Vendetta in Death (In Death 49)

“Roarke.” She sighed, realized she didn’t know what she wanted to say. “I appreciate it.”

She set the wine aside, cued up the next vid.

While Eve worked, so did Lady Justice.

Once a cheater, she thought as she again checked her appearance. This time she’d chosen a short, spiky wig, a honey blond tipped with sapphire blue. Her eyes matched the tips, as did the skin suit that dipped down nearly to her navel. She’d taken the time—quite a bit of time—to tint her skin in a color called Mocha Riche. She wore an appliance that gave her an overbite and a product that plumped her lips before she dyed them Rebellious Red. Her boots had scalpel-thin heels and lifts.

Thaddeus, she thought, liked tall ones.

She had to stop a moment, sit a moment, as even thinking his name enraged her. After composing herself, she ordered her droid to bring the car around. Before she left, she checked her beloved Grand on the monitor.

Fast asleep, with the medical droid on alert.

It had been child’s play to hack into Thaddeus Pettigrew’s ’link. The only glitch had been a change in schedule. The whore he lived with had left a day early, so the cheater had booked another whore for tonight. Not tomorrow night as expected.

Still, easy enough to change her own plans, to cancel the paid whore and take her place.

Maybe her hands shook a little on the drive, but she wouldn’t fail. Hadn’t she already proven she could follow through?

She had the droid drop her out front. And Thaddeus, a creature of habit, would have disabled the security cams—in case his live-in whore decided to check on him.

Any nosy neighbors would see what she wanted them to see.

When he came to the door of the brownstone, her heart actively fluttered.

“Good evening, Thaddeus.” She made her voice a gravelly purr. “I’m Angelique.”

She offered her hand, and when he took it, smiling—oh so charming—she pumped the drug into his palm from the mini syringe in hers.

“Please, come in.”

“I’d love to.” She watched his face go slack. “But I have a car waiting. Come with me. I have such an amazing evening planned for us.”

“With you?” he said, biddable.

“Close the door, Thaddeus.”

He obeyed, walked to the car with her. Inside, as the droid drove back uptown, she handed Thaddeus the wine she’d already dosed. “Drink up! It’s your favorite red.”

“Thank you. I feel a bit strange.”

“The wine will help.” She tipped it up, toward his mouth.

When his eyes drooped, she couldn’t help herself. She drew him to her, kissed his mouth, arched under his hand when he stroked her breast.

And cradled him when the drug took him under.

8

Roarke wanted to tell her she needed sleep, but he let her be. It might be better, he considered, if she simply wore herself out with this one. And perhaps her sleep, when it came, would be quiet.

He ran the names she sent him, studied them, wondered if any of them would prove a murderer.

Students, businesswomen, chefs, assistants, technicians.

Some married, some not. Some city residents, some not.

Rowan Rosenburg was the youngest at twenty-one, with Emilie Gro-man the oldest at thirty-six.