Obsession in Death (In Death 40)

She took his face in both her hands, kissed him lightly. “For me.” When she got to her feet, Roarke offered a hand.

“I’ve admired your work,” he said.

“Thanks. We’ve almost met a couple times,” she began, causing Eve to lift her brows again as Roarke led her off.

Now Eve sat. “How long have you and Matilda been involved?”

“None of your business.”

“I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass if it wasn’t my business. How long? Two people are dead,” she said flatly. “You were going to be the third. If things had gone different, maybe Matilda would’ve been the bonus round.”

“What the fuck for? Anybody comes near her, I’ll rip out their throat and stuff their head in the hole.”

“Nice. I’m working on what the fuck for. How long?”

“Eighteen days. You don’t have to say what’s somebody who looks like her doing with somebody who looks like me.”

“You may have a face a mother would have a hard time loving, Dirk, but you make up for it wi

th your cheerful, outgoing personality and sparkling charm.”

“Shit.” He huffed. He puffed. “We’re keeping it quiet, okay? It’s personal. It’s . . . new, and it’s personal. The media gets hold of it, they’ll hound her on it.”

“Who is she?”

Dirk rolled his eyes. “Christ, you live in a cave? Matilda. Über-model. And more than a face, a body. She started her own line of hair and face enhancements—she’s not just the public face of it, she runs it. She’s got brains. And balls,” he said quietly, looking over at the carving knife. “I’m not going to let anything happen to her, whatever I got to do. That includes beating whoever’s trying to kill me to a bloody pulp then setting fire to what’s left of them.”

“Why don’t you start doing what you have to do by describing this person?”

He closed his eyes.

She saw then the pallor, and the dark circles under the eyes. Taking a solid stun could wear out the system, leave you exhausted and raw. Shaky and sick.

She ought to know.

“You’d be better off with a protein drink than the alcohol.”

“Kiss my flabby white ass,” he said, but without heat. “About your height, maybe an inch or two taller. Brown coat, scarf—brown, too—wrapped around the neck, up around the lower part of the face. Voice was muffled with it. I thought about ripping it off, strangling her with it.”

Eve’s spine went rigid. “Her?”

“Yeah, I think. Brown eyes—something in the eyes looked female to me. Looked . . . like yours, now that I think of it. Maybe I got my brain sideways from the stun, and since I’m looking at yours, I’m putting them there.”

He shook his head. “I was pretty steamed, seeing—you know, red—and not paying attention. I wasn’t framing a portrait of an asshole delivery girl.”

“Faces are your business,” Eve pointed out, nudging his ego.

“Yeah, yeah. Brain’s sideways,” he said again, closed his eyes again. “Narrow face, narrow nose, early to mid-thirties at a guess. A lot of bulk, but thinking . . . a lot of bulk was maybe the coat, whatever she had on under it. Not so much her, I think. Brown ski cap, pulled low. Couldn’t see any hair. Good skin, soft-looking skin. Says female to me. Soft, creamy brown, café au lait—heavier on the lait.”

His eyes opened. “I saw it.”

“Saw what?” Eve prompted.

“She said I had to sign—something like that. Man, I was pissed enough to break her in two. But I saw it, right before the jolt.” He rubbed a hand over his chest. “Jesus Christ on a tricycle it hurts. It fucking burns. But I saw it, in her eyes.”

“What?”

“Excitement.”