She handed Eve a small envelope marked eve dallas. Inside was a handwritten card and a data disc. The card read:
With best wishes for your speedy recovery,
—Julianna
"Bitch," Eve grumbled, turning the disc over in her hand. "Feeney, disperse the men. We won't be finding her here today. Peabody, call in the sweepers."
She turned the disc over again, then plugged it into the desk unit. "Run data," she ordered.
Julianna's face swam on-screen—a blue-eyed blonde now, and the closest to her own coloring and style than any of her looks since she'd started her latest murder spree.
"Good morning, Lieutenant." She spoke in the lazy, somewhat breathy Texas drawl Eve remembered. "I'm assuming that salutation is correct. I doubt you'd have managed to get this far last night—but I have such confidence in your abilities that I'm certain you'll be playing this before afternoon. Feeling better,
I hope. And as you're playing this, you detected and defused my little welcome gift. It was really just an afterthought."
She angled her head and continued to smile. But it was the eyes Eve studied. Eyes that were like ice over a deep, empty pit.
"I have to tell you how nice it's been to see you again. I thought about you a great deal during my ... rehabilitation. I was so proud when I learned about your promotion to lieutenant. And Feeney's to captain, of course. But I never felt quite the same connection for him as I did for you. There was something there, wasn't there?"
She eased forward, face intent now. "Something deep and strange between us. A true bond. A recognition. If you believe in reincarnation, perhaps we were sisters in some other life. Or lovers. Do you ever wonder about such things? Probably not," she said with a little wave of the hand. "You're such a practical-minded woman. It's appealing, in its way. Does your new husband find that part of you appealing? Oh, belated best wishes, by the way. It's been nearly a year, hasn't it, since the joyful event. Well... time passes.
"It passes slowly in a cage." The drawl hardened like prairie dust under a baking sky. "I owe you for those years, Eve. You'd understand about payback. You never really understood what I did, why I did it, never respected that. But you understand about payback."
"Yeah," Eve said aloud, unconsciously brushing her fingers over her bruised cheek. "Damn right I do."
"I've watched you, sitting in your office hard at work, standing at the window looking out as if the weight and worry of the entire city is on your shoulders. Pacing that horrible little space of yours. You'd think a lieutenant would be afforded a better work area. You drink far too much coffee, by the way.
"I had equipment set up in here. You know that now. I thought it best not to leave that behind. My own practical streak. I have several hours of you on disc. You dress better these days. Careless still, but with a style you once lacked. Roarke's influence, I'm sure. It's good to be rich, isn't it? So much better than ... not being. Has it corrupted you, I wonder, in some secret part of yourself? Come on, Eve honey." She laughed lightly. "You can tell me. After all, who'd understand better?"
Talking too much, Eve thought. Been lonely, hasn't it, Julianna, with nobody to talk to who you feel is on the same level?
"I'm sure he's excellent in bed, if you find such things important." She settled back, made a movement that had Eve imagining her crossing her legs.
Getting cozy. A little girl-talk.
"I've always felt fucking's overrated and so demeaning to both parties. What is it, really, but a woman allowing herself to be plundered, penetrated. Invaded. And a man plunging away as if his life depended on it. And as we know, with the men I fuck, their lives do depend on it. For a short time, anyway. Killing is so much more exciting than sex. You've killed, so you know. Deep down, you know. I wish we had the time and opportunity to talk, really talk, but I don't think that's going to happen. You want to stop me, to put me back in a cage. Remember what you said to me? Remember what you said? You'd have left me there if it had been up to you. Left me to spend the rest of my life caged like an animal. Then you turned your back on me like I was nothing. You didn't get your way, did you? But I got mine. I always get mine. You'd better remember that. You'd better respect that."
Her voice had risen, her breath had quickened. Now she drew in a long stream of air, fluffed a hand over her hair as if composing herself. "I thought of you when I killed Pettibone and Mouton. I've been thinking of you for a very, very long time. How does that make you feel, to know they died because of you? Does that upset you, Eve? Does that make you angry?"
Julianna tipped her head back and laughed. "Payback's a bitch, and I haven't even started. I want what I've always wanted. To do what pleases me and to live very, very well. You took eight years, seven months, and eight days from me, Eve. I'm going to balance the scales. I can and I will, tossing the bodies of silly old men at your feet. So you know how simple it is for me, here's a tip. The Mile High Hotel, Denver. Suite 4020. The man's name is Spencer Campbell. I'll see you again soon. Very soon."
"Yeah, you will," Eve retorted as the screen went blank. "Peabody, get me that hotel on the 'link. I want head of security."
* * *
The suite had been reserved in the name of Juliet Darcy, who had checked in the night before, securing the room for two nights with cash.
"The victim is Spencer Campbell, of Campbell Investment Consultants. The top man." In the conference room at Central, Eve brought his image on-screen. "Age sixty-one, divorced, currently separated from wife two. He had an appointment scheduled for a personal consult with Juliet Darcy in her hotel suite. Breakfast meeting, eight hundred Denver time. About the same time I was kicking in the door here in New York. She's very fucking cocky these days. Campbell had been dead less than thirty minutes when security broke in. Julianna didn't bother to check out, just grabbed her overnight bag, set the do not disturb light on the door, and waltzed out. Autopsy and lab reports will confirm that Campbell's coffee was poisoned."
"She goes all the way to Denver to off this guy." Feeney dragged a hand through his wiry hair. "What's the point?"
"To prove she can. He was nothing to her. Just an easily sacrificed pawn to show me she can keep racking them up, when and where she wants, while I scramble around trying to find her. She breaks pattern again, because she wants to show me she's unpredictable."
And, Eve thought, she doesn't want me to sniff out that she's looking at Roarke. For victims she'd stick with what she'd called silly old men. Killing them as decoys to disguise her ultimate goal.
They died because of you.
Eve blocked out the voice, and the guilt. Most of the guilt.