Born in Death (In Death 23)

Eve turned to Roarke with a toothy grin. “Got the bastards.” The grin faded when she saw the tall glass of murky green liquid in his hand. “Where’d you get that?”

“From the faeries.”

“I don’t want faerie juice.” She planted her feet, lifted her fists into a boxer’s stance. “And if you try to pour that into me, you’re going to bleed.”

“Oh, dear, I’m terrified. Threatened with bodily harm by a woman who can barely stand upright. Half for me,” he said as she snarled. “Half for you.”

“Damn it.” She couldn’t punch him if he was going to be reasonable. “You first.”

With his eyes on hers he lifted the glass, drank half of the contents. Then cocked his head, held the glass out.

“Disgusting, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely,” he agreed. “Your turn.”

She made a face he thought a recalcitrant twelve-year-old would have been proud of, but she snatched the glass, squeezed her eyes shut, and gulped the rest down. “There. Happy now?”

“I’ll be happier when we’re dancing naked under the tropical sun, but this will do.”

“Okay.” She rubbed her gritty eyes. “Let’s start tying this up.”

19

WHEN SHE CONTACTED BAXTER, HE WAS NEARLY at her gates. “Figured I could give you what I got, you give me yours. In person. I got Trueheart with me. Ought to be something the kid can do.”

There was always something, Eve thought, and began to cobble together her notes. Trueheart could play drone and write her report. Despite the months working with Baxter, Trueheart was still fresh as daisies in May and eager as a puppy gamboling through them. He wouldn’t squawk about drone work.

“More cops,” Roarke said. “More coffee, then.”

“Dancing naked, tropical sun, near future.”

“I don’t suppose we could take fifteen minutes in the holo-room to practice.” He set coffee at her elbow.

“We’ve been practicing every chance we get the last couple years. I think we’re ready to go pro. Where’s the money they’re washing coming from?”

“I thought you were going to let the Feds and Global worry about that?”

“Yeah, but it bugs me.” She rose to walk to the board, to study the photos of Bullock and Chase. In her mind she saw the way they’d stood together, the way they’d touched each other. “They’re not just mother and son.”

When Roarke said nothing, she turned to look at him. Nodded. “You saw it, too.”

“I suppose you and I may be more attuned to that kind of thing than most. I saw…we’ll say…the intimacy between them.”

“That’s too clean a word for it, but to my mind, so’s incest. It just doesn’t get to the base of it. She runs it, runs him.” It made something curdle inside her. “She’s the spider when she should have been shielding him from the bad stuff. Instead, she uses him and twists him…and this isn’t about me.”

He crossed to her, laid his hands on her shoulders, his lips on her hair. “How can you stop it from resonating with you, just as what may be happening to Tandy does with me?”

Eve reached up until her hand covered his. “He’d have been the one to do the killing. You could see that in him, the violence under the polish. But she’d be the one pushing the buttons. And maybe I’m reading too much into it.”

“If you are, I’m reading the same page.”

“Well.” She drew a breath, lowered her hand. “If we’re right, it’s something I’ll use when I’ve got them in Interview. But for now…What’s the source of the money? Illegals, weapons? It just doesn’t feel right. Mob money. I don’t know. They don’t give that off. Lots of other ways,” she mused. “Lots of ways to make money off the books, but it seems to me—it feels to me,” she corrected, “like it would be something they’re into. Or enjoy. Or believe in. They’re

self-satisfied fuckers.”

“A perfect description.”

“You get me.” She nodded. “Prissy and righteous and full of themselves. I can’t see them hooking up with organized crime, because she likes to run the show. Wish I could walk through this with Mira, get a profile.”