Secrets in Death (In Death #45)(107)

“Does or wants to. Killer’s male—determined. Target’s most likely female, or possibly a male perceived by the killer as vulnerable, too weak to take care of himself. I’m leaning female, and the killer’s the shiny knight.”

“That’s white knight, in shining armor.”

“If the knight’s wearing the armor, he’s shiny. If he’s not, he’s probably got a spear in his guts anyway.”

Roarke hesitated only a moment, then decided, “Inarguable.”

“Let’s try this. We’ll separate the female targets, then look for connected males. Spouses, fathers, brothers, partners, handlers. Like Missy Lee: her father—though he comes off a weak sister to me—her business manager, her agent. I’m leaning away from her only because she comes off as someone who knows how to keep a secret—you tell no one.”

“All right. Hold on.” His fingers raced over his keyboard. “Done,” he told her. “Both machines.”

“I could’ve done my own.”

“Now you don’t have to.”

She scowled over it for a moment, then turned to do the work.

“Connections,” she said again. “There are scores of them in the books—celebrities with their entourages, high-end execs with their staffs. You and me rate our own book, and plenty of connections. Nadine, Mavis, Summerset, Whitney, Caro. Even the red dress earned a few pages.”

Barely listening, he glanced up. “Red dress?”

“I … Just thinking out loud.”

He read it on her face. “Magdelana?”

“It’s not important. I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

He reached over, laid a hand on hers. “I’m sorry.” Always would be.

“It’s not important. Really, just thinking out loud.” But he, deliberately, turned her hand over, intertwined their fingers in a firm grip.

“Okay.” Better to get it out, she decided, as those blue eyes held hers just as his hand held hers. She didn’t think it would fester, but … “Mars did some research on her, speculated about the two of you. It looks like she considered taking a pass or two in that direction to see what she could stir up, but then Magdelana left town, and that’s that.

“That’s that,” Eve repeated.

“We’re both fully aware Magdelana would have enjoyed using Mars, as Mars used her, to stir things up. I regret even the possibility of that.”

“It didn’t happen. Mars didn’t make her move there soon enough, and Magdelana’s gone.”

“She is, and will stay gone.” When he hesitated, just a fraction of a second, Eve’s hand stiffened in his.

“You’ve got something you’re not telling me.”

“I detest bringing her into our lives even for an instant, but you should know. She arrived in Port-au-Prince a few days ago.”

“You’re keeping tabs on her?” Eve said carefully.

“I’m not, no. I don’t give a bleeding, buggering fuck where she is or what she’s up to.” Temper, brutally cold, edged his voice. “But I do keep track of my holdings, and if my directives are met. Perhaps testing the waters, or my reach, she attempted to stay in my hotel there in the company of another guest. As per my orders, she was turned out and away.”

He let out a breath. “I hope you can take at least some satisfaction from knowing security very firmly showed her the door.”

“More than some. Is there feed? Might be fun to watch.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach those marvelous eyes. “I promise you, she won’t touch you or anything of ours again.”

“It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t matter.” In saying it, Eve realized she meant it. “Seeing her in the book gave me a bad half minute. Maybe a minute and a half,” she corrected as he simply looked at her. “We’re good.”

“She doesn’t matter,” Roarke echoed. “All that does matter to me is right here.”

Maybe it hurt him more, she thought, that faint shadow Magdelana cast. So she shrugged. “I gotta figure that’s true the way you stock my closet with boots.”

He murmured to her in Irish as he kissed the hand he held. She’d heard him tell her he loved her in his heart’s tongue often enough to recognize the words.

The way he said it, the way he looked at her when he did, made her throat ache. She leaned over, kissed him, then pulled back before she got sloppy.

“Okay, that’s enough sap. We’re working here. Connections,” she repeated.

The comm she’d brought in with her signaled.

“Crap. Crap.” She snatched it up, frowned. “Baxter,” she said, and responded. “Dallas.”

“Boss, we caught one. I think it links to yours.”

“Who’s the vic?”

“Female vic ID’d as Kellie Lowry, she’s employed by Knight Productions. We’re outside 30 Rock now, and the scene’s secure.”

“I’m—we’re,” she corrected when Roarke raised his eyebrows, “on our way. Do you have an on-scene determination on COD?”

“Yeah. It probably has to do with the gash in her right thigh. She bled out. Coincidence? I don’t think so.”