“Straight to work mode, pal.”
With the cat trailing her, she walked to the library first. She considered the appeal of sitting on the sofa, feet up, fire going, then accepted she’d work faster in her office.
She took a stack of books, hauled them with her.
After setting them on her command center, she updated her board. Then she expanded it, used the new section for ID shots of what she termed “Motive—Dark Deeds.”
As the ice pinged and sizzled against the windows, she ordered the fire on, programmed a pot of coffee.
She settled in, read an early scene between the future victim and the motive, made notes.
Public fight, club/crime scene. Victim trashed/motive half-trashed. Ugly words, threats on both sides. Public fight reported on gossip channels, with video.
She searched the real rockers’ gossip history. Rubbed her eyes when she found every single one had a reflective incident.
She moved to the murder scene, also early in the book. Same club, different night, but many of the same characters.
Victim trashed again, and bad-mouthing motive, who sits in another section pretending to ignore her. Victim hits the dance floor—so does motive. Victim rubs suggestively against several available men—and a couple women—all while watching motive. Victim and motive dance, simulating sex. Victim goes back to her table, pops a little Erotica, brags that she’ll have motive up in a privacy room, how she can lead him by the cock wherever she wants him.
Lots of bodies, lots of noise, flashing lights, pounding music. Victim picks up the fresh, blood-hued martini, takes a couple of big gulps. Continues to brag—lots of laughing from her little group of sycophants.
Trouble breathing, drinks more. Gales of laughter as victim starts to lose consciousness. Screams and scrambling when she vomits. Motive tries to push through crowd to get to victim. Seizures, skin turns cherry-red.
Chaos, confusion. One figure back in the shadows observes, then slips out of the club and away.
Will the killer—in real life—need to find a way to have the motive present?
Eve went back to her list, checked residency, band schedule. She found four slated to be in New York over the next few weeks. And yet, she thought as she read a few follow-up scenes with the motive …
Having him there, making him a part of the death of the ex-lover triggered emotions in him. Seeing her die shattered him, pushed him into grief and depression. Rather than giving the killer what she wanted—his attention and love, his salvation—it built a wall around him.
Would Strongbow edit that mistake? Eve wondered.
She rose to pace, to give her eyes a break, to work her way into thinking like a killer whose entire being sprang from the pages of a book.
By having him in the club, the killer—in the book—failed to achieve her primary goal. The motive didn’t come to her, love her, throw off what she saw as the chains the victim had around him, dragging him down into the abyss. In fact, rather than weaning him off illegals, he used them to block the grief, and missed recording sessions and canceled a swath of tours.
Until the cat ran out of the room, until she heard Roarke’s voice answer the cat’s greeting, she hadn’t realized the low-level stress inside her.
She’d wanted him home, off those icy roads. Safe and with her.
She didn’t run out of the room like the c
at, but she did walk out and wrap her arms around Roarke. “It’s bad out there.”
“It’s bloody vicious out there.” He tipped her head back for a kiss, skimming his thumb over the dent in her chin. “And now we’re all in here. And in this world, at this moment, I want nothing more than my cop, my cat, to get out of his shagging suit, and have a very large drink.”
“A hard one?”
“Not particularly, no. Well, but for the bleeding weather. A quick trip to Chicago, or what would’ve been quick but for the bleeding weather.”
“You went to Chicago?”
“Should’ve handled it by holo, and that’ll teach me. Getting there, simple enough. Getting back? Not altogether pleasant.”
And, she thought, he’d have stayed over in Chicago if not for her. She considered her own skidding ride home in the ice storm, and didn’t want to imagine flying through it in a shuttle.
“I’ll deal with dinner while you change.”