Leverage in Death: An Eve Dallas Novel (In Death #47)(60)

He toasted her with his wine. “However, if I’d targeted such a place, it would be for the valuables, so I’d take what I came for. The method would be the same.”

“You’ve actually done that? Climbed up a building?”

“It’s exhilarating. The dark, the air, the life going on below, and on the other side of the wall. All unaware of you. And unlike you, I enjoy heights.”

She thought about it as she ate. “They’re not professional thieves. Already knew that, but what you’re saying caps it. They worked out what to do on the fly. It worked, but you’re right. They’re on the board. Along with a couple thousand others, but they’re on the board.”

“Before they went into that apartment to remove whatever Banks might have that connects them to him, your suspect range was a great deal wider.”

“That’s a point.” She polished off her stew. “Now I’m going to narrow it.”

With focused work she eliminated more than two hundred on her board. Deleted names from the other boards through reports from the rest of the team.

She started a priority list on anyone who’d had military or paramilitary training or had relatives who did.

Roarke worked along with her, then broke to take a scheduled tag from Hawaii. When he came back, she had her head on the desk.

Out, he thought, and ordered her machine to continue her work on auto.

She stirred and mumbled when he lifted her out of her chair. “I’m good.”

“Good and tired.”

“I’ve got eighteen on the priority list. There are going to be more.”

“You’ll get back to that after some sleep.” He carried her to the elevator, ordered their bedroom.

“I’m closer than I was.”

“My book says you’ll be closer yet tomorrow.”

He sat her on the side of the bed—the cat was already sprawled dead center. Pulled off her boots, ordered the fire on.

“What if a big gust of wind blew you off the side of the building?”

Back to that, are we? he thought. “I’d have been very annoyed.”

“I mean . . .” She pulled herself up to strip off her weapon harness. “Did you wear a chute?”

“That would depend on the job.”

Groggy, she undressed, pulled on a sleep shirt. “Who’s the one who . . .” She made a whoosh sound, flipped out her fingers, mimed climbing a wall.

He thought it a wonder he followed her. “Spider-Man.”

“Yeah, yeah. He’s a good one. Smart-ass kid. At least you didn’t go swinging around buildings on web ropes.”

Something in his smile had her eyeing him as she crawled into bed. “You didn’t do that. There aren’t really web ropes.”

“There are cables, pulley systems—and those are stories for another time.”

He slipped in with her, wrapped an arm around her to tuck her close. “Go to sleep.”

“You never did that in New York. I’d’ve heard about it.”

“Not if I did it right.” He kissed the back of her neck as she dropped off. “And I did.”

*

When she woke in the morning, he sat drinking coffee, watching the financials with the cat stretched out beside him.

She sat up. “It wasn’t a Spider-Man suit.”

He glanced over. “Wasn’t it?”

“It was black—but he has a black one, too, I guess. It’s confusing. But it had an R—for Roarke—instead of the spider deal. And you’re swinging over the damn city and climbing up buildings, and there was a big gust of wind. It scared the shit out of me. Don’t do that again.”

“I’ll resist. Though you do have the most fascinating dreams.”

She grabbed coffee, gulping it as she headed for the shower.

When she came back he had breakfast waiting, more coffee, and had banished the cat to the spot in front of the fire.

The oatmeal didn’t surprise her—winter couldn’t end soon enough—but at least it was just a cup of it and it came with bacon and eggs.

“We’re in for a bright, if blustery, day,” he told her.

She thought of the financials on the screen. “Anything up there these guys would be interested in?”

“There’s always something, but there’s nothing major coming to boil at the moment.”

“You’re always buying stuff—companies.”

“And you’re worried they might try for one of mine. We’ve taken precautions—and all my people are accounted for.”

“You’ve got a lot of people.”

“And still, they’re accounted for. Add to it, I don’t have anything brewing in New York right now. A thing or two pending overseas or off-planet, but nothing here.”

“And you’re not going anywhere, like to oversee one of those pendings?”

“No travel plans for several days.”

“If that changes—”

“I’ll let you know.” He took her hand, kissed it. “Don’t worry. I won’t be tempting any wind gusts.”

“Okay.” Satisfied, she finished breakfast, got up to dress.

Since he didn’t comment on her choice—brown trousers and jacket, navy sweater—she figured she’d at least scaled the high bar of his fashion sense.