Witness in Death

CHAPTER SIX

"Don't touch anything, and stay out of the way."

"Darling." Roarke watched Eve slip her master into the security lock on Penthouse A. "You're repeating yourself."

"That's because you never listen." Before she opened the door, she turned, met his eyes. "Why does a man whose primary residence is New York, whose main source of work is New York, opt to live in a hotel rather than a private residence?"

"First the panache. 'Mr. Draco keeps the penthouse at The Palace when in the city.' Next, the convenience. At the crook of a finger, whatever you need or want done for you can be. Is. And lastly, perhaps most tellingly, the utter lack of commitment. Everything around you is someone else's problem and responsibility."

"From what I've learned of Draco so far, that's the one I go for." She opened the door, stepped inside.

It belonged to Roarke, she thought, therefore it was plush and lush and perfect. If you went for that kind of thing.

The living area was enormous and elegantly furnished with walls of silky rose. The ceiling was arched and decorated with a complicated design of fruit and flowers around a huge glass and gold chandelier.

Three sofas, all in deep, cushy red were piled with pillows bright as jewels. Tables – and she suspected they were genuine wood and quite old – were polished like mirrors, as was the floor. The rug was an inch thick and matched the ceiling pattern grape for grape.

One wall was glass, the privacy screen drawn so that New York exploded with light and shape outside but couldn't intrude. There was a stone terrace beyond, and as the flowers decked in big stone pots were thriving, she assumed it was heated.

A glossy white piano stood at one end of the room, and at the other, carved wood panels hid what she assumed was a full entertainment unit. There were plants of thick and glossy foliage, glass displays holding pretty dust catchers she concluded were art, and no discernable sign of life.

"Housekeeping would have come in after he left for the theater," Roarke told her. "I can ask the team on duty that evening to come up and let you know the condition of the rooms at that time."

"Yeah." She thought of Nadine. If she knew the reporter, the condition of the rooms had been something approaching the wake of a tornado. She walked over to the panels, opened them, and studied the entertainment unit. "Unit on," she commanded, and the screen flickered to soft blue. "Play back last program."

With barely a hiccup, the unit burst into color and sound. Eve watched two figures slide and slither over a pool of black sheets. "Why do guys always get off watching other people fuck?"

"We're sick, disgusting, and weak. Pity us."

She started to laugh. Then the couple on the bed rolled. The woman's face, soft with pleasure, turned toward the camera. "Goddamn it. That's Nadine. Nadine and Draco."

In support, Roarke laid a hand on Eve's shoulder. "It wasn't taped here. That's not the bedroom. Her hair's different. I don't think it's recent."

"I'm going to have to take it in, prove it isn't. And I've got a damn sex tape of one of the media's cream as evidence on a murder case." She stopped the play, ejected the disc, and sealed it in an evidence bag from her field kit.

"Damn it. Damn it."

She began to pace, to struggle with herself. All this relationship stuff was so complicated and still so foreign to her. Nadine had told her what she'd told her as a friend. In confidence. The man currently, and patiently, watching her from across the room was her husband.

Love, honor, and all the rest of it.

If she told him about Nadine and Draco, was she breaching a confidence and the trust of a friend? Or was she just doing the marriage thing?

How the hell, she wondered, did people get through life juggling all this stuff?

"Darling Eve." Sympathizing, Roarke waited until she'd stopped prowling the room and turned to face him. "You're giving yourself a headache. I can make it easier on you. Don't feel you have to tell me something that makes you uncomfortable."

She frowned at him, narrowed her eyes. "I hear a but at the end of that sentence."

"You have very sharp ears. But," he continued, crossing to her, "I can deduce that Nadine and Draco were involved at one time, and given your current concern, that something happened between them a great deal more recently."

"Oh hell." In the end she went with the gut and told him everything.

He listened, then tucked Eve's hair behind her ear. "You're a good friend."

"Don't say that. It makes me nervous."

"All right, I'll say this: Nadine didn't have anything to do with Draco's murder."

"I know that, and there's no hard evidence indicating any different. But it's going to be messy for her. Personally messy. Okay, what else is in this place?"

"Ah, if memory serves. Kitchen through there." He gestured. "Office, bath, bedroom, dressing room, bath."

"I'll start in the office. I want to run his 'links and see if he had any conversations that involved threats or arguments. Do me a favor." She handed him her kit. "Bag the rest of the video discs."

"Yes, sir. Lieutenant."

She smirked but let it ride.

She worked systematically. He loved watching her at it: The focus, the concentration, the absolute logic of her method.

Not so long before in his life if anyone had suggested he could find a cop and her work sexy, he'd have been both appalled and insulted.

"Stop staring at me."

He smiled. "Was I?"

She decided to let it pass. "Lots of communications in and out. If I were a shrink, I'd guess this was a guy who couldn't stand being alone with himself. Needed contact on a constant basis. Nothing out of the ordinary though, unless you count some pretty heavy 'link shopping – eight pairs of shoes, three snazzy suits, antique wrist unit." She straightened. "But you wouldn't count that."

"On the contrary, I'd never buy snazzy suits via 'link. Fit is everything."

"Ha ha. He did have a short, pithy kind of conversation with his agent. Seems our boy discovered that his leading lady was pulling in the same salary for the run of the play. He was pretty pissed off about it, wanted his rep to renegotiate and get him more. One credit more per performance."

"Yes, I knew about that. No deal."

Puzzled, she turned away from the neat little desk. "You wouldn't give him a credit?"

"When dealing with a child," Roarke said mildly, "you set boundaries. The contract was a boundary. The amount of the demand was inconsequential."

"You're tough."

"Certainly."

"Did he give you trouble over it?"

"No. He may have planned to push it, but we never had words over it. The fact is, his agent went to my lawyers, they to me, me back to them, and so on. It hadn't progressed beyond my refusal before opening night."

"Okay, that keeps you clean. I want to check out the bedroom." She moved past him, across a small, circular hallway and through the door.

The bed was big, elaborate, with a high, padded wall behind and covered with sheer, smoky gray. It looked like a bank of soft fog.

She moved briefly into the adjoining dressing room, shook her head at the forest of clothes and shoes. A built-in, mirrored counter held a chorus line of colored bottles and tubes: enhancers, skin soothers, scents, powders.

"Okay, we've got vain, selfish, egocentric, childish, and insecure."

"I wouldn't argue with your assessment. All those personality traits are motive for dislike, but for murder?"

"Sometimes having two feet's a motive for murder." She moved back to the bedroom. "A man that full of ego and insecurity wouldn't sleep alone very often. He dumped Carly Landsdowne. I'd say he had someone else lined up to take her place." Idly, she pulled open the drawer of the bedside table. "Well, well, look at the toys."

The drawer was fitted with compartments, and each was jammed with various erotic enhancers suitable for partnership or solo bouts.

"Lieutenant, I really think you should take these in for further examination."

"No touching." She slapped Roarke's hand away as he reached in.

"Spoilsport."

"Civilian. What the hell does this do?" She held up a long, cone-shaped piece of rubber. It made cheerful tinkling noises when she shook it.

Roarke tucked his tongue in his cheek and sat on the bed. "Well, in the interest of your investigation, I'd be happy to demonstrate." Smiling, he patted the bed beside him.

"No, I mean it."

"So do I."

"Never mind." But she was still pondering when she put the cone back and opened the bottom drawer. "Ah, here's a little gold mine. Looks like a month's supply of Exotica, a bit of Zeus, and…" She opened a small vial, sniffed cautiously, then shook her head like a dog coming out of a pool of water. "Shit. Wild Rabbit."

She fumbled the stopper back in, grabbed for an evidence bag, and sealed the vial.

"Pure, too." She blew out a breath. "If he's using that on his dates, no wonder they all think he's a sex god. One or two drops of Rabbit, and you'd screw a doorknob. Did you know he was into this?"

"No." All humor fled, Roarke rose. "I don't have particularly strong feelings about most of the illegals. But this one is the same as rape, as far as I'm concerned. Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Yeah." A little dizzy, she thought, and annoyingly horny. And that was only from a quick whiff of the fumes. "Stuff this pure goes for ten thousand an ounce, minimum, and it isn't easy to come by. It only works on the female system," she murmured. "Only takes a drop too many to overdose."

Roarke cupped a hand under her chin, lifted it to examine her eyes. Clear enough, he decided. "There was never any talk about him using anything like this. If there had been, and I'd discovered it was true, I'd have broken his contract. And very likely, his arms."

"Okay." She lifted a hand to his wrist, squeezed. "That's enough in here for now. I'm going to need you to keep this room vacant another day or two. I want an Illegals unit to run through it."

"All right."

She slipped the vial into her kit, and hoped to lighten his mood. "So, how much is it costing you?"

"Excuse me?"

"To keep this place vacant? How much does it run a night?"

"Oh this little place? I believe it's in the neighborhood of eighty-five hundred a night, though I imagine we have weekly and monthly rates as well."

"Chump change. Mansfield has a unit in here, too, right?"

"Penthouse B, the other tower."

"Let's pay her a visit. She and Draco had an illegals history in common," Eve began as she gathered her field kit and started out. "She may know his sources. It could all come down to a bad drug deal."

"I don't think so."

"Okay, I don't think so either, but the majority of cop work is eliminating." She locked the door, started to reach for a police seal in her kit.

"Must you do that?" He eyed the seal with dislike. "It's very off-putting to the other guests."

"Yes, I must. Besides, it'll give them a secret thrill. Oooh, look, George, that's where the dead actor lived. Get the vid cam."

"Your attitude toward society at large is sadly cynical."

"And accurate." She stepped into the elevator ahead of him, waiting for the doors to close. Then pounced. "Just give me a quick – God – " Desperate for release, she rubbed herself against him, bit his lip, moaning as her hands squeezed hard on his butt.

"Whew." On a long breath, she pushed him away, circled her shoulders. "That's better."

"For you maybe." He made a grab for her, but she slapped a hand on his chest.

"No games in public elevators. Don't you know that's a violation of city code? Tower A, penthouse level," she ordered, and the car slid seamlessly into motion.

"You'll definitely have to pay for that."

She leaned back against the wall as the elevator started its horizontal ride. "Please, you're scaring me."

He only smiled and slipped his hands into his pocket. Toyed idly with the rubber cone he'd palmed out of the drawer. "Be afraid," he murmured, and made her laugh as the car came to a stop.

"I had to clear my head before talking to a witness, didn't I?"

"Mmm-hmmm."

"Listen, you know Mansfield fairly well. I'd like your observations when this is done."

"Ah, there I am. Useful again."

She stopped, turned, and laid a hand on his cheek. Love for him reared up and bit her at the oddest times. "You do come in handy." When he turned his head and brushed his lips over her palm, she felt the thrill of it right down to her toes. "No mushy stuff," she ordered and strode to Areena's door.

She pressed the buzzer, waited.

Areena, dressed in a white lounging robe, opened the door. She looked flushed, obviously surprised, and not altogether pleased. "Lieutenant Dallas. Roarke. I… I wasn't expecting – " Then those limpid eyes went wide, went bright. "Is there news? Have you caught whoever – "

"No. I'm sorry to disturb you, but I have a few questions."

"Oh. I thought, I hoped, it might all be over. Well." She lifted a hand, pressed pink-tipped fingers under her eye as if to soothe an ache. Indeed, there were faint bruises of fatigue under it. "I'm afraid this isn't really a good time. Is this absolutely necessary?"

"I'm sorry it's inconvenient, but it won't take long."

"Of course. This is awkward. You see, I'm not alone. I…" In surrender, Areena let her hand fall, stepped back. "Please, come in."

Eve stepped inside. The penthouse was very like its opposite in setup, in size. The furnishings were softer, more female somehow, and the colors a symphony of blues and creams.

And seated on one of the trio of sofas, looking sleek and gorgeous in black, was Charles Monroe.

Terrific, Eve thought, and immediately wanted to kick his expensive balls into his throat.

He grinned, a quick snap of pleasure, then seeing the chill in her eyes, the look shifted into lazy amusement as he got languorously to his feet. "Lieutenant. Always a delight to see you."

"Charles. Night work still keeping you busy?"

"Fortunately. Roarke, nice to see you again."

"Charles."

"Can I freshen your drink, Areena?"

"What?" Her eyes had whipped back and forth between faces, and her fingers twirled and twisted the silver links at her throat. "No. No, thank you. Ah, you know each other."

The flush that had pinked prettily on her face deepened. She lifted her hands again in that feminine gesture of helplessness.

"The lieutenant and I have met a number of times. We even have a mutual friend."

"Watch your step," Eve said, very quietly. Temper had already stormed into her eyes and was ready to snap. "Is this a social call, Charles, or are you on the clock?"

"You should know a man in my position doesn't discuss such matters."

"Please, this is embarrassing." Areena lifted her hand to toy restlessly with her necklace again and didn't notice Charles's mouth twist in a thin, cynical line, but Eve did. "Obviously, you're aware Charles is a professional. I didn't want to be alone, and I needed… some simple companionship. Charles – Mr. Monroe came highly recommended."

"Areena." Smooth as silk, Roarke stepped forward. "I'd love some coffee. Would you mind?"

"Oh, of course. Forgive me. I can…"

"Why don't I see to it." Charles brushed a hand over Areena's arm and started toward the kitchen.

"I'll just give him a hand." With a last look at Eve, Roarke strolled away.

"I know how this must look to you," Areena began. "It must seem very cold and very self-interested for me to have hired a sexual partner the night after…"

"It seems odd to me that a woman like you would have to hire anyone to be with her."

With a light laugh, Areena picked up a glass of wine and, sipping, began to pace. The silk whispered around her legs. "A pretty compliment wrapped in barbed suspicion. And well delivered."

"I'm not here to pay you compliments."

"No." Areena's eyes lost their light of humor. "No, of course not. The simple answer to your underlying question is that I keep to myself a great deal. It comes, I suppose, from spending too much of my youth at parties, in groups. You'll have learned about my indiscretions, my difficulties with illegals. That's behind me now."

She turned back, lifted her chin. "It wasn't easy to put it behind me, but I did. In doing so, I lost a number of what I once considered friends. I ruined relationships that mattered to me because of addictions, lost those that shouldn't have mattered when I beat the addictions. And now I'm at a point in my life where my career needs all my attention. It doesn't leave much time for socializing or for romance."

"Were you romantically involved with Draco?"

"No. Never. We had sex a lifetime ago, the sort hearts and minds have nothing to do with. For some time, we've had nothing in common but the theater. I came back to New York, Lieutenant, because I wanted this play, and I knew Richard would shine in his part. I wanted that. There'll never be another like him onstage. God."

She squeezed her eyes shut, shivered. "It's horrible. Horrible. I'm more sorry to have lost the actor than the man. I'm sorry to know that about myself. No, I can't be alone." She sank down on the sofa. "Can't bear it. I can't sleep. If I sleep, I wake up, and my hands are covered in blood. Richard's blood. The nightmares."

She lifted her head, and her eyes swam as they met Eve's. "I have horrible nightmares every time I lie down, they leap into my head, and I wake up sick, wake up screaming, with his blood all over me. You can't imagine. You can't."

But Eve could. A small, freezing room, washed in the dirty red light from the sign across the street. The pain, the sheer hideousness of the rape, of the bone he'd broken in her arm when she'd fought him. The blood, his blood everywhere, slicked on her hands, dripping from the blade of the knife as she crawled away.

She'd been eight. In her nightmares, Eve was forever eight.

"I want you to find who did this," Areena whispered. "You have to find who did it. When you do, the nightmares will stop. Won't they? Won't they stop?"

"I don't know." Eve forced herself to step forward, forced herself to step away from her own memories and stay in the present. Stay in control. "Tell me what you know about the illegals. Who were his contacts, who supplied him, who played with him?"

In the kitchen, Charles sipped his wine, and Roarke made do with the reasonably decent faux coffee the AutoChef offered.

"Areena's having a difficult time," Charles began.

"I imagine she is."

"There's no law against paying for comfort."

"No."

"My job is as viable as hers."

Roarke inclined his head. "Monroe, Eve has no personal vendetta against licensed companions."

"Just against me, in particular."

"She's protective of Peabody." With his eyes clear and direct, Roarke sipped again. "So am I."

"I'm fond of Delia. Very fond. I'd never hurt her. I've never deceived her." On a sound of disgust, Charles turned away to stare through the window at the lights. "I lost my chance to have a relationship outside my job – to have a life outside my job – because I deceived a woman. Then because I cared enough about her to be honest. I've come to terms with that. I am what I am."

He turned back, and his lips curved. "And I'm good at what I do. Delia accepts that."

"Perhaps. But women are the oddest creatures, aren't they? A man never really knows. And that, I think, is part of their continual appeal. A mystery's more interesting, isn't it, before it's completely solved."

With a half laugh, Charles looked over his shoulder, and Eve walked through the door.

She couldn't have said, precisely, why it annoyed her to see Charles and her husband sharing a moment of what couldn't be mistaken for anything but male amusement. But since it did, she scowled at Roarke.

"Sorry to break up the boy talk, but could you keep Areena company for a moment while I speak to Charles?"

"Of course. The coffee's reasonably good."

She waited until he'd walked out, then moved to the AutoChef more to give herself a moment to settle than out of a desire for hotel coffee. "When did Ms. Mansfield make the appointment for your services?"

"This afternoon. About two, I believe."

"Isn't that late notice for you?"

"Yes."

Eve pulled the coffee out, leaned back against the wall, with the steam rising from her cup. "No bookings tonight?"

"I rearranged my schedule."

"Why? Areena indicated you hadn't met before, socially or professionally. Why go to that trouble for a stranger?"

"Because she doubled my fee," he said simply.

"What did she buy? Straight sex? An overnighter?"

He paused, stared down at his wine. When he lifted his gaze again, his eyes had gone cool. "I don't have to answer that. And won't."

"I'm investigating a homicide. I can pull you in for an interview at Central."

"Yes, you can. Will you?"

"You're making this sticky." She set the coffee down, paced up and down the narrow space between the wall and the counter. "I have to put you in my report as it is. That's bad enough. But you make me take you in, formalize this, it's right up Peabody 's nose."

"And neither of us want that," he murmured, then sighed. "Look, Dallas, I got a call. A client of mine gave my name to Areena as someone who could give her a comfortable evening. She was obviously upset. I'd heard about Draco, so I didn't have to ask why. She wanted a companion for the night. Dinner in, conversation, sex. To compensate for my inconvenience, she doubled my usual overnight fee. It's simple."

"Did you talk about Draco?"

"No. We talked about art, we talked about theater. She's had three glasses of wine and half a pack of herbals. Her hands stopped shaking about twenty minutes before you got here. She's an emotional wreck who's trying to hold on."

"Okay. I appreciate it." She jammed her hands in her pockets. " Peabody 's going to see the report."

He could feel his own hackles rise. "Delia knows what I do."

"Right." It stuck in her craw like barbed wire.

"She's a grown woman, Dallas."

"Grown, my ass." She gave up and kicked the wall. "She's out of her league with an operator like you. Damn it, her family's Free-Agers. She grew up out in bumfuck somewhere." A vague gesture took care of the Midwest. "She's a good cop. She's a solid cop, but she's still got blind sides. And she's going to get really pissed off when she finds out I said anything to you about it. She'll jam that stick up her ass and freeze me out, but damn it – "

"She matters," he shot back. "She matters to you. Doesn't it occur to you that she could matter to me?"

"Women are a business to you."

"When they pay me to be my business. It isn't like that with Delia. For Christ's sake, we don't even have sex."

"What? She can't meet your fee?" As soon as it was out, she hated herself. Hated herself more when she saw those cool eyes register simple hurt. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. That was wrong. That was way off."

"Yeah, it was."

Suddenly tired, she scooted down and sat on the floor with her back against the wall. "I don't want to know this stuff. I don't want to think about this stuff. I like you."

Intrigued, he lowered to the floor, his back to the counter so their knees almost brushed. "Really?"

"Yeah, mostly. You've been seeing her since before Christmas, and you haven't… What's wrong with her?"

He laughed, and this time it was easy and rich. "Jesus, Dallas, which way do you want it? I have sex with her, I'm a bastard. I don't, I'm a bastard. Roarke was right."

"What do you mean, Roarke was right?"

"You can't figure women." He took a drink of his wine. "She's a friend. It just happened that way. I don't have many friends who aren't clients or in the business."

"Watch yourself. They start to multiply when you're not paying attention. It complicates your whole damn life."

"You're a good friend. One more thing," he said and gave her foot an easy pat. "I mostly like you, too, Lieutenant Sugar."

The nightmare came. She should have expected it. Areena's talk of dreams and blood and terror triggered it. But even knowing, she could never stop it once it slid into her mind.

She saw him come into the room. Her father. That nasty little room in Dallas, so cold, even with the temperature gauge stuck on high. But seeing him, smelling him, knowing he'd been drinking, but not drinking enough, had sweat popping out on her chilled arms.

She dropped the knife. She'd been so hungry, so hungry it had been worth the risk of finding a snack. Just a little piece of cheese. The knife fell out of her hand, took days, years, centuries to reach the floor. And in the dream, the clatter of it was like thunder that echoed. Echoed. Echoed.

Across his face as he walked to her, the red light from the sign washed red, then white, then red.

Please don't please don't please don't.

But it never did any good to beg.

It would happen again and again and again. The pain of his hand smashing almost casually across her face. Hitting the floor so hard it rattled her bones. And then his weight on top of her.

"Eve. There now. Eve, come back to me. You're home."

Her breath burned in her throat, and she struggled, bucking, shoving against the arms that held her. And Roarke's voice seeped into the dream, warm, calm, lovely. Safe.

"That's right. Hold on to me." He gathered her closer in the dark, rocking her as he would a child until her shudders quieted. "You're all right now."

"Don't let go."

"No." He pressed his lips to her temple. "I won't."

When she woke in the morning, the dream only a vague smear on her mind, his arms were still around her.