Roarke, she thought, narrowing her eyes. The guy sure kept popping up. Lips pursed, she tuned in the audio, plugged in her ear receiver.
“ . . . in this international, multibillion dollar project, Roarke Industries, Tokayamo, and Europa will join hands,” the announcer stated. “It’s taken three years, but it appears that the much debated, much anticipated Olympus Resort will begin construction.”
Olympus Resort, Eve mused, flipping through her mental files. Some high-class, high-dollar vacation paradise, she recalled. A proposed space station built for pleasure and entertainment.
She snorted. Wasn’t it just like him to spend his time and money on fripperies?
If he didn’t lose his tailored silk shirt, she imagined he’d make another fortune.
“Roarke—one question, sir.”
She watched Roarke pause on his way down a long flight of marble steps and lift a brow—exactly as she remembered he did—at the reporter’s interruption.
“Could you tell me why you’ve spent so much time and effort, and a considerable amount of your own capitol, on this project—one detractors say will never fly?”
“Fly is precisely what it will do,” Roarke replied. “In a manner of speaking. As to why, the Olympus Resort will be a haven for pleasure. I can’t think of anything more worthwhile on which to spend time, effort, and capital.”
You wouldn’t, Eve decided, and glanced up just in time to realize she was about to miss her stop. She dashed to the doors of the tube, cursed the computer voice for scolding her for running, and made the change to Fort Royal.
When she came above ground again, it was snowing. Soft, lazy flakes drifted over her hair and shoulders. Pedestrians were stomping it to mush on the sidewalks, but when she found a cab and gave her destination, she found the swirl of white more picturesque.
There was still countryside to be had, if you possessed the money or the prestige. Elizabeth Barrister and Richard DeBlass possessed both, and their home was a striking two stories of rosy brick set on a sloping hill and flanked by trees.
Snow was pristine on the expansive lawn, ermine draped on the bare branches of what Eve thought might be cherry trees. The security gate was an artful symphony of curling iron. However decorative it might have been, Eve was certain it was as practical as a vault.
She leaned out the cab window, flashed her badge at the scanner. “Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD.”
“You are not listed in the appointment directory, Lieutenant Dallas.”
“I’m the officer in charge of the DeBlass case. I have some questions for Ms. Barrister or Richard DeBlass.”
There was a pause, during which time Eve began to shiver in the cold.
“Please step out of the cab, Lieutenant Dallas, and up to the scanner for further identification.”
“Tough joint,” the cabbie muttered, but Eve merely shrugged and complied.
“Identification verified. Dismiss your transport, Lieutenant Dallas. You will be met at the gate.”
“Heard the daughter got whacked up in New York,” the cabbie said as Eve paid the fare. “Guess they’re not taking any chances. Want I should pull back a ways and wait for you?”
“No, thanks. But I’ll ask for your number when I’m ready to go.”
With a half salute, the cabbie backed up, swung away. Eve’s nose was beginning to numb when she saw the little electric cart slide through the gate. The curved iron opened.
“Please go inside, step into the cart,” the computer invited. “You will be taken to the house. Ms. Barrister will see you.”
“Terrific.” Eve climbed into the cart and let it take her noiselessly to the front steps of the brick house. Even as she started up them, the door opened.
Either the servants were required to wear boring black suits, or the house was still in mourning. Eve was shown politely into a room off the entrance hall.
Where Roarke’s home had simply whispered money, this one said old money. The carpets were thick, the walls papered in silk. The wide windows offered a stunning view of rolling hills and falling snow. And solitude, Eve thought. The architect must have understood that those who lived here preferred to consider themselves alone.
“Lieutenant Dallas.” Elizabeth rose. There was nervousness in the deliberate movement, in the rigid stance and, Eve saw, in the shadowed eyes that held grief.
“Thank you for seeing me, Ms. Barrister.”
“My husband’s in a meeting. I can interrupt him if necessary.”