Origin in Death

13

After an endless evening, and more wine than was probably wise—but extremely necessary — Eve trudged up to her office. Maybe a couple hits of strong coffee would counteract the alcohol, and she could squeeze in an hour of work.

First on the list was a check of Avril's standard medicals. She'd be interested to see just what sort of elective surgery she'd find.

Then she wanted a closer look at Brookhollow Academy.

She was taking the first slug of coffee when Roarke walked in from his office.

«Yellow belly,» she said.

«Excuse me?»

«Your belly's as yellow as Nadine's was a couple hours ago.»

«I don't even want to know what that means.»

«You skipped out, left me alone.»

He gave her a look that would have passed for innocence on anyone else.

«It seemed obvious that tonight's festivities were for women only. Respecting female ritual, I discreetly got lost.»

«To quote you, Yellow Belly, 'Bollocks.' You slithered out as soon as Mavis started yapping about coaching classes.»

«Guilty as charged, and I'm not ashamed. Lot of good it did me, for all that.» He took her coffee, drank. «She hunted me down.»

«Oh yeah?»

«Oh aye, look smug—for you're in it, my friend, as deep as me. Sometime between the body scrub and polish, she scouted me out and gave me the contact information and schedule for the instruction we're going to be forced to take in order to participate in the birthing. There's no escape for us.»

«I know. We're doomed.»

«Doomed,» he repeated. «Eve, there are vids.»

«Oh God.»

«And simulations.»

«Stop. Stop now.» She grabbed her coffee mug and chugged. «It's still months away.»

«Weeks,» he corrected.

«That's like months. It takes weeks to make a month. It's not now, that's the important thing. I have to think of something else. I have to work. And you know,» she added as she walked to her desk, «things could happen. Like… we could get abducted by terrorists right before she goes into labor.»

«Oh, if only.»

She had to grin as she called up the Icoves' client and patient lists. «It turns out Trina slopped cream on Avril Icove once, and claims she found sculpting when she was under the scan. Now, it's most likely that one of the Icoves would've done the work, or at least consulted.»

«Consulted, most likely. I'd think working on a family member might be tricky, ethically.»

«If one or both of them consulted, she'd be listed. That's legal standard. Computer, search for Avril Icove, medical consult and/or procedures.»

Working…Avril Icove is not listed in selected files.

«You see, that just doesn't jibe for me. You're in a medical family—top of the line—and you don't use them for any of your elective work?

You don't have your beloved husband consult on a procedure, one in which he's a leading expert?» She drummed her fingertips. «If I had a cargo ship of money I wanted to invest, I'd go to you, not to some stranger. If I wanted to break into the National Treasury—«

«Now, wouldn't that be fun?»

«I'd go to you.»

«Thank you, darling. They might have examined and consulted off record.»

«Why? See that's the thing. I can get Dr. Will claiming his wife's perfect face and body is God-given—privacy. And hey, nosy cop, none of your business. But I don't get this kind of secrecy for some fine-tuning or whatever. If she had the procedures, on record, and used the Icove Center—which is logical—why not document the consult? It's covering your legal ass, for one thing.»

«So she might have had the procedures off record, at another of their facilities.»

«That's my thought, which leads to another why. I need images of her. Old images, for comparison. Then there's Brookhollow. The most logical place for Avril and Dolores to have met—if they've worked together on the murders—is the school. But there's no Dolores listed on their registry, not as a graduate anyway. So I'm going to generate ID images of everyone who attended during Avril's time there, then do a match search with the image I have of Dolores.»

«Which is, again, logical. It'll take a bit, and you smell delicious.»

«It's the stuff.»

«I'm a helpless victim of cosmetic merchandising.» To prove it he slipped behind her and nipped the nape of her neck.

She gave him an elbow nudge back. «I need to get started on this.»

«Me, too. Computer. Access registry for Brookhollow Academy and College—«

«Hey, this is my machine.»

Ignoring her, he wrapped his arms around her waist. «Search and mark ID photos of students, staff—«

«Female spouses and offspring of staff and any female employees, female spouses, and offspring of employees.»

«Very thorough,» Roarke commented.

«Let's keep being thorough.»

«Doing my best,» he said and slid his hands under her sweatshirt.

«Not that way. I'm going to let it run for the whole time. Maybe she met Dolores at some alumni function. Computer, search for a match with—Jeez, Roarke, hold on a minute.»

His hands were very busy. «What did Trina put on you this time? Let's buy a vat of it.»

«I don't know. I'm losing my track. Match the generated images with the ID photo and security image on file for Nocho-Alverez, Dolores.»

Multiple commands acknowledged. Working…

«Or she met her off-site, at the center, at the fricking salon. Hired her. Dozens of options.»

«Have to start with one.» Roarke turned Eve around to face him. «Your hair smells like autumn leaves.»

«Dead?»

«Burnished. And you taste like… let me see.» He nibbled his way down her temple, over her cheekbone, to her mouth. «Sugar and cin­namon, warmed together.» He flipped open the button of her pants as he deepened the kiss.

«Now I have to do a search of my own, see if Trina's left any sur­prises for me.»

«I told her I'd twist her arms into knots if she put any temp tattoos on me this time.»

He cruised his hands up, over her breasts, and her heart began to shudder.

«You know that only challenges her. Nothing here,» he said as he drew her sweatshirt up, off. «Just my wife's lovely, unadorned breasts.»

«Mavis's are mongo.» Eve let her head fall back as his lips skimmed over her.

«Yes, I noticed.»

«She had Trina paint one nipple blue and the other pink.»

He lifted his head slightly. «That may be just a bit too much information. Why don't I just say I prefer yours.»

Her stomach tightened, pleasurably, as he closed his mouth on hers. «You could say that. I had too much wine. Otherwise, I wouldn't be making this so easy for you.»

He flipped open the next button, and her pants slid down her hips. «Step out,» he murmured.

«You're still dressed.» And her head was spinning.

«Step out,» he repeated, sliding those hands over her as she did.

«You're all naked and soft, and I like the idea of riding my tongue over you, top to bottom, bottom to top until you… Well, well. What have we?»

Her brain had gone dull on her, so she only blinked at first when she followed Roarke's gaze down her own body.

There, low on either side of her belly, were three small, sparkling red hearts, with a long silver arrow piercing through each trio. Pointing, she realized, at the goal.

«For crap's sake. What if somebody sees them?»

«If someone other than me sees them, you're in serious trouble. He traced a finger down one trio, made her shudder. «And they're very pretty.»

«They're sparkly hearts pointing at my crotch.»

«They are, yes. And while I appreciate the directional assistance believe I could find my way all on my own.» To prove it, he slid his fingers down her. Into her.

Her breath gasped out as she gripped his shoulders for balance.

God, the heat of her. The quick, wet heat. That alone seduced him. «I love to watch your face when it goes through you. When I go through you. Love to watch when it takes you over, Eve.»

Her knees had dissolved, and everything above them throbbed with sensation. Liquid excitement, pouring through her as his hands, his lips, tongue, teeth explored. To hear him say her name as he took her over, the music of his voice enticed her even as his hands teased, tormented.

She let herself ride the wave, then let herself melt into it.

Her pliancy, such a contrast to her strength and will, was arousing. Outrageously. Her absolute involvement in him, in them, while every­thing else around them washed away in pleasure and passion, in love and lust. When he pulled her with him to the floor, she slid down, slid under him like silk. There he had her mouth, warm and generous. Her skin, smooth and fragrant.

Then he was inside her, where there was nothing else. And he let her yielding take him with her.

She could have curled up to sleep on the floor without a word of com­plaint. Every cell in her body was relaxed and satisfied. But when she felt herself starting to drift off, she shook it off, sat up. And let out a startled yelp when she saw the cat perched on her desk, staring un-blinkingly with different-colored eyes.

Roarke studied the cat while he ran a hand lightly down Eve's back. «Does he approve or disapprove, do you think? He never lets on.»

«I don't give a rat's ass, but I don't think he should be watching us while we're having sex. It can't be right.»

«Maybe we should get him a girlfriend.»

«He's been fixed.»

«He still might enjoy the companionship.»

«Not enough to share his salmon fixes.» Because it was just weird to have the cat staring, especially when she was wearing little sparkly red hearts, she grabbed her pants, pulled them on.

As she raked her fingers through her hair, her computer beeped. Galahad jumped a little, then immediately shot up a leg and began to lick his backside.

Tasks complete…

«Hey, there's timing.» She leaped up now, grabbing her sweats. «Plus I think the sex burned the alcohol out of my system.»

«You're welcome.»

He said it with a laugh, but she'd learned a few things in over a year of marriage. «The way you touched me? It counteracted the trauma that is Trina. This is great power.»

His eyes warmed for her as he got to his feet.

«But the hearts have got to go. Computer, display matches, on wall screen.»

Singular match displayed…

«Score,» Eve bellowed when the images flashed on, side by side. «Hello, Deena.»

Flavia, Deena, DOB June 8, 2027, Rome, Italy. Father, Dimitri, doctor, spe­cializing in pediatrics. Mother, Anna Trevani, doctor, psychiatry. No siblings No marriage, cohabitation on record. No offspring on record. No criminal on record. Last known address, Brookhollow College. No data on record: after May 19-20, 2047. Image displayed is of official ID taken June 2045

«Lovely young woman,» Roarke stated. «Extremely lovely.»

«And she poofs. Early graduation. Computer, search for any missing persons report on Flavia, Deena. International search.»

Working…

«Side task. Are her parents still living? If so, where, and under what employment?»

Acknowledged. Working…

«Her address was listed at the college, not a residence. No criminal, no marriage, no cohab, and she goes into the wind before her twentieth birthday.»

«And surfaces,» Roarke put in, «a dozen years later to kill the Icoves.»

«Couple years younger than Avril, but they'd have been at school at the same time. Exclusive boarding school, they'd have brushed up against each other.»

«A long way from school chums to partners in crime.»

«Yeah, but it connects them. She saw the image from the center, and didn't say, 'Hey, that's Deena from Brookhollow. Haven't seen her in years.' And yeah,» she said, holding up a hand, «a defense attorney's going to say Avril's not required to remember everyone she went to school with. That it's been a dozen years since she got out of college, which coincidentally coincides with Deena's vanishing act. But it puts her in the same place, at the same time, with the suspect.»

Secondary task complete. Flavia, Dimitri, and Trevani, Anna, reside in Rome, Italy. Both are employed on staff at The Children's Institute in that city…

«Cross-check the Children's Institute for association with Icove, Wilfred B., Sr. and/or Wilfred B., Jr., also association with Wilson, Jonah Delecourt.»

Added task. Working…

«I can save you the time,» Roarke told her. «I've contributed to that institution through my Italian companies. I know that, at least at one time, Icove Sr. served on the advisory board.»

«Better and better. So he connects with the Flavias, who connect with Deena, AKA Dolores, who connects with Avril, who connects with Brookhollow. I've got me a fucking diagram.»

Primary task complete. No missing person's report was filed to a known authority on Flavia, Deena…

«They don't file because either they know where she is or because they don't want the cops nosing around. If it's the second, they hired private. Either way she's under data radar for a decade. And—«

Additional task complete. Icove, Wilfred B., Sr., served on advisory board and as guest surgeon, guest lecturer, for the Children's Institute from its creation in 2025 to his death. Wilson, Jonah Delecourt, served on advisory board from 2025 to 2048.

«Okay, now we've got—«

Question…

«What,» Eve snapped.

Do you wish to end task involving images from Brookhollow at this time?

«What other images are there?»

Secondary match, current enrollment Brookhollow Academy correlating to Flavia, Deena.

«You said singular match. Display, damn it.»

Affirmative…

The image that came on was rounder, softer than Deena Fla. And it was a child.

Eve's heart fluttered into her throat. «Identify current image.»

Rodriguez, Diana, DOB March 17, 2047, Argentina. Parents, Hector, lab­oratory technician, and Cruz, Magdalene, physical therapist.

«Places of employment.»

Working… Rodriguez, Hector, employed Genedyne Research. Cruz, Magdalene, employed St. Catherine's Reconstructive and Rehabilitation Center.

«Association of both places of employment to Icove, Wilfred B., Sr.; Icove, Wilfred B., Jr.; Wilson, Jonah; and Samuels, Eva or Evelyn.»

«She's not their child,» Roarke put in. «Not biologically. She's the image of Deena Flavia.»

«Breed them and sell them. Breed and sell. Sons of bitches. Manipu­late the genes—make them perfect, made to order. Train, educate, pro­gram them. Then sell them.»

He reached out, instinctively rubbing her shoulders. «Would she have wanted the child, do you think? Or just revenge.»

«I don't know. Depends on what drives her harder. Maybe she fig­ures on getting both.»

The computer came back, listing all four names with connections to the locations in Argentina.

«Computer, start search and match images. Any graduate of Brookhollow Academy or College with current students. List all data on all results.»

Working…

«Let it task,» Roarke said softly. «Let's get some sleep. You'll need a clear head tomorrow. I assume you're going to New Hampshire.»

«Damn right I am.»

She was up at dawn, and still Roarke was up and dressed ahead of her. With a grunted greeting she trudged into the shower, ordered jets on full at one-oh-one degrees, and boiled herself awake. She hit the dry­ing tube, gulped down the first cup of coffee, and felt nearly human.

«Eat something,» Roarke ordered, and switched from the finance reports on-screen to the morning media cast.

«Something,» she repeated from inside her closet.

When she stepped out, he glanced at the clothes she'd grabbed and said, «No.»

«No, what?»

«Not that outfit.»

If the term aggrieved had an image beside its definition, it would have been her face. «Oh, come on.»

«You plan to pay an official visit to an exclusive boarding school. You want to look authoritative.»

She tapped the weapon holster she'd hung over the back of the chair «Here's my authority, Ace.»

«A suit.»

«A what?»

He sighed, rose. «You do know the concept, and you happen to own several. You want power, prestige, simplicity. You want to look important.»

«I want to cover my naked ass.»

«Which is a shame, I grant you, but you may as well cover it well. This. Clean lines, and the dull copper color adds punch. Wear it with this.» He added a scooped-neck top in a kind of muddy blue. «And go crazy, Eve. Wear a bit of jewelry.»

«It's not a fricking party.» But she pulled on the pants.

«You know what you need? You need a droid, a dress-up droid. Maybe I'll buy you one for Christmas.»

«Why settle when I already have the real thing?» He opened the jewelry vault in her closet and selected etched gold hoops for her and a sapphire cabochon pendant.

To save time and aggravation, she dressed as ordered. But she balked when Roarke made a little circle in the air with his finger.

«Pushing your luck, pal.»

«It was worth a try. You still look like a cop, Lieutenant. Just a very well tailored one.»

«Yeah, the bad guys will be awed by my fashion sense.»

«You'd be surprised,» he replied.

«I've got work.»

«You can call up the search results right here and eat some breakfast. If a machine can multitask, so can you.»

It didn't feel quite right, but then neither did the suit. But since he was already giving the order, she programmed a bagel from the AutoChef.

«You can do better than that.»

«I'm stoked.» Her office wasn't the only place she could pace, she re­minded herself, and began to do so while biting into the bagel. «Some­thing's going to come.»

«Data on-screen then.»

Acknowledged. Match one of fifty-six…

«Fifty-six?» Eve stopped pacing. «That can't be right. Even figuring the amount of time, number of students, you wouldn't have so many visual matches. You can't… wait.»

She stared at match one.

DeIaney, Brianne, DOB February 16, 2024, Boston, Massachusetts. Par­ents Brian and Myra DeIaney nee Copley. No siblings. Married Alistar, George, June 18, 2046. Offspring: Peter, September 12, 2048; Laura, March 14, 2050. Resides Athens, Greece.

Matched with O'Brian, Bridget, DOB August 9, 2039, Ennis, IreIand. Parents Seamus and Margaret O'Brian nee Ryan. Both deceased. No siblings. Legal guardianship to Samuels, Eva, and upon her death Samuels, Evelyn. Currently enrolled and residing Brookhollow College, New Hampshire.

«Computer, pause. She had a kid at twelve?» Eve asked.

«It happens,» Roarke said, «but—«

«Yeah, but. Computer images only, split screen, magnify fifty percent.'

Working…

As they came on, Eve stepped closer. «Same coloring, that's fine. The red hair, the white skin, freckles, green eyes. I'd say the odds are reasonable for those inherited traits. Same nose, same mouth, same shape of the eyes, the face. I bet you could count the fricking freckles and get the same number for each. Kid's like a miniature of the woman. Like a…«

«Clone,» Roarke finished quietly. «Christ Jesus.»

Eve took a breath, then another. «Computer, run the next match.

It took an hour, and the sickness came into the center of her being and lay there like a tumor.

«They've been cloning girls. Not just messing with DNA to boost intellect or appearance. Not just designing babies or tuning them up physically, intellectually, to enhance. But creating them. Flipping off international law and creating them. Selling them. Some into ma­rriage,» Eve continued, staring at the screen. «Some into the market place. Some created to continue to work. Doctors, teachers, lab techs thought they were designing babies, training LCs. But it's worse, worse than both.»

«There are rumbles now and then about underground reproduce cloning research, even the occasional claim of success. But the laws are so strict, so onerous and universal, no one's come out and proved it.

«How does it work? Do you know?»

«Not precisely. Not remotely, actually. We do some research cloning—well within the parameters of the law. For tissue, organs. A cell implanted in a simulated female egg, triggered electrically. If it's privatized, as ours would be, the cells are donated by the clients, who would pay handsomely for the generated replacement tissues, which would have no risk of being rejected after transplant. I'd have to gather that in reproductive cloning, you'd have cells, and actual eggs—once merged— would be implanted in a womb.»

«Whose?»

«Well, that's a question.»

«I've got to get this to the commander, get the go-ahead and get to the school. You can fill Louise in on this.»

«I can.»

«He'd have made billions on this,» Eve added.

«Grossed.»

«I'll say it's gross.»

«No, no.» It was a relief to laugh. «Gross income. It would cost—has to cost enormously to run the labs, develop the technology, the school, the network. The net income would be substantial, I'd think, but Eve, the cost, the risk? I think you're looking at a labor of love.»

«You think?» She shook her head. «We've got nearly sixty on record now attending the Academy. There must be hundreds more, already graduated. What happened to the ones that didn't come out exactly right? How much do you think he loved the ones that weren't perfect?»

«That's a hideous thought.»

«Yeah. I've got a million of them.»

She took time to put it together into a report, to contact Whitney and request an early briefing. She tagged Peabody on the way to Cen­tral and arranged to pick up her partner.

Peabody hopped into the car, tossed her hair. It was longer by a good four inches and did a kind of flip at the tips.

«McNab truly spiked on my hair. I've got to remember to shake things up more often.»

Eve gave her a cautious sidelong glance. «It makes you look girly.»

«I know!» Obviously pleased with the comment, Peabody snuggled back in her seat. «And it was great being a girl after I got home last night. He went ape shit over the papaya boob cream.»

«Stop now, save us both. We've got a situation.»

«Figured you didn't offer to pick me up to save me a fight with the subway.»

«I'm going to brief you on the way, then the commander. We'll have a full briefing—EDD included—at ten hundred.»

Peabody said nothing as Eve ran through the data she'd gathered overnight. Her silence carried through into the garage at Central.

«No questions, no observations?»

«I'm just… absorbing, I guess. It's so contrary to my makeup. My DNA, I guess you could say. The way I was raised, taught. Creating life is the job of a higher power. It's our job, our duty and our joy, to nurture life, protect and respect it. I know that sounds Free-Agey but—«

«It's not so far off from what I think. But personal sensibilities aside, human reproductive cloning is illegal under the laws of New York, the laws of the country, and the laws governing science and commerce on and off planet. Evidence indicates the Icoves broke those laws. And their murders, which is our domain, were a direct result of that.»

«Are we going to have to turn this over to the— Who handles this kind of thing? The FBI? Global? Interplanetary?»

Eve's face was set as she slammed out of the vehicle. «Not if I can help it. I want you to hit research mode. Get everything you can on human cloning. Technical areas, legal areas, equipment, techniques, ct bates, claims, histories, myths. We want to know what we're talking about when we get to Brookhollow.»

«Dallas, with what you found out, we're going to find them up there. Some of them are just kids. They're just kids.»

«We'll deal with it when we come to it.»

Whitney wasn't as reticent as Peabody, and peppered Eve with questions throughout her report.

«This is a Nobel Prize winner, Lieutenant, whose memorial service, scheduled for fourteen hundred this afternoon, will be attended by heads of state, worldwide. His son, whose reputation and acclaim were rising to match his father's, will be similarly honored next week. New York will hold both these events, and the security, the media— the fucking traffic details are already a nightmare. If a whiff of this leaks, it could go beyond nightmare into the realm of international clusterfuck.»

«It won't leak.»

«You better be damn sure of that, and damn sure of your facts.»

«Fifty-six matches, sir, through Brookhollow Academy alone. I be­lieve many if not all of these correspond to the coded files Icove Sr. kept in his apartment—his currents, so to speak. He worked closely with a geneticist, and was, at one time, a vocal proponent of genetic manipulation.»

«Genetic manipulation is a thorny area. Human cloning is a dark, dank forest. The ramifications—«

«Commander, the ramifications already involve two deaths.»

«The ramifications will echo beyond your two homicides. Political, moral, religious, medical. If your allegations are fact, there are existing clones, many of them minor. For some, they'll become the monster, for others the victims.» He rubbed his eyes. «We'll need some expert legal opinions on this. Every agency from Global to Homeland is going to jump on this.»

«If you notify them of the recent findings, they'll take it from us. They'll shut down the investigation.»

«They will. What's your objection?»

«They're my homicides, Commander.»

He was silent a moment, watching her face. «What's your objection, Lieutenant?»

«Beyond that, and that is my primary objection, sir. It's… It needs to be stopped. Government—any government puts their finger in this pie, they're going to want to pull out a plum. More hidden research, more experimentation. They'll sweep all this under the rug, and put everything we've found under the microscope. They'll Code Blue it, and block the media, block the information. The Icoves will be memo­rialized with all honors, and the work they did in the dark will never come to light. The… the subjects,» she said for lack of a better term, «created will be rounded up and examined, debriefed, confined, and questioned. They were manufactured, sir, but they're blood and bone like the rest of us. They won't be treated like the rest of us. Maybe there's no stopping that, no way to prevent that from happening, but I want to follow this through. Until I've got nowhere else to go.»

He laid his palms on the desk. «I'll need to bring Tibble into this.»

Eve nodded. «Yes, sir.» They could hardly circumvent channels without the knowledge of the chief of police. «I think APA Reo could be useful, in the legal areas. She's smart, and ambitious enough to keep the lid on until it's time to take it off. I've used both Dr. Mira and Dr. Dimatto as medical experts thus far in the investigation. Their input could also be useful. I'll need a warrant for records at the school and would like to take Feeney or his pick with me to go through data on-site.»

He nodded. «Consider this investigation as Code Blue status. Need-to-know only, full media block. Put your team together.» He glanced at his wrist unit. «Brief in twenty.»