Vendetta in Death (In Death #49)(14)

“I don’t have the passcode to his private files, or the locked drawer,” Po began.

“We’ll take care of it.”

“I can get you into the company files, e-mails, and so on. I have those codes, if it helps.”

“It does. Peabody, tag Reo for the warrant, then EDD.”

“On that.”

“If you need me to explain any of the data …”

“Getting us in’s enough for now. We’re going to need your office electronics, too.”

“Oh boy. I could open them if you want.”

“Appreciate it. Once you open things up, why don’t you take a break? If we need you, we’ll let you know.”

“He’s better busy,” Schupp commented.

“Yeah, I am. Wes knows me. I could maybe help Sylvia, keep busy and out of your way.”

“Go ahead. You’ve been a big help, Mr. Po, both you and Mr. Schupp.”

“It doesn’t really seem real,” Po murmured, as he efficiently opened the office comp, a memo book, a calendar. “Not all the way real. I guess it will.”

As he moved off to do the same in his office, Eve eyed the locked drawer. Then pulled out her signaling ’link to read a text.

Come up and see me. I can give you some data on your victim.



Of course he could, Eve thought. Roarke would know she’d entered the building almost as soon as she had—and would by now have gathered up whatever data there was to gather up on his dead tenant.

It would be worth a stop.

Got a few things yet to do down here—including picking a lock. We’ll come up after.

Need a hand with the lock?



Maybe, she thought, but answered: Don’t insult me.

As it was now a matter of pride, she settled down, got to work.

“Warrant’s in the works,” Peabody told her. “McNab’s heading over. He reports McEnroy didn’t return to the apartment until around midnight—that’s night before last. And he didn’t return alone.”

Eve glanced up from the lock. “A woman?”

“A duet. Two redheads, and McNab says they both looked seriously wasted. Drunk or high or both. They left looking pretty much the same about oh four hundred.”

“Didn’t waste any time once the wife left, did he?”

Unsurprised, Eve went back to the very stubborn lock.

“The guy was a dick who thought with his dick. Anyway, EDD’s sending a transport for what’s tagged from the residence, then from here.”

“Bitch.”

“Huh?”

“Not you. The lock. I thought I had it. He’s got a second layer on it.”

Curious, Peabody moved over to watch. “A second layer on a desk drawer? Must be some goodies inside.”

“I’ve already deduced.” And she already felt the first trickles of sweat forming at the base of her spine. “Go take a look at Po’s stuff instead of breathing down my neck.”

“Sure, but McNab’s on his way, and he could …”

The low growl had Peabody moving quickly to the next office.

Eve felt more sweat pop out on the back of her neck—which only pissed her off. She could open a damn drawer. She would open the damn drawer.

Kept shit here, she calculated as she struggled, because his wife would never fiddle around in his office. Because his admin was as trustworthy as they came. Because he was the boss and assumed—very likely correctly—no one would dare try to compromise anything he’d locked away.

Now being dead, all bets were off.

“Son of a bitching bitch.”

“That bad, is it now?”

She looked up, and there he was.

She should’ve figured.

Roarke stood in the doorway, tall and lean in the ruler-of-the-business-world suit—the darkest of charcoals without being black—a shirt so sharp it could have sliced bread in a palest of pale gray hue, with a craftily knotted tie that added thin hits of burgundy to a medium gray field.

His black hair swept thick and silky around a face that might have been formed with angel kisses—with a few taps of devil to add to the appeal. And those impossibly blue eyes smiled, just for her.

The whisper of Ireland in his voice just capped the package.

She shot a finger at him, said, “No,” very decisively.

So he leaned on the jamb, a man at his ease, waited.

Having him show up—and knowing how easily he could show her up with a lock—had her doubling down. Maybe some of that sweat slid down the back of her spine, but she finally opened the stupid lock.

“Done.”

“And good for you, Lieutenant.”

“He had two layers on it.”

“Is that a fact?” Brows lifted, he wandered in. “And what is it the head of headhunting kept so secret?”

“Police business.”

He only smiled, then bent down to brush those perfectly carved lips over the top of her head.

“That police business might include my data if you want it. The media hasn’t yet released any salient information on his death, but as you’re here, it’s murder.”

“It’s murder, and it’s nasty.” She took two ’links, a memo book, and a few discs out of the drawer. “Close the door, ace.”