Rapture in Death

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

She chose the elevator, wanting to move quickly and privately. She programmed it for the short vertical glide, then the horizontal shift from wing to wing.

"I've got to tell you, you and Roarke have a fantastic place here. Just ultra mag."

"Oh, it'll do until we find something bigger." She said it dryly and refused to let his laughter grate on her nerves. "Tell me, Jess, did you decide to work with Mavis, seriously, before or after you knew the connection with Roarke?"

"I told you, Mavis is one in a million. Only had to see her a couple of times, doing a short gig down at the Down and Dirty to know we'd meld well." The grin flashed. Charming. A choirboy holding a frog under his robe. "It sure didn't hurt a thing that she had a contact like Roarke on her side. But she had to have the goods."

"But you knew about the connection before."

He moved a shoulder. "I'd heard about it. That's why I went down to see her. That kind of club isn't my usual venue. But she flashed for me. If I can move her into some hot gigs, then if Roarke, or someone of his ilk, let's say, is interested in investing in a coming act, it smooths everybody."

"You're smooth, Jess." She stepped out of the car when the doors slid open. "Real smooth."

"Like I said, I've been shaking gigs since I was a kid. I think I got it down." He looked around the corridor as she led the way. Old art, the real thing, he noted, pricey wood, carpet some craftsman had worn his fingers weaving a century before.

This was money, he thought. The kind that built empires.

At the doorway of her office, she turned. "I don't know how much he's got," she said, reading him perfectly. "And I don't really care."

The smile still in place, he lifted a brow, lowered his gaze to the fat tear-shaped diamond lying against the bodice of soft midnight silk. "But you ain't wearing paste and rags, sugar."

"I have, and I might again. And Jess?" She flicked off the coded lock. "Don't call me sugar."

Eve glided in, nodded to a puzzled but attentive Peabody. "Have a seat," she told Jess and moved directly to her desk.

"Nice milieu. Well, hi, sweetie." He couldn't for the life of him remember her name, but he beamed at Peabody as if they were old, dear friends. "Did you catch the act?"

"Most of it."

He dropped into a chair. "So, what do you think?"

"I thought it was great. You and Mavis really put on a show." She risked a smile, not at all sure what Eve wanted from her. "I'm ready to buy the first disc."

"That's what I like to hear. Can a guy get a drink in here?" he asked Eve. "I like to stay dry before a performance, and I'm more than ready to get wet."

"No problem. What would you like?"

"That champagne looked good."

"Peabody, there should be a bottle in the kitchen. Pour our guest here a glass of wine, will you? And why don't you get us some coffee?"

She leaned back and considered. Technically, she should record from this point, but she wanted a lead-in before she went on log. "Someone like you, who designs music and the atmosphere surrounding it, has to be as much technician as artist, right? That's what you were explaining to me before the performance."

"That's the way the business shakes down now, has for a lot of years." He flicked one of his beautiful hands, braceleted with gold. "I'm lucky I've got an aptitude for both and an interest. The days of plucking out a tune on the piano or playing a riff on a guitar have gone the way of fossil fuel. Almost extinct."

"Where'd you get your tech training? I'd have to say it's way above run of the mill."

He shot a fresh smile as Peabody came back with the drinks. He was comfortable, relaxed, and assumed he was in the middle of a kind of job interview. "On the job, mostly, a lot of late-night hacking. But I did a stretch of home ed with MIT."

She already knew some of the data from Peabody's make, but she wanted to lull him. "Impressive. You've made a name for yourself both in performance and design. Isn't that right, Peabody?"

"Yeah. I've got all your discs, and I'm looking forward to something new. It's been a while."

"I heard that somewhere." Eve picked up the ball Peabody was unaware she'd tossed. "Have a dry spell, Jess?"

"Not at all. I wanted to take my time perfecting the new equipment, putting together just the right elements. When I hit with the new stuff, it's going to be something no one's ever seen or heard before."

"And Mavis is like a springboard."

"In a manner of speaking. She was a lucky break. She'll showcase some of the material that wasn't right for me, and I've individualized some pieces to match her. I figure on doing some of my own sessions in a few months."

"After everything's in place."

He toasted her, sipped. "Exactly."

"You ever design soundtracks for VR?"

"Now and again. It's not a bad gig, if the program's interesting."

"And I bet you know how to lay down subliminals."

He paused, then sipped again. "Subliminals? That's straight tech."

"But you're a damn good tech, aren't you, Jess? Good enough to know computers in and out. And brains. A brain's just a computer, isn't it? Isn't that what you told me?"

"Sure." His focus was all for Eve so that he didn't notice that Peabody had come to attention.

"And you're into mood enhancements, which lead to mood shifts. Behavioral and emotional patterns. Brain wave patterns." She took a recorder out of her desk, placed it in plain sight. "Let's talk about that."

"What the hell is this?" He set down his glass, scooted to the edge of his seat. "What's the deal?"

"The deal is, I'm going to advise you of your rights, then we're going to have a chat. Officer Peabody, engage backup recording and log on, please."

"I didn't agree to a fucking interview." He got to his feet. Eve got to hers.

"That's all right. We can make it obligatory, and take you to Cop Central. There might be a wait. I haven't booked an interview room. But you won't mind spending a few hours in lockup."

Slowly, he sat again. "You turn cop fast, Dallas."

"No, I don't. I stay cop. Always. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve," she began for the recorder, and fed in time and place before reciting the revised Miranda. "Do you understand your rights and options, Jess?"

"Yeah, I get it. But I don't know what the hell this is about."

"I'm going to make that very clear for you. You are being questioned in the matters of the unresolved deaths of Drew Mathias, S. T. Fitzhugh, Senator George Pearly, and Cerise Devane."

"Who?" He looked convincingly baffled. "Devane? Isn't that the woman who jumped off the Tattler Building? What am I supposed to have to do with suicide? I didn't even know her."

"You were unaware that Cerise Devane was CEO and majority stockholder of Tattler Enterprises?"

"No, I guess I knew who she was, but – "

"I imagine you found yourself in The Tattler from time to time during your career."

"Sure, they're always digging for dirt. They've tossed some my way. It's just part of the business." Fear had backed off and left him mildly irritated. "Look, the lady jumped. I was downtown, in session, when she took the leap. I've got witnesses. Mavis for one."

"I know you weren't there, Jess. I was. At least I know you weren't there in the flesh."

His sculpted mouth curled into a sneer. "What am I, a goddamn ghost?"

"Do you know or have you ever had contact with an autotronics tech by the name of Drew Mathias?"

"Never heard of him."

"Mathias also did a pass through MIT."

"So have thousands. I opted for in-home. I never even set foot on campus."

"And never had any contact with other students?"

"Sure I did. Over the 'link, E-mail, laser fax, whatever." He shrugged his shoulders, drummed his fingers over the top of the hand-tooled boot he'd cocked on his knee. "I don't remember any autotronics tech by that name."

She decided to change tacks. "How much work have you done on individualized subliminals?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You don't understand the term?"

"I know what it means." This time his shrug was jerky. "And as far as I know, it's never been done, so I don't know what you're asking me."

Eve took a chance. She looked over at her aide. "Do you know what I'm asking him, Peabody?"

"I think it's clear enough, Lieutenant." She was struggling through the mud of confusion. "You'd like to know how much work the interview subject has done on individualized subliminals. Perhaps the interview subject should be reminded that it is not currently illegal to research or have an interest in this area. Only development and implementation are against current state, federal, and international laws."

"Very good, Peabody. Does that help clear things up for you, Jess?"

The byplay had given him enough time to settle. "Sure, I'm interested in the area. Lots of people are."

"It's a little out of your field, isn't it? You're just a musician, not a licensed scientist."

It was exactly the right button. His sat up in his chair, his eyes flashing once. "I'm fully certified in Musicology. Music isn't just a bunch of notes strung together, sweetheart. It's life. It's memory. Songs trigger specific and often predictable emotional reactions. Music's an expression of emotion, desires."

"And here I thought it was just a nice way to pass the time."

"Entertainment is only a slice of the pie. The Celts went to war with bagpipes. They were as much a weapon to them as a broadax. Warring natives in Africa psyched themselves up with drums. Slaves survived on their spirituals, and men have been seducing women to music for centuries. Music plays the mind."

"Which brings us back to the question. When did you decide to take it a step further and tie in to individual brain patterns? Did you just stumble across it, sort of blind luck, while you were noodling out a tune?"

He gave a short laugh. "You really think what I do is just a slide, don't you? Just sit down, punch in some notes, and go. It's work. It's hard, demanding work."

"And you're damned proud of your work, aren't you? Come on, Jess, you wanted to tell me earlier." Eve rose, came around the desk to sit on the front edge. "You've been dying to tell me. To tell someone. What good is it, what satisfaction is there in creating something so amazing, then having to keep it to yourself?"

He picked up his glass again, ran his fingers down the long, slim stem. "This isn't exactly the way I'd pictured this." He took a sip, considered the consequences – and the rewards. "Mavis says you can be flexible. It's not just code books and procedure with you."

"Oh, I can be flexible, Jess." When it's warranted. "Talk to me."

"Well, let's just say that if – hypothetically – I had worked out a technique for individualized subs, mood enhancements on a personal brain pattern, it could be big. People like Roarke and you, with your contacts and financial base, your influence, let's say, could work around a few antiquated laws and make a big pile. Revolutionize the personal entertainment and enhancement industry while you were at it."

"Is this a business offer?"

"Hypothetically," he said and gestured with his glass. "Roarke industries has the R and D, the facilities, the man power, and the credits to take something like this and run with it. And a smart cop, seems to me, could find a way to bend the law, just enough, to make it go down smooth."

"Gosh, Lieutenant," Peabody said with a smile that didn't touch her eyes. "Sounds like you and Roarke are the perfect couple. Hypothetically."

"And Mavis as the conduit," Eve murmured.

"Hey, Mavis is chilled. She got what she wanted. After tonight, she's going to cruise."

"And you figure that evens out using her to get to Roarke."

He moved a shoulder again. "Backs gotta be scratched, honey. I gave hers a real full treatment." The wicked amusement flashed into his eyes again. "Did you enjoy the informal demonstration of my hypothetical system?"

Not certain even her training could keep the fury off her face, she turned, slipped back behind the desk. "Demonstration?"

"The night you and Roarke came by the studio to watch the session. Seemed to me you two were pretty eager to leave, to be alone." His smile sharpened at the corners. "A little honeymoon revisited?"

She kept her hands behind the desk a moment until she could unclutch her fists. She glanced over toward the door of Roarke's connecting office, and saw with a jolt that the monitoring light blinked green over it.

He was watching, she realized. That was not only illegal, but dangerous under the circumstances. She flicked her eyes back to Jess. She couldn't afford to break rhythm. "It seems you're unusually interested in my sex life."

"I told you, you fascinate me, Dallas. You've got a mind. It's fucking steel, with all these dark spaces burned into it. I wonder what would happen if you opened those spaces. And sex is a master key." He leaned forward, eyes locked on hers. "What do you dream, Dallas?"

She remembered the dreams, the sick horror of them, the night she'd watched the disc of Mavis. The disc he'd given her. Her hands trembled once before she could control them. "You son of a bitch." She rose slowly, planted her hands on the desk. "You like giving demonstrations, asshole? Is that what Mathias was to you? A demonstration?"

"I told you, I don't know who that is."

"Maybe you needed an autotron tech to perfect your system. Then you tried it out on him. You had his brain waves, so you programmed them in. Did you program in him tying his own noose and slipping it around his neck, or did you leave the method up to him?"

"You just veered way out of orbit."

"And Pearly? What's the connection there? Political statement? Were you looking ahead? You're a real visionary. He'd have tossed his weight against legalizing your new toy. Why not use it on him?"

"Hold it. Hold it." He got to his feet. "You're talking about murder. Christ, you're trying to wrap me up with murder."

"Then Fitzhugh. Did you need a couple more demonstrations, Jess? Or did you just get a taste for it? Powerful, isn't it, being able to kill without getting your hands bloody?"

"I never killed anyone. You can't wrap this on me."

"Devane was a bonus, with the media right there. You got to watch. I bet you really love to watch, don't you, Jess? I bet you got hot watching. Like you got hot thinking about where you'd push Roarke tonight with your goddamn toy."

"That's what's rocking you, isn't it?" Furious, he leaned on the desk. His smile wasn't charming now, but feral. "You want to sting me because I wired into your man. You should be thanking me. I bet the two of you fucked like wild minks."

Her hand was in a fist, her fist slamming into his jaw before her brain registered the act. He went down like a stone, face first, arms splayed, and sent her 'link flying.

"Goddamn it." Breath hitching, she uncurled her fist, clutched it again. "Goddamn it."

Peabody's voice came cool and calm through the buzzing in her ears. "Let the backup record show that subject physically threatened the lieutenant during questioning. As a result, subject lost his balance and struck his head on the desk. He appears to be momentarily stunned."

While Eve could do no more than stare at her, Peabody rose, stepped over, and dragged Jess up by the collar of his shirt. She held him there a moment, as if considering his condition. His knees sagged, his eyes rolled back white.

"That's affirmative," she stated, then dumped him into a chair. "Lieutenant Dallas, I believe your recorder has been damaged." With a brush of her hand, Peabody tipped Eve's coffee onto the unit, effectively frying its chips. "Mine is in working order and will be sufficient for reporting this interview. Are you injured?"

"No." Eve shut her eyes, snapped her control back into place. "No, I'm fine. Thank you. The interview breaks at oh one thirty-three. Subject Jess Barrow will be transported to the Brightmore Health Center for examination and treatment, and there be detained until nine hundred hours, when this interview will continue at Cop Central. Officer Peabody, please arrange for transport. Subject is to be held for questioning, charges pending."

"Yes, sir." Peabody glanced over as the door to Roarke's office slid open. It only took one look at his face to realize that there might be trouble. "Lieutenant," she began, careful to keep the recorder turned away. "I'm getting interference on my communicator, and your 'link may have been damaged when the subject knocked it to the floor. Permission to use another room to send for the MTs."

"Go ahead," Eve said and sighed as she watched Roarke come in and Peabody stride out. "You had no business monitoring this interview," she began.

"I beg to differ. I had every business." He glanced down at the chair as Jess moaned and shifted. "He's coming around. I'd like my moment with him now."

"Listen, Roarke – "

He cut her off with one swift, ice-edged stare. "Now, Eve. Leave us alone."

That was the trouble between them, she decided. Both of them were so used to giving orders that neither of them took orders well. But she remembered the stricken look in his eyes when he'd backed away from her. They had both been used, she thought, but Roarke had been victimized.

"You've got five minutes. That's it. And I'm going to warn you right now. The record shows he's relatively undamaged. If there are marks on him, it's going to swing back on me and compromise my case against him."

His lips twitched in a bare flicker of a smile as he took her arm and led her to the door. "Lieutenant, give me some credit. I'm a civilized man." He shut the door in her face, locked it.

And, he thought, he knew how to cause great discomfort to the human body without leaving so much as a dent.

He walked over, hauled Jess out of the chair, and shook him until his eyes blinked into focus. "Awake now, are you?" Roarke said softly. "And aware?"

Sweat pooled cold at the base of Jess's spine. He was looking into the face of murder, and he knew it. "I want a lawyer."

"You're not dealing with the cops now. You're dealing with me. At least for the next five minutes. And you have no rights or privileges here."

Jess swallowed, struggled for a show of cool. "You can't lay a hand on me. If you do, it'll slap right back on your wife."

Roarke's lips curved and struck a fresh fist of terror in Jess's gut. "I'm going to show you just how mistaken you are in that."

His eyes never left Jess's face as he reached down, grabbed onto his penis, and twisted. It was some satisfaction to see every drop of blood drain out of the man's face and watch his mouth work like a guppy's as it gasped for air. With his thumb, he pressed gently on Jess's windpipe and cut off even that thin passage of air until the silver eyes bulged.

"Hell, isn't it, to be led around by the cock?" He gave one last jerk of the wrist before letting Jess collapse into the chair and curl up like a shrimp.

"Now, let's talk," he said pleasantly enough. "About private matters."

Out in the corridor, Eve paced up and down, glancing every few seconds at the thick door. She knew very well if Roarke had implemented the soundproofing, Jess could be shrieking his lungs out and she wouldn't hear.

"If he killed him… Good God if he killed him, how was she going to handle it? She stopped, appalled, and pressed a hand to her stomach. How could she even consider it? She was duty bound to protect the bastard. There were rules. Whatever her personal feelings, there were rules.

She marched to the door, coded in, and hissed out a breath as her code was denied. "Son of a bitch. Goddamn it, Roarke." He knew her too well. With little hope, she raced down the corridor, into his office, and tried the connecting door.

Entrance denied.

She streaked to the monitor, cued up the security camera for her office, and found he'd locked her out of that as well.

"God almighty, he is killing him." She rushed the door again, beat on it uselessly with her fist. Moments later, like magic, the locks slicked back, and the door slid quietly open. She went through at a dead run and saw Roarke calmly sitting at her desk, smoking.

Her heart pounded as she looked down at Jess. He was pale as death, his pupils the size of pinpricks, but he was breathing. In fact, he was wheezing out air like a faulty temperature control.

"He's unmarked." Roarke picked up the brandy he'd poured himself. "And I believe he's begun to see the error of his ways."

Eve leaned down, peered closely into Jess's eyes, and watched him cringe back into the chair like a kicked dog. The sound he made was barely human. "What the hell did you do to him?"

He doubted Eve or the NYPSD would approve of the tricks he'd picked up in his more shadowy travels. "Much less than he deserved."

She straightened and now took a long, hard look at Roarke. He looked like a man about to entertain late night guests or chair an important business meeting. His suit was unwrinkled, his hair unmussed, his hands perfectly steady. But his eyes, she noted, were just on the down side of wild.

"Christ, you're scary."

Carefully, he set his brandy down. "I'll never hurt you again."

"Roarke." She pushed back the urge to go to him, close her arms around him. It wasn't what the moment called for, she decided. Or what he wanted. "This can't be personal."

"Yes." He drew in smoke, blew it out slowly. "It can. And is."

"Lieutenant." Peabody stepped in, her face bland. "The MTs are here. With your permission, I'll accompany the suspect to the health center."

"I'll go."

"Sir." Peabody slid a glance toward Roarke. He'd yet to take his eyes off Eve, she noted. And those eyes looked more than a little dangerous. "If you'll excuse me, I believe you have more pressing matters here. I can handle this. You still have a number of guests in the house, including the press. I'm sure you'd prefer this matter remain quiet until its disposition."

"All right. I'll contact Central from here, make the necessary arrangements. Prepare for second phase interview tomorrow, nine hundred hours."

"I'm looking forward to it." Peabody glanced over at Jess, lifted a brow. "He must have hit his head pretty hard. Still looks dazed, skin's clammy." She offered Roarke a wide smile. "I know just how that feels."

Roarke laughed, feeling more of the tension drain away. "No, Peabody. In this case, I don't believe you do."

He got up, walked to her and, framing her square face with his elegant hands, kissed her. "You're beautiful," he murmured before turning to Eve. "I'll see to the rest of our guests. Take your time."

As he walked out, Peabody touched her fingertips to her lips. Pleasure had radiated down to her toes and out through the reinforced tips of her boots. "Oh wow. I'm beautiful, Dallas."

"I owe you, Peabody."

"I think I just got paid." She stepped back to the door. "Here come the MTs. We'll get our boy out of here. Tell Mavis she was absolutely ultra."

"Mavis." Eve pressed her fingers to her eyes. How was she going to tell Mavis?

"If I were you, Dallas, I'd give her tonight to glow. You can tell her about this later. She'll be fine. In here," she called, gesturing. "We got us what looks like a mild concussion."