, in the data I was studying, and I was back, just back."

"Sit down and tell me."

"I can't sit."

"All right. Just tell me."

"I was in bed. In my room. I had a room. I don't think I always had one-I know I didn't always. But I think there was some money to spare. I think it was Ricker's money. It was dark, and I was listening because he was drinking in the next room, and I was praying he would keep drinking. He was talking to somebody about a deal. I didn't understand. I didn't care. Because as long as he kept talking, kept drinking, he wouldn't come in. It was Ricker. He called him by name."

It was hard. She hadn't expected it to be so hard to say it all, when the image of it was still so brutally clear in her mind. "Ricker was telling him what would happen if he screwed up the deal. Illegals, I think. It doesn't matter. I recognized his voice. I mean, having the flashback, I remembered. I don't know if I'd ever heard it before that night. I don't remember."

"Did you see him? Did he see you?"

"No, but he knew about me. My father said something about me when he was trying to get more money for the deal. So, he knew, and after he left, my father came in. He was mad. Scared and mad. He knocked me around a little, then he told me to pack. We were going to head south, he said. He had money, and I think the illegals, or some of them. I don't remember any more, except it was in New York. I'm sure we were in New York. And I think, I think we ended up in Dallas. After the money ran out, we were in Dallas. There wasn't any more money because we just had that horrible room, and hardly any food, and he didn't have enough to get drunk enough in Dallas. God."

"Eve." He was beside her now, his hands running up and down her arms. "Stay here. Stay with me."

"I am. I will. It spooked me, that's all."

"I know." He gathered her in for a moment. And realized on the heels of the flashback she'd been called to The Tower.

Ambushed.

"I'm sorry." He turned her lips into her hair.

"It's a circle, a circle. Link to link. Ricker to my father, my father to me. Ricker to you. You to me. I don't believe in stuff like that. But here I am."

"They won't touch you through me." He tipped her head back. "They'll never get through me to hurt you."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know, but it's a fact all the same. We'll break the circle. We'll do that together. I'm more inclined to believe in such things as fate."

"Only when your Irish comes out." She managed a smile but moved away. "Could he know about me? Could he have connected me from all those years ago?"

"I can't tell you."

"If he'd tried to track my father, could he have found out who I am? Is it possible to dig up the data on me from before?"

"Eve, you're asking me to speculate-"

"Could you?" she interrupted, facing him again. "If you wanted the information, could you find it?"

She didn't want comfort, he knew, but facts. "Given the time, yes. But I have considerably more to work with than he would."

"But he could? He has the capabilities? Particularly if he'd begun to track my father when he was double-crossed."

"It's possible. I don't believe he'd have wasted his time keeping track of an eight-year-old girl who was sucked into the system."

"But he knew, when I went to see him, that I had been in the system. He knew where I'd been found, and in what condition."

"Because he researched Lieutenant Eve Dallas. Not because he'd been keeping tabs on a young, abused girl."

"Yes, you're probably right. It hardly matters, anyway." She paused by her desk, lifted a small carved box he'd given her for odds and ends. "You could find the data?"

"Yes, I could find it, if that's what you want."

"No." She set the box down again. "It's not what I want. What I want is here. There's nothing back there I need to know. I shouldn't have let it get to me the way it did. I didn't realize it had."

She sighed, and this time she did smile when she turned. "I was too mad at you to think about it. We've got a hell of a lot of work to do in a short amount of time. You might as well come with me for now."

"I thought you wanted to go over the security."

"I do, but back at Central. I only set up this meet here so I could yell at you in private."

"Isn't that odd? I agreed to the meet here so I could yell at you in private."

"Shows how screwed up we are."

"On the contrary." He held out a hand for hers. "I'd say it shows we're incredibly well suited for each other."

– =O=-***-=O=-

As trying to squeeze more than two people into Eve's cramped office violated several laws of physics, she held the briefing in the conference room.

"Time's short," she began when her team was seated. "As the homicide cases and the matter of Max Ricker have dovetailed, we'll be pursuing them both on parallel lines. Lab results, data searches, and probability scans regarding the homicides are in your reports. I haven't requested a warrant but will do so, with an obligatory DNA test, if the suspect refuses to come in on his own volition. Peabody and I will pick him up, quietly, after the briefing."

"Probability's low," Feeney pointed out, frowning at the printout in his file.

"It'll get higher, and his DNA will match that of the fingernail found on the Bayliss crime scene. Due to Sergeant Clooney's years of service to the department, his exemplary record, his emotional state, and the circumstances that built and were built around him, I prefer to bring him in personally, and hope to persuade him to make a full statement. Dr. Mira is on call to counsel him and offer testing."

"The media's going to rock and roll over this."

Eve gave McNab a nod of acknowledgment. "We can and we will spin the media." She'd already decided to contact Nadine Furst. "A veteran officer with a perfect service record whose son-only son-follows in his footsteps. A father's pride. A son's dedication. Because of that dedication, because of that honor to the badge in a squad where a few cops-and let's keep it at a few for public record-are corrupt, the son is targeted."

"Proving that-" Feeney began.

"We don't have to prove it," she interrupted. "It just has to be said to be believed. Ricker," she continued. "He was behind it. I don't question that. Moreover, Clooney didn't. His son was clean, intended to stay clean. He moved up the ranks to detective. He couldn't be bought. He was assigned in the early stages of the Ricker op, I have that from Martinez's notes. Just a peg in the board, but a good cop. A hereditary cop. Put this together," she suggested and rested a hip on the conference table.

"He's straight, he's young, and he's smart. He's ambitious. The Ricker task force is a good break for him, and he's going to make the most of it. He pushes, he digs. Ricker's sources in the squad relay that information. They're nervous. Ricker decides to make an example. One night, the good cop stops off in his neighborhood 24/7. He habitually swung by there on his way home after his shift. A robbery's in progress. Look at the report: That location hasn't been hit before or since, but it was being hit that night, at just the right time. The good cop goes in and is killed. The proprietor makes a frantic emergency call, but it takes a squad car ten full minutes to arrive on-scene. And the med-techs, due to what's reported to be a technical delay, don't arrive for ten more. The kid bleeds to death on the floor. Sacrificed."

She waited a beat, knowing any cop in the room would see it as clearly as she did. "The squad car was manned by two men, and their names were on the list Vernon gave me this morning. Ricker's men. They let him die, one of their own. And the signal was sent: This is what happens if you cross me."

"Okay, it plays," Feeney agreed. "But if Clooney's following the same dots, why didn't he hit the cops in the squad car?"

"He did. One of them transferred to Philadelphia three months ago. He was hanged in his bedroom. Ruling was self-termination, but I think the PPSD will reopen that case. Thirty credits were scattered on the bed. The other drowned, slipped in a bathtub while on vacation in Florida. Ruled accidental. The coins were found there, too."

"He's been eliminating them for months." Peabody blew out a breath. "Just ticking them off, and going on with business."

"Until Kohli. Kohli snapped him. He liked Kohli, knew his family, felt close to him. More, his son and Kohli were friends, and when Ricker, through IAB, planted Kohli, spread rumors that he was on the take, it was like losing his son all over again. The eliminations became more violent, more personal, and more symbolic. Blood on the badge. He can't stop. What he does now he does in his son's memory. In his son's honor. But knowing he killed an innocent man, a good cop, is breaking him down. That's Ricker's angle. He can sit back and watch us destroy each other from within."

"He's not that clever, not anymore." Roarke spoke up. "He wouldn't understand a man like Clooney, or that kind of love and grief. Luck," he said. "He put the pieces on the tray, and luck, or if you prefer, love, linked them."

"That may be, but putting the pieces on the tray is enough to fry him. Which brings us to the second avenue of this investigation. As you are now aware, Roarke has been enlisted as temporary civilian liaison on the matter of Max Ricker. Peabody, are you familiar with the street name for civilian liaison?"

Peabody squirmed. "Yes, sir." When Eve merely waited, Peabody winced. "Um… weasel, Lieutenant. The street name's weasel."

"I imagine," Roarke said, "that weasels are adept at catching rats."

"Good one." Feeney leaned over and slapped Roarke on the back. "Damn good one."

"We have a very big rat for you." She straightened, jammed her hands in her pockets, and outlined the plan for the rest of the team.

There was no doubt who was in command here, Roarke thought as he watched her. Who was in control. She left no angle unexplored, no corner unswept. She prowled the room, thinking on her feet, and her voice was clipped.

In some past life she'd have been wearing a general's braiding. Or armor.

And this woman, this warrior, had trembled in his arms. That was the power between them. The miracle of it.

"Roarke?"

"Yes, Lieutenant."

Something in his eyes had her heart stuttering a bit. She clamped down on it, frowned at him. "I'll leave you to go over the security with Feeney and McNab. I don't want any holes in it. Not a single pinprick."

"There won't be any."

"Make sure of it. I'm calling Martinez in on this for the bust. And she'll get the collar when it goes down. Any objections?" She waited, got none. "Peabody, you're with me."

She started out, glanced back. Roarke was still watching her, the faintest of smiles on that killer mouth, the faintest glint in those wild blue eyes.

"Jesus, he makes your mouth water."

"Sir?"

"Nothing." Mortified, she strode out. "Nothing. Has my unit been repaired or replaced?"

"Dallas, that's so sweet. I didn't know you believed in fairy tales."

"Damn it. We'll steal one from somewhere." Then she began to grin. "I'll just take Roarke's."

"Oh, tell me it's the XX. The 6000. It's my favorite."

"How the hell are we going to bring in a suspect in a two-seater? It's some snazzy sedan type today. I've got the code. Won't he be surprised when he goes down and finds it gone. I think-"

Distracted, she nearly walked into Webster. "Lieutenant, a minute of your time."

"I'm low on minutes, walk and talk."

"You're going for Clooney."

"Goddamn it." Though he'd kept his voice low, she whipped her head around to be sure no one had heard. "What makes you think that?"

"I still have my sources." His face was grave, and his voice remained quiet. "You left the breadcrumbs. I can still follow the trail."

"Have you been in my files?"

"Dallas." He laid a hand on her arm, felt the tremor of temper. "I'm deep in this. Part of what I did, following orders, may have sparked what's gone down. I did the internal run on Clooney's son. I feel responsible. Let me go with you to pick him up."

She angled her head. "Someone in IAB's dirty, in Ricker's pocket. How do I know it's not you?"

His hand dropped away. "You don't." He let out a breath. "You can't. Okay." He stepped back, started to turn.

"Hold on. Peabody." She gestured, moved a few steps away. "Do you have a problem on staying with the briefing, finishing the paperwork?"

Peabody glanced back at Webster, who was standing with his hands in his pockets and a miserable look on his face.

"No, sir."

"All right. Set up an interview room, block observation. I don't want anybody nosing in while I'm talking to Clooney. Let's give him what dignity we can."

"I'll take care of it. Good luck."

"Yeah." She walked back to Webster. "Let's go."

He blinked, then took in a breath. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me. You're along for ballast."