Strangers in Death (30 page)

He had her there. “So I didn’t get around to pulling out a little cash the last few days. So what? I don’t know why you’re so pissed about it.”

“You don’t, no. Quite obviously, you don’t.”

The fact that he didn’t add to that, said nothing at all as she fought and maneuvered her way uptown, told her he wasn’t just pissed, he was over the line into furious.

She didn’t get it, didn’t get it, didn’t get it. How had they gone from perfectly fine to taking a few acceptable pokes at each other to furious?

So now he sat there, ignoring her, working with his PPC again. Probably prying into her bank account to see what an idiot she was in his gazillionaire opinion. Snapping and slapping at her because she’d run a little short between paydays.

So the fuck what?

She picked at it, gnawed at it, brooded over it the rest of the way. When she stopped in front of the house, when they got out of opposite sides of the car, she stood with the car between them. “Look—”

“No, you’re going to need to look, Eve. We’ll go inside so that you do.”

Since he strode away, she had little choice but to follow.
Don’t need this now,
she thought.
Don’t need some marital knot to unravel when I’ve got work.
She always had work, a little voice reminded her, and did nothing but make her feel guilty.

When he stepped inside, Roarke simply held up a finger. Eve watched, with surprise and envy, as Summerset slipped back out of the foyer without a word. With the path effortlessly cleared, she trudged up the steps after Roarke.

She expected him to head to one of their offices or their bedroom. Instead he walked into one of the quiet and beautiful sitting rooms. A banquet of blooming plants charmed a trio of windows. A pair of curved settees in muted stripes faced each other across a slim, glossy table. After shrugging out of his coat, Roarke tossed it over one of the pretty fabric chairs.

“I’ll have a drink with this.”

It didn’t surprise her to see the wine fridge when he crossed over, opened a panel. When he’d drawn the cork, he took two glasses from another panel, poured.

“Why don’t you sit?”

“I feel like I’m about to get dressed down by an annoyed parent because I blew my spending money on candy. I don’t like it, Roarke.”

“I’m not your father, and I don’t give a damn what you spend your money on. There, better?”

“No.”

“Well then, that’s a pity. Myself, I’m going to sit down, drink this wine, and continue to resist the urge to rap your head against the handiest solid surface.”

When he sat, when he sipped, she continued to stand. “You can’t be this mad because I ran short before payday.”

“You’d be wrong about that.”

She’d have preferred the heat, a good fiery blast of it. And she knew he understood that,
knew
it, as he gave her rigid ice. “Jesus, what’s the big deal? I had some unforeseens. I had to flip a couple to a weasel last week, and I don’t know, other stuff. There was that kid, and—”

“I’ve just said I don’t care how you spend your money. I care that you’d rather walk around without any in your pocket than ask me for a bit of cash. Or get it for yourself as you know the combination of the damn safes around here.”

“I’m not going into one of your safes for—”

“And there it is.” He set the wineglass down in a gesture so careful, so deliberate, she understood he’d barely resisted heaving it. “You won’t go into
my
safes. And you can’t see how insulting that is to me? To us?”

To give herself a moment, she took off her coat, tossed it over with his. Then she sat, picked up the wine. Studied it. “You think it should be easy, that because we’re married it should be smooth for me to hit you up—”

“There it is again. How the hell is it hitting me up?”

“Christ.” Despite the fact that her head throbbed, she took a good slug of wine. “Because that’s how it would feel. Do you know how long it’s taken me to get used to living here—well, almost used to it—to feel, really, feel that it is my home? Not yours, not even ours, those were easier. But mine? Your money came down in the minus column for me. I fell for you in spite of it. If that makes me an idiot, too damn bad.”

“I came from nothing, and built this. I’ve pride in that, and so I understand yours. Your pride. I also know the money means little to nothing to you. So why then, can’t you take a bit of what means so little rather than running on empty when it’s so ridiculously unnecessary?”

Not so pissed now, she noted with some relief. Baffled, maybe even a little hurt, but no longer furious. “I didn’t think about it. I didn’t notice I was so light until I pulled out the ten. I’ve had other things on my mind besides…And all that’s true, but all that’s an evasion.”

She drank again to ease the tightness in her throat. “I can’t. I’m sorry, really, that it hurts or upsets you. I can’t hold out my hand to you, not for money. I just can’t. So it’s going to have to piss you off or insult you or whatever it does. I just can’t do it, Roarke.”

He picked up his glass again, said nothing for several moments as he sat, as he sipped. “You could if we were on more even ground, as you see it?”

“No. It’s not how much, it’s at all.”

He searched her face. “That’s hardheaded, short-sighted, and tight-assed. But, all right then.”

“All right then?” Flabbergasted, she gaped at him. “All right? That’s it?”

“Those may be three of your qualities that land in the minus column for me,” he said with a hint of a smile. “I fell for you despite them.” He pulled out his money clip, and that finger came up, silencing her as effectively as it had Summerset. He set fifty on the table between them. “You’ll do me a favor and take that as a loan so you don’t walk out of here with nothing but your hard head and tight ass in the morning. That’ll make sixty you owe me come payday, counting the previous ten.”

“Okay.” She took the fifty, stuffed it in her pocket. “Did we just compromise?”

“I believe we did.”

“Good.” She took another sip of wine, looked around. “So. This is a nice room.”

“It is, yes. It’s just been redecorated. Came out well, I think.”

“Get out. Really? When?”

“Just after the holidays.” He smiled fully now. “I believe I mentioned something to you about it, in case you wanted any input on the colors and fabrics and so on.”

“Oh. Yeah. I guess I remember something about that. You probably did better without me.”

“I never have, never will.”

She sighed, sunk into love with him. “Maybe we could have dinner in here tonight.”

“Is that another compromise?”

“I was thinking of it more like interest on the sixty.”

He laughed. “Well then, I charge high rates. You’ll have to get the meal to work that off.”

“No problem.” She stood up. “And in the spirit of compromise, it’s going to be pizza.” She looked around again. “Where the hell’s the AutoChef in here?”

They sat together on one of the curved settees, the mood mellow as they shared pizza and wine. And if the conversation turned to murder, it suited both of them.

“So Feeney’s got the pill dispenser thing. If I’d known he was going to dick around with it, I’d’ve brought it home and shoved it on you.”

“If it was played with, he’ll find out soon enough. In any case, even if it was, it wouldn’t prove she’d done it. He could have reprogrammed it himself. That wouldn’t work for you in court.”

“It’s another weight. Even small weights add up. It goes to opportunity. Conversely, she can’t prove he routinely took sleep aids, or ever took them, for that matter. There’s only her word he had sidepieces, brought them home. I spoke with three of his former romantic interests. Every one of them describes him as a shy sort of lover—sweet, not very adventurous. Gentle. Every one of them.”

“More weight, certainly, but Ava planted seeds that this was a relatively recent change.”

“A guy goes from sweet, shy, and gentle in bed to a raging perv who molests minors? She’s going to have a hard time convincing a jury there. And, her diddling with Charles is documented, while there isn’t any documentation Anders diddled. That’ll work against her instead of covering her ass like she planned. I’ve got Petrelli’s statement. It would’ve fit in nicely for me if Cassie Gordon’s had run parallel. I have to figure Ava saw she wasn’t going to be able to use Gordon, not that way. So there’s at least one more. The one she worked well enough to kill for her.”

“You have another candidate there?”

“Yeah, we’ll go into those possibilities tomorrow. But I need to spread it out. Maybe it’s not a repeater on the mommy breaks. Or somebody with some smears and smudges. She goes for clean, say—the way you liked it—and keeps her away from the group. Makes her more a personal pet.

“So many damn names,” she complained. “It’ll take weeks to get through them. Chasing my tail. Pisses me off.”

“I’ll give you a hand with it. You’d eliminate anyone with a husband or cohab, I’d assume. As she wouldn’t have wanted to risk her surrogate telling her mate. Single parents would be highest probability. Ones without any close family—but for the children—or friends, for that matter. Someone smart enough to follow directions, and also weak enough or frightened enough to follow them.”

“See, you should’ve been a cop.”

He only sighed. “Why would you want to start another fight when we’ve just made up?”

“We have to have sex to really make up.”

“Well then.”

“Not now, ace.” She gave him a light shove back. “Work first, makeup sex later.” Rising, she wondered if she’d regret scarfing down that last slice of pizza. “I need to take another hard look at the case file on the old man’s death. Her father-in-law. Pick it apart, find the chinks. People don’t commit perfect murders, and she sure as hell didn’t pull off every last detail twice. If I can find the cracks there, they could lead to the cracks here. Or vice versa.”

“I guess you’ll be wanting that hammer again.”

She grinned at him. “Sex, sex, sex. That’s all it is with you.”

“That’s my one-track mind.” He stood, pulled her close and took her in a kiss that had her eyes rolling to the back of her head. “Just collecting my down payment,” he told her.

She glanced back at the room as they walked out together. “Redecorating, redecorating. How much lead time did you need to get somebody in to do the room?”

“Essentially none, but I do own the firm who did the job.”

“Yeah, you being you. How much for normal people?”

“It would depend on the size of the job, the demands of the client, and how much money the client was willing to throw at the decorating team.”

“I bet your people could find out easy who Ava used, and when she had her first consult.”

“I bet they could. I’ll make a call.” He gave her ass a friendly pat. “I’ll be in shortly. I want to change out of this suit.”

She kept going, then turned, walked backward. “Roarke?”

He glanced back. “Hmm?”

“I’d have fallen for you even if you had twice as much money, which is virtually impossible. But still.”

“I’d have fallen for you even if your head was twice as hard, again virtually impossible. And still.”

“We’re good,” she said, then continued on to her office.

19

WHEN HE CAME IN, SHE SAT AT HER DESK, HER jacket tossed on the back of her sleep chair. The jacket, he knew, would bother her while she worked. The weapon she still wore? Its weight wouldn’t register any more than the weight of her own arms.

Steam rose out of the mug on her desk. Coffee, he thought, nearly equaled the weapon as part of her essential makeup.

She hadn’t yet worked herself into exhaustion on this one. He’d seen her work, worry, wrangle with a case until her system simply collapsed from neglect. But this one, he realized, was different. She was juiced.

“It’s a competition.”

She glanced over, brows knit. “What?”

“You’re as involved and determined as you are, always. You’ve made the victim yours, as you always do. But you’re not suffering this time around.”

“Suffering? I don’t suffer.”

“Oh, but you do, darling Eve. Murder infuriates you, insults you, and the victims haunt you. Every one. But for this, for this particular one, it’s challenged you above all else. She challenges you—and your attitude toward her, which strikes me as a personal level of dislike, kicks that up a notch. You’re damned if you aren’t going to beat her.”

“Maybe. Whatever works. Whatever gets the job done. So, the efficient Leopold came through. I’ve got his incoming here, the list of parents Ava tapped for grunt work. The ones he had some record of or remembered, anyway. We’ll split those if you’re up for it.”

“Shoot my share to my unit.”

“Okay. We’ll divide by alpha. We should…I don’t like her,” Eve said suddenly. “Didn’t like her pretty much from the jump. Didn’t like her when I stood watching her on the security screen as she walked into the house the morning of.”

“With her well-groomed hair and coordinating wardrobe,” Roarke remembered.

“Yeah. It was…” Eve snapped her fingers. “But that screws objectivity, so I pushed it back. Thing is, it kept pushing back in again. It took me a while—well, not that much while, but some—to figure out why.”

Since he sensed something there, he sat on the corner of her desk. “All right. Tell me why.”

“Don’t get bent over it.”

He angled his head. “Why would I?”

“She reminds me of Magdelana.”

He said nothing for a moment, just watched her face, then rising, he walked over to the murder board to study Ava’s.

“Not just the high-class blonde thing,” Eve began.

“No,” he said quietly, “not just.” He thought of Magdelana, the woman he’d once cared for. The woman who’d betrayed him, and on the return trip had done everything in her power to hurt Eve and chip away at their marriage.

“Not just,” he repeated. “They’re both users, aren’t they? Manipulators with a wholly selfish core polished over with sophistication and style. Very much the same type. You’re right about that.”

“Okay.”

Hearing the relief in her voice, he looked over at her. “Did you think I’d be annoyed or upset by the comparison?”