Thankless in Death (In Death 37)

“Why aren’t you over there making the deal?”

“Because EuroCom is the one under the gun, and I had them come to me here.”

“Your turf, their hand out.”

“Close enough. Much of it’s been negotiated through ’link and holo-conferences, and my liaison there. As it happens, I just signed off about ten minutes ago while having my coffee—or what had been my coffee. The announcement should hit shortly.”

Eve wagged her thumb at the screen. “Blondie thinks it’s a big deal.”

“Blondie’s quite right.” He held up his cup so Eve could fill it. “After the transition, which on my terms will be swift and clean and final, there’ll be some restructuring.”

“Heads rolling.”

“Asses booted more like. And some retooling. Within the next quarter we’ll generate about a half million new jobs.”

He changed lives, she thought, sitting there in his slick suit, coolly drinking coffee. With an eye toward profit, sure, and expansion absolutely, but his go-ahead changed the life of someone sitting in a pub or café across the Atlantic worrying about paying the rent.

The screen flashed like a sunspot before the banner hyping BREAKING NEWS! swept over it. Even with the sound low, Eve heard the excitement in the blonde’s voice as she announced the EuroCom/Roarke Industries deal was confirmed.

“Well then.” Roarke got to his feet, gave Eve a light good-morning kiss. “Let’s have breakfast. They do a fine full Irish here.”

Just like that, she thought.

She sat with him, uncovered the plate to reveal the abundance of food. Jesus, what starving Irishman had first come up with the concept of the full deal?

“How much of it goes to Ireland?” she asked him. “The EuroCom thing.”

He shot her an amused smile. “Want the figures, do you? Should I have a report sent over?”

She picked up her fork. “Definitely not. I’m just curious if any of this plays in with your family.”

“Most of my people are farmers, as you know, but there are some who don’t work the land, and they may find their way onto the payroll. You don’t look as rested as I’d hoped.”

“Weird dream. Dream,” she repeated so he understood there’d been no nightmare. “The latest vic and I had this conversation in her apartment. She’s pretty bummed out about being dead.”

“It’s difficult to fault her for that.”

“Yeah. She … she doesn’t want her parents to see her looking the way Reinhold left her. In the dream, I mean. Projecting,” Eve said as she began to eat. “And I shouldn’t be.”

“Why not? You feel for her.”

“It’s not my job to feel for her. It’s my job to find and stop Reinhold.”

“You do both, and that’s what makes you you.”

“My subconscious is putting words in her mouth.”

Watching her, Roarke cut into meaty, Irish-style bacon. “Your subconscious, driven by your innate observation skills and your unique sensitivity. I wouldn’t discount it.”

“None of that tells me where he is now, or what he’s planning next.”

“You’ve generated considerable data in a short amount of time.”

She had—they had, she knew, but … “Time’s the problem. He’s like … like a kid with a brand-new toy and nobody to tell him to put it down. Or an addict who’s just discovered a new drug, and thinks there’s an unlimited supply. He’s not going to pace himself.”

“I’d agree with that, exactly. And I’d also say that’s his mistake, or one of them. It’ll be the rush, the gorging on it, that trips him.”

“Gorging, yeah. He’s spent his whole life accumulating and hoarding grudges, and now he’s figured out what to do with them. Stabbing, bludgeoning, strangulation.” She scooped up eggs as she spoke, fueling up. “It’s all so much fun he can’t decide what to try next. And there’s so many ways to kill. And better, so many ways to cause pain and torment first.”