Seduction in Death (In Death 13)

When she heard the door behind her open, she spoke without turning. “You’ve got a man who doesn’t particularly like women as a species, considers them inferior. Well, to be fair, considers everyone inferior, but I got a definite vibe women were lowest on his feeding chain. Called me ‘miss,’ ” she grumbled.

“And lived?” Roarke stepped behind her and began rubbing her shoulders. It passed briefly through her mind that he had some sort of weird psychic ability to hit just the right spot.

“I’d have knocked him around for it, but he’s almost ninety. Anyway, a guy like this has one kid and that kid turns out to be a female. That’d be a disappointment, wouldn’t it?”

“I suppose it would, if he’s an asshole.”

“Yeah, he’s an asshole. So, why didn’t he try again, until he got it right? If the wife was the problem, fertility or otherwise, there are plenty of ways around it. Even forty, fifty years ago, there were ways around it. But maybe he didn’t have enough soldiers to do the job. What a pisser.”

“Speaking as a man, I can say that finding oneself unable to create a child would be difficult to accept.” He brushed his lips over her hair. “And if a child was desired, I’d do whatever could be done to fix the p

roblem.”

“Fertility tests . . . they must be really personal, embarrassing. Especially for a guy with a really whopping ego.” She glanced over her shoulder.

“Are you asking my opinion as you assume I have a really whopping ego?”

“We could fill Madison Square with your ego, pal. It just runs different than this jerk’s. Maybe it explains why he shifted gears from private practice into research—sexual dysfunction and fertility research. Let’s take a look at the daughter. Computer, standard background run on Dunwood, Sarah. Née McNamara.”

WORKING . . .

“To show how good-natured I am,” Roarke began, “I’ll ignore that insult and tell you I’ve just finished my assignment. Transmissions are blocked, and will be diverted to an account I’ve just created for you.”

“I didn’t ask you to divert them.”

“Two services for the price of one.” He whipped her around and crushed his mouth to hers. His hands gripped her butt, squeezed, and molded her body against his. “There. That ought to cover it.”

“Stop trying to cloud my brain. I’m on the clock.”

DATA ACCESSED . . . DISPLAY OR AUDIO?

“Display,” Eve said even as Roarke ordered audio.

CONFLICTING COMMAND. HOLDING . . .

“Cut it out,” Eve ordered as he tugged her shirt from her waistband. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Apparently not a thing.” But he laughed and let her muscle away. “Display data.”

“She’s fifty-three,” Eve said. “Followed in Daddy’s footsteps right down the line. Same schools, same training, same hospital residency. And straight into research. One marriage. One child. Carbon copy. Except she got the boy. And look at his DOB. Only a year after the start of the project. She’d already been married eight years. Wouldn’t surprise me if she not only worked on the project, but was part of the study.”

She blew out a breath. “And what the hell does that have to do with murder? There’s a connect. I know there’s a connect. Her husband was part of the team, too. But he’s too old for these hits. And the son’s too young. What is he twenty-one, twenty-two? He was an infant during the heyday of the project. Still . . . Computer, access all available data, Dunwood, Lucias. Display on wall screen.”

WORKING . . .

While his data was being accessed a few blocks away, Lucias strolled into the formal parlor of his townhouse. His grandfather rarely paid personal calls, and certainly never spur-of-the-moment visits.

If the king dropped by, there was a reason. Speculating on what it might be had Lucias’s palms going damp. He wiped them distractedly on his slacks before he entered the room, smoothed them over his tight red curls, then fixed a pleased and welcoming expression on his face.

“Grandfather, what a wonderful surprise. I didn’t realize you were back.”

“I arrived last night. Where is Kevin?”

“Oh, at his computers, where else? Shall I arrange for drinks? I have a very nice scotch. I think you’ll approve of it.”

“This isn’t a social call, Lucias. I want to speak with Kevin as well.”

“Of course.” The sweat that had dampened his palms ran in a thin, nasty line down his back. He gestured casually to the waiting server droid. “Tell Mr. Morano my grandfather’s here and wishes to see him.”