“Peabody and I were doing the first sweep of Devane’s office and quarters. She has a relaxation room.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Sure you are.” She took a sip first to fortify her for confession before she crossed back. “Anyway, I noticed she had VR goggles on the arm of her sleep chair. Mathias had been on VR before he hanged himself. Fitzhugh liked to use VR. It’s a slim link, but I figured it was better than no link.”
“Over ninety percent of the population of this country has at least one VR per household,” Roarke pointed out, eyes still narrowed on her face.
“Yeah, but you have to start somewhere. This is a brain flaw, VR links to the brain as well as the senses. It occurred to me that if there was a defect, intentional or accidental, in the goggles, it might have caused the suicidal urge.”
He nodded slowly. “All right. I follow that.”
“So I tried her set.”
“Wait.” He held up a hand. “You suspected the goggles were a contributor to her death, so you merrily put them on yourself. Are you out of your mind?”
“Peabody was there as control, with orders to stun me if necessary.”
“Well then.” Disgusted, he flung up a hand. “That’s just fine. That’s perfectly reasonable then. She’d knock you unconscious before you jumped off the roof.”
“There you are.” She sat down beside him, handed him his glass. “I checked the last use log. She’d gone VR minutes before she walked out and onto that ledge. I was sure I was going to find something in whatever program she’d been on.” She paused to scratch the back of her neck. “You know, I figured it would be some relaxation program. Maybe a meditation run, your standard sea cruise, or a country meadow.”
“I take it it wasn’t.”
“No, it wasn’t. It was, ah, a fantasy run. You know, a sexual fantasy.”
Intrigued now, he folded his legs under him, cocked his head. His mouth remained sober, his Irish blue eyes bland. “Was it really?” He took a casual sip of wine before setting the glass aside. “And consisted of?”
“Well, there were these guys.”
“Plural?”
“Just two.” She could feel the heat rising up to her throat and detested it. “It was an official investigation.”
“Were you naked?”
“Jesus, Roarke.”
“I believe it’s a perfectly reasonable question.”
“Maybe for a minute, okay? It was the program, and I had to test the program, and it wasn’t my fault these guys were all over me—and I aborted it before, well almost before . . .”
She stumbled to a guilty halt and saw with shock that he was grinning at her. “You think it’s funny?” Bunching her fist, she punched him in the shoulder. “I’ve been feeling like slime all day, and you think it’s funny.”
“Before what?” he asked, nipping the glass out of her hand before she could upend it over his head. He set it down beside his own. “You aborted the program almost before what, precisely?”
Her eyes went to slits. “They were great. I’m getting a copy of the program for my personal use. I won’t need you anymore, because I’ve got a couple of love slaves.”
“Wanna bet?” He pushed her back on the bed, wrestled with her, and managed to get her shirt over her head.
“Cut it out. I don’t want you. My love slaves keep me satisfied.” She flipped him, nearly had him pinned when his mouth closed over her breast, and his hand slid neatly down to cup her over the thin wool snug at her crotch.
Heat speared through her like lightning.
“Damn it.” She gasped out a breath. “I’m just pretending to enjoy this.”
“Okay.”
He tugged the slacks over her hips, then skimmed his fingertips over her. She was already wet, luring him in. His teeth closed over her nipple, tugged, just as he nudged her to peak.