Rapture in Death

CHAPTER TEN

Before Eve left for home, she perfected a detailed report on the similarities in the alleged suicides and why her suspicions that the senator's death was due to the same as yet unknown causes. She transferred her findings to the commander's unit, with a flag to his home 'link.

Unless his wife was hosting one of her ubiquitous dinner parties, she knew Whitney would review the report before morning. With that hope, she took the sky glide from homicide to the Electronic Detective Division.

She found Feeney at his desk, his stubby fingers holding delicate tools, microglasses turning his eyes to saucers as he stripped down a miniboard.

"You doing repair and maintenance these days?" She eased a hip on the edge of his desk, careful not to jar his rhythm. She'd expected no more than the grunt she received in response and waited while he transferred a sliver of something onto a clear dish.

"Somebody's having fun and games," he muttered. "Managed to get a virus of some kind right into the chief's unit. Memory's been boosted, the GCC compromised."

She glanced at the silver sliver and imagined that was the GCC. Computers weren't her forte. "Got a line on it?"

"Not yet." With tiny tweezers, he lifted the sliver, studied it through his glasses. "But I will. I found the virus, dosed it, that's first priority. This poor little bastard's dead, though. When I autopsy it, we'll see."

She had to smile. It was so like Feeney to think of his components and chips in human terms. He replaced the sliver, sealed the dish, then tugged off his glasses.

His eyes shrank, blinked, refocused. And there he was, Dallas thought, rumpled, wrinkled, and baggy, just as she liked him best. He'd made her a cop, giving her the kind of in-the-field training she could never have learned through discs or VR. And though he'd transferred from Homicide to captain in EDD, she continued to depend on him.

"So," she began. "Did you miss me?"

"Were you gone?" He grinned at her, reached a hand into a bowl for some candied almonds. "Did you like your fancy honeymoon?"

"Yeah, I did." She took a nut herself. It had been a long time since lunch. "Even with a body at the end of it. I appreciate the data you dug up for me."

"No problem. A lot of fuss for self-terminations."

"Maybe." His office was larger than hers, due to his rank and his love of space. His boasted a view screen which, as usual, was tuned to a classic film channel. Just now Indiana Jones was being lowered into a pit of asps. "It's got a few interesting aspects, though."

"Want to share?"

"That's why I'm here." She'd copied the data she'd taken from the senator's file and took the disc from her pocket. "I've got a brain dissection on here, but the picture's a little rough. Can you clean it up, boost it some?"

"Can bears shit in the reforested park?" He took the disc, swiveled to his unit, and loaded it. Moments later, he was scowling over the image. "Pitiful imaging. What did you do, use a portable to record off screen?"

"It would be better if we didn't get into that."

He turned his head, studied her with that same scowl. "You teetering on a line, Dallas?"

"My balance is good."

"Let's hope so." Preferring to work manually, he slid out a keyboard. His workingman's fingers danced over keys and controls like a master harpist's over strings. He jerked a shoulder when she leaned close. "Don't crowd me, kid."

"I need to see."

Under his expertise the picture was clearing, contrasts sharpening. She struggled for patience as he fine tuned, diddled, humming to himself as he worked. Behind her all hell was breaking loose between Harrison Ford and the snakes.

"That's about the best we can do on this unit. You want more, I have to take it into master." He flicked a glance up at her. "You gotta log on for master. Technically."

She knew he'd bypass regulations for her and risk an interview with IAD. "Let's go with this for now. You see that, Feeney?" She tapped a finger against the screen just under the tiny shadow.

"I see a hell of a lot of trauma. This brain must have been bashed good and proper."

"But this." She could just make it out. "I've seen this before. On two other scans."

"I'm no neurologist, but I'd guess it's not supposed to be there."

"No." She straightened. "It's not supposed to be there."

She got home late and was met by Summerset at the door. "There are two… gentlemen to see you, Lieutenant."

With a quick jolt, she thought of the data she'd commandeered. "Are they wearing uniforms?"

Summerset's pursed mouth pruned further. "Hardly. I've put them in the front parlor. They insisted on waiting, though you had not indicated when you would arrive, and Roarke is detained at the office."

"Okay, I'll handle it." She wanted a huge plate of anything edible, a hot bath, and some thinking time. Instead, she wound her way down to the parlor and found Leonardo and Jess Barrow. Relief came first, then annoyance. Summerset, the creep, knew Leonardo and could have told her who was waiting to see her.

"Dallas." Leonardo's moon-sized face creased into a grin when he spotted her. He swept across the room, a giant in a magenta skin suit overbloused with emerald gauze. No wonder Mavis adored him. He caught Eve up in a bone crushing hug, then narrowed his eyes. "You haven't dealt with your hair yet. I'll call Trina myself."

"Oh. Well." Intimidated, Eve raked her fingers through her short, messy cap of hair. "I don't really have time right now to – "

"You have to make time for personal appearance. Not only are you an important public figure in your own right, but you're Roarke's wife."

She was a cop, damn it. Suspects and victims didn't give a rat's ass about her hairdo. "Right. As soon as – "

"You're neglecting your treatments," he accused her, simply rolling over her excuses like a big smooth boulder down a bumpy slope. "Your eyes are strained and your brows need shaping."

"Yeah, but – "

"Trina will be in touch to set up a session. Now then." He propelled her across the room, all but dumped her into a chair. "Relax," he ordered. "Put your feet up. You've had a long day. Can I get you anything?"

"No, really. I'm – "

"Some wine." Inspired, he beamed, gave her shoulder a quick rub. "I'll see to it. And don't worry. Jess and I won't keep you long."

"No use arguing with a born nurturer," Jess commented as Leonardo moved off to order the wine for Eve. "Nice to see you, Lieutenant."

"Aren't you going to tell me I've lost weight, or gained it, or need a facial?" But she blew out a breath and leaned back. It did feel incredibly good to sit in a chair that wasn't designed to torture the ass. "Okay, let's have it. Something must be up for you to tolerate Summerset insulting you until I got home."

"Actually, he just looked appalled and closed us in here. I do think he's going to run a room scan after we're gone to be sure we didn't lift any of the knickknacks." Jess sat down, cross-legged, on the cushion at her feet. His silver eyes were smiling, his voice smooth as Bavarian cream. "Great knickknacks, by the way."

"We like them. If you'd wanted the tour, you should have said so before Leonardo set me down. I'm going to stay here awhile."

"Looking at you will do just fine. I hope you don't mind me saying you're the most attractive cop I've ever… rubbed shoulders with."

"Have we rubbed shoulders, Jess?" Her brows lifted, disappearing under her bangs. "I hadn't noticed."

He chuckled, patted her knee with one of his beautiful hands. "I would love that tour, sometime or other. But right now we have a favor to ask."

"Got a traffic blot you need fixing?"

His lovely face beamed. "Well, now that you mention it – "

Leonardo carried the crystal glass filled with pale gold wine across the room himself. "Don't tease her, Jess."

Eve accepted the glass, glanced up at Leonardo. "He's not teasing me, he's flirting with me. He likes to live dangerously."

Jess let out an appealingly musical laugh. "Caught. Happily married women are the safest to flirt with." He spread his hands as she sipped, considered him. "No harm, no foul." He picked up her hand, ran a fingertip along the intricate carving on her wedding ring.

"The last man who messed with me is doing life in lockup," Eve said casually. "That's after I beat the crap out of him."

"Oops." Chuckling, Jess released her hand. "Maybe I'd better let Leonardo ask for the favor."

"It's for Mavis," Leonardo said, and his eyes became warm and liquid as he spoke her name. "Jess thinks the demo disc is ready. Music and entertainment is a tough field, you know. Crowded, competitive, and Mavis has her heart set on making it. After what happened with Pandora – " He shuddered delicately. "Well, after what happened before, and Mavis being arrested, fired from the Blue Squirrel, going through all of that… It's been rough on her."

"I know." The guilt set in again, for her part in it. "It's behind her now."

"Thanks to you." Though Eve shook her head, Leonardo insisted. "You believed her, you worked for her, you saved her. Now I'm going to ask you for something else because I know you love her as much as I do."

Eve's eyes narrowed. "You're boxing me in very neatly, aren't you?"

He didn't bother to suppress the smile. "I hope so."

"It's my idea," Jess interrupted. "Leonardo had to be nudged some to approach you with it. He didn't want to take advantage of your friendship or your position."

"My position as a cop?"

"No." Jess smiled, reading her reaction perfectly. "As Roarke's wife." Oh, she didn't care for that, he thought, amused. This was a woman who wanted to stand firm, on her own. "Your husband has a great deal of influence, Dallas."

"I know what Roarke has." It wasn't precisely true. She didn't have a clue as to the full extent of his holdings and operations. She didn't want to. "What do you want from him?"

"Just a party," Leonardo said quickly.

"A what?"

"A party for Mavis."

"A splashy one," Jess put in, grinning. "A busting one."

"An event." Leonardo shot Jess a warning look. "A stage, so to speak, where Mavis can mingle with people, perform. I haven't mentioned the idea to her in case you objected. But we thought if Roarke could invite…" There was obvious embarrassment now as she only stared at him. "Well, he knows so many people."

"People who buy performance discs, go to clubs, look for entertainment." Not embarrassed in the least, Jess smiled winningly. "Maybe we should get you some more wine."

Instead, she set the barely touched glass aside. "You want him to give a party." Wary of a trap, she scanned both faces. "That's it?"

"More or less." Hope sprang in Leonardo's chest. "We'd like to run the demo during it, have Mavis give a live performance as well. I know it's an expense. I'm more than willing to pay – "

"It won't be the money that concerns him." Eve considered, tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair. "I'll talk to him about it and get back to you. I guess you want it soon."

"As soon as possible."

"I'll get back to you," she repeated, then rose.

"Thank you, Dallas." Leonardo bent in several places to kiss her cheek. "We'll get out of your way."

"She's going to be a huge hit," Jess predicted. "She just needs a liftoff." He took a disc out of his pocket. "This is a copy of the demo," he told her. A specially doctored copy, he thought, just for the lieutenant. "Give it a try. See what we've come up with."

She smiled at it, thinking of Mavis. "I will."

Upstairs, alone, Eve programmed the AutoChef and came up with a steaming plate of pasta and what was certainly fresh sauce from garden-grown tomatoes and herbs. It never ceased to amaze her what Roarke had access to. She wolfed it down while she ran a bath. As an afterthought, she tossed in some of the foaming salts he'd bought her in Paris. She thought they smelled like her honeymoon: rich and romantic. She sank into a tub the size of a small lake and sighed greedily. Blank the mind before thinking, she decided and popped open the control panel in the wall. She'd already loaded the demo in the bedroom unit and switched it to play on the recessed screen in the bathroom.

She settled back into hot, frothy water, a second glass of vintage wine in her hand, and shook her head. What the hell was she doing here? Eve Dallas, a cop who'd come up the hard way; a nameless kid found in an alley, abandoned and abused, with a murder on her hands blocked from her memory.

Even a year before, that memory had been patchy and her life had been one of work, survival, and more work. Standing for the dead was her business, and she was good at her job. That had been enough. She'd made it enough.

Until Roarke. The glitter of the ring on her finger continued to puzzle her.

He loved her. He wanted her. He, the competent, successful, and enigmatic Roarke, even needed her. That was the biggest puzzle of all. And maybe, since she couldn't seem to solve it, she would eventually learn to simply accept it.

She brought the wine to her lips, sank a little lower into the water, and hit the remote.

Instantly, color and sound exploded into the room. In defense, she lowered the volume before her eardrums burst. Then Mavis swirled across the screen, as exotic as a sprite, potent as straight whiskey. Her voice was a screech, but it was appealing, nonetheless, and it suited her as well as the music Jess had designed to showcase the vocals.

It was hot, ruthless, and raw. Very much Mavis. But as Eve soaked it in, she realized that the sound and the show had more polish. Oh, there had always been flash and sparkle when it came to Mavis's work, but now there was a thin sheen of gloss she had lacked before.

Production values, she supposed. Orchestration. And someone who has the eye to recognize a rough diamond and the talent and willingness to help buff it up.

Eve's opinion of Jess took a step up. Maybe he'd looked like a cocky boy showing off on his complicated console, but he obviously knew how to make it work. More, he understood Mavis, Eve realized. He appreciated her for what she was and what she wanted to do, and he'd found a way for her to do it well.

Eve chuckled to herself and lifted her glass in toast to her friend. It looked like they were going to have a party at that.

In his studio downtown, Jess reviewed the demo. He sincerely hoped that Eve was watching the disc. If she did, her mind would be open. Wide open to dreams. He wished he knew what they would be, where they would take her. Then he could see what she would see. He could document. Relive. But his research hadn't yet allowed him to find the path into the dreams. One day, he thought, one day.

Eve's dreams took her back into the dark, into the dread. They were jumbled, then shockingly clear, then scattered again like leaves in the wind. It was terrifying. She dreamed of Roarke, and that was soothing. Watching an explosive sunset with him in Mexico, making reckless love in the dark, bubbling water of a lagoon. Hearing his voice in her ear when he was inside her, urging her to let go. Just let go.

Then it was her father, holding her down, and she was a child, helpless, hurting, frightened.

Please don't.

The smell of him was there, candy over liquor. Too sweet, too strong. She was gagging on it and weeping, and his hand was over her mouth to stifle her screams when he raped her.

Our personalities are programmed at conception. Reeanna's voice floated in, cool and sure. We are what we are made. Our choices are already set at birth.

And she was a child, in a terrible room, a cold room that smelled of garbage and urine and death. And there was blood on her hands.

Someone was holding her, pinning her arms, and she fought like a wild thing, like a terrified, desperate child would fight.

"Don't. Don't. Don't."

"Ssh, Eve, it's a dream." Roarke gathered her closer, rocked, while the clammy sweat on her skin soaked into his shirt and broke his heart. "You're safe."

"I killed you. You're dead. Stay dead."

"Wake up now."

He pressed his lips to her temple, struggling to find the right way to soothe her. If he'd had the power, he would have gone back in time and cheerfully murdered what haunted her.

"Wake up, darling. It's Roarke. No one's going to hurt you. He's gone," he murmured when she stopped fighting him and began to shudder. "He's never coming back."

"I'm all right." It humiliated her, always, to be caught in the grip of a nightmare. "I'm okay now."

"I'm not." He continued to hold her, stroking until her tremors eased. "It was a bad one."

She kept her eyes shut, tried to concentrate on the scent of him: clean and male. "Remind me not to go to bed after gorging on spiced spaghetti." She realized he was fully dressed and the bedroom lights were on low. "You haven't been to bed."

"I just got in." He eased her back to study her face and brushed a drying tear from her cheek. "You're still pale." It tore at him, and his voice was edgy. "Why the hell won't you take a soother at least?"

"I don't like them." As usual, the nightmare had left her with the dull throb of a headache. Knowing he would see it if he looked too closely, she shifted away. "I haven't had one in a while. Weeks really." Calmer now, she rubbed her tired eyes. "That one was all jumbled up. Strange. Maybe it was the wine."

"And maybe it's stress. You will work until you collapse."

She angled her head, glanced at the watch on his wrist. "And who's just coming in from the office at two a.m.?" She smiled, wanting to erase the worry from his eyes. "Buy any small planets lately?"

"No, just a few minor satellites." He rose, stripped off his shirt, then lifted a brow when he caught the considering look she gave his bare chest. "You're too tired."

"I don't have to be. You could do all the work."

Laughing, he sat to take off his shoes. "Thank you very much, but why don't we wait until you have the energy to participate?"

"Christ, that's so married." But she slid down in the bed, exhausted. The headache was just on the edge of her brain, cannily waiting to strike. When he slipped into bed beside her, she rested her tender head on his shoulder. "I'm glad you're home."

"So am I." He brushed his lips over her hair. "You'll sleep now."

"Yeah." It soothed her to feel the rhythm of his heart under the palm of her hand. She only felt slightly ashamed of needing it there, needing him there. "Do you think we're programmed at conception?"

"What?"

"I wonder." She was drifting into that twilight sleep already, and her voice was thick and slow. "Is it just the luck of the draw, the gene pool, what slips in with egg and sperm? Is that it? What does that make us, Roarke, you and me?"

"Survivors," he said, but he knew she was asleep. "We survived."

He lay awake a long time, listening to her breathe, watching the stars. When he was certain she slept without scars, he let himself follow.

She was awakened at seven by a communique from Commander Whitney's office. She'd been expecting the summons. She had two hours to prep for the face-to-face report.

It didn't surprise her that Roarke was already up, dressed, and sipping coffee while he scanned the stock reports on his monitor. She grunted at him, her usual morning greeting, and took coffee into the shower with her.

He was on the 'link when she came back. His broker, she imagined from the bits and pieces of conversation she caught. She snagged a muffin, intending to stuff it into her mouth as she dressed, but Roarke grabbed her hand, pulled her down on the sofa.

"I'll get back to you by noon," he told his broker, then ended transmission. "What's your hurry?" he asked Eve.

"I've got to meet Whitney in an hour and a half and convince him there's a link between three unrelated victims, talk him into letting me pursue the matter, and to accept data I accessed illegally. Then I'm due in court, again, to testify so that a lowlife pimp, who ran an unlicensed stable of minors and beat one of them to death with his hands, goes into a cage and stays there."

He kissed her lightly. "Just another day at the office. Have some strawberries."

She had a weakness for them and plucked one out of the bowl. "We don't have any – you know – thing scheduled for tonight, do we?"

"No. What did you have in mind?"

"I was thinking we could just hang." She moved her shoulders. "Unless I'm in Interview being kicked because of breaching government security."

"You should have let me do it for you." He grinned at her. "A little time, and I could have accessed the data from here."

She closed her eyes. "Don't tell me that. I really don't want to know that."

"What do you say to watching some old videos, eating popcorn, and necking on the sofa?"

"I say, thank you, God."

"It's a date then." He topped off their coffee. "Maybe we'll even manage to have dinner together. This case – or these cases – are troubling you."

"I can't get a hook, a focal point. There's no why, there's no how. Other than Fitzhugh's spouse and his associate, no one's been even one step out of line. And they're both just idiots." She moved her shoulders. "It's not homicide when it's self-termination, but it feels like homicide." She huffed out a disgusted breath. "And if that's all I've got to convince Whitney, I'm going to be dragging my ass out of his office after he stomps it."

"You trust your instincts. He strikes me as a man who's smart enough to trust them as well."

"We'll soon see."

"If they arrest you, darling, I'll wait for you."

"Ha ha."

"Summerset said you had visitors last night," Roarke added as she rose to go to the closet.

"Oh, shit, I forgot." Dumping the robe on the floor, she pawed naked through her clothes. It was a process Roarke never failed to enjoy. She found a shirt of plain blue cotton, shrugged it on. "I had a couple of guys over for a quick orgy after work."

"Did you take pictures?"

She chuckled and found some jeans, remembered court, and switched to tailored slacks. "It was Leonardo and Jess. They're looking for a favor. From you."

Roarke watched as Eve started to pull on the slacks, remembered underwear, and yanked open a drawer. "Oh-oh. Will it hurt?"

"I don't think so. And actually, I'm kind of for it. They were thinking you could throw a party for Mavis here. Let her perform. The demo disc is done. I watched it myself last night and it's really good. It would give her a chance to, like, premiere it before they start hawking it."

"All right. We could probably do it in a week or two. I'll check my schedule."

Half dressed, she turned to him. "Just like that?"

"Why not? It's not a problem."

She pouted a little. "I figured I'd have to persuade you."

Anticipation lit wickedly in his eyes. "Would you like to?"

She fastened her slacks, kept her face bland. "Well, I really appreciate it. And since you're being so accommodating, I guess this is a good time to hit you with part two."

Idly, he poured more coffee, flicked a glance at the monitor as the off planet agriculture reports began to scroll. He'd recently bought a minifarm on Space Station Delta.

"What's part two?"

"Well, Jess has worked out this one number. He ran it by me last night." She looked at Roarke, making it up as she went along. "It's a duet, really impressive. And we thought, if for the party – the live portion of the performance – you could do it with Mavis."

He blinked, lost all interest in crops. "Do what with Mavis?"

"Perform it. Actually it was my idea," she continued, nearly losing it when he paled. "You've got a nice voice. In the shower, anyway. The Irish comes out. I mentioned it, and Jess thought it was fabulous."

He managed to shut his mouth, but it wasn't easy. Slowly he reached over to disengage the monitor. "Eve – "

"Really, it would be great. Leonardo has a terrific design for your costume."

"For my – " Thoroughly shaken, Roarke got to his feet. "You want me to wear a costume and sing a duet with Mavis? In public?"

"It would mean so much to her. Just think of the press we could get."

"Press." Now he blanched. "Christ Jesus, Eve."

"It's really a sexy number." Testing them both, she walked over, began to toy with the buttons of his shirt as she looked hopefully up into his eyes. "It could put her right over the top."

"Eve, I'm fond of her, really I am. I just don't think – "

"You're so important." She trailed her finger down the center of his chest "So influential. And so… gorgeous."

It was just a little too thick. He narrowed his eyes, caught the laughter in hers. "You're putting me on."

Her laughter burst out. "You bought it. Oh, you should have seen your face." She pressed a hand to her belly, yelping when he yanked her ear. "I would have talked you into it."

"I don't think so." Not at all sure of himself, he turned away, started to reach for his coffee again.

"I could have. You'd have done it if I'd played it right." All but doubled over with laughter, she threw her arms around him, hugged herself to his back. "Oh, I love you."

He went very still as emotion delivered a hard, bruising punch to his heart. Shaken, he turned, gripped her arms.

"What?" The laughter died out of her face. He looked stunned, and his eyes were dark and fierce. "What is it?"

"You never say it." Swamped, he dragged her close and buried his face in her hair. "You never say it," he repeated.

She could do nothing but hold on, rocked by the emotions pulsing from him. Where had this come from? she wondered. Where had he hidden it? "Yes, I do. Sure I do."

"Not like that." He hadn't known how much he'd needed to hear her say it, just like that. "Not without prompting. Without thinking about it first."

She opened her mouth to deny it, then closed it again. It was true, and it was foolish, cowardly. "I'm sorry. It's hard for me. I do love you," she said quietly. "Sometimes it scares me because you're the first. And the only."

He held her there until he was sure he could speak, then eased her back, looked into her eyes. "You've changed my life. Become my life." He touched his lips to hers, let the kiss deepen slowly, silkily. "I need you."

She linked her arms around his neck, pressed close. "Show me. Now."