Indulgence in Death (In Death #31)(74)

“By fucking her in tandem, they metaphorically fuck each other.”

“You could put it that way.”

“Interesting. Thanks.”

“Anything I can do.”

For a few moments she sat, letting pieces settle in her mind. After updating her notes she streamlined them into a report, including both interviews, her impressions, the generalized opinion from a sex therapist, and the directions she intended to pursue.

She sent copies to Whitney and Mira.

She updated her murder book, her board, then sat with her feet on her desk, another cup of coffee in her hand, and let it all settle again.

Tonight, she thought, or tomorrow. Not much time before the next round. If the pattern she was seeing was a pattern, Moriarity would be up, which meant the vic would be connected most closely to Dudley’s past, and the lure would be through Dudley and Sons.

“And it could be anyone,” she said aloud.

No, not accurate. The anyone had to be in New York, as both Dudley and Moriarity were in New York. So the target lived here or worked here or was currently visiting here.

The target was important in his or her field—some field of service most probably. Humble beginnings? she considered. Both vics had that in common, starting low on the ladder and climbing high.

Did that play?

Still active in their field. Someone who could be hired or called in, consulted, booked.

Shit.

Someone was going to die because a couple of arrogant whacked-out assholes wanted to bond over blood, and she couldn’t prove it.

No point obsessing about what had yet to happen, she reminded herself. Better to dig into what already had. Opening the file Peabody had sent her, she began a slow, systematic search for death.

She had grids of data on-screen when Peabody stepped back in.

“Dallas.”

Eve looked over in time to catch the Power Bar Peabody tossed at her.

“These are disgusting.”

“Nah. A num-nummy treat. Vending says so. Besides if you’ve generated as many missings and unsolveds as I have, you need the boost.”

“Maybe.” With some reluctance Eve tore the wrapping. Focus had smothered the low-grade headache that now made itself known behind her eyes. She took a bite, winced. “Jesus, what do they put in these things?”

“It’s really better not to know. If we’re not going to clock any more field time, I’m going to take the files home and put some time in on them.”

“Why are you going home?”

“Because it’s already past end of shift, and I want my man and real food.”

Eve scowled at her wrist unit. “Dammit.”

“I can stay if you want to work it here.”

“No. No, go. I lost track. Send whatever you’ve put together to my home unit, and I’ll . . .” She trailed off as she saw she’d lost Peabody’s attention. Her partner had shifted, was currently brushing at her hair and smiling a dopey smile.

“What’s Roarke doing here?” Eve demanded even as she heard his voice.

“Hello, Peabody. I like your hair. Cool, efficient, and feminine all together.”

“Oh.” She fussed some more. “Thanks.”

“The lieutenant working you late?”

“She’s going,” Eve snapped. “Go.”

“Have a nice evening,” Roarke said. “See you Saturday.”

“We’ll be there.”

“Do you have to do that?” Eve muttered when Peabody scurried away.

“Which that is that?”

“Make her go gooey-eyed and stupid.”

“Apparently I have that power, though she didn’t look either to me.” He came in, sat on her desk. “You, however, look tired and cross.” He picked up the PowerBar. “And this is likely part of the reason.”

“Why are you here instead of home?”

“I took a calculated risk that my wife would still be at her desk. Now she can drive me home after we stop and get a meal.”

“I really have to—”

“Work, yes. It can be pizza.”

“That’s fighting dirty.”

“Fighting clean always seems like such a waste.” He two-pointed the PowerBar into her recycler. “Gather up what you need and we’ll eat while I tell you about the round of golf I played today.”

“You hate golf.”

“More than ever, so you owe me. You buy the pizza.”

“Why do I owe you?” she asked as she organized her file bag.

“Because I played eighteen holes with your suspects.”

She stopped dead. “You did what?”

“I arranged to take a golf-mad business associate to the club where Dudley and Moriarity play. We made a foursome.”

She actually felt the temper spurt up from her center to her throat. “Damn it, Roarke, why did you—”

He cut her off by poking a finger in her belly. “You don’t want to start on me after I spent a morning hitting a ball toward a hole in the ground with a club. Which admittedly I’d likely have done anyway, as David loves the bloody game, so it seemed efficient to maneuver it into a little field work. I do occasionally run into your suspects here and there.”

“Yeah, but . . .” She thought about it, and had to admit the spurt ebbed. “Yeah. What did you—”