Secrets in Death (In Death #45)(20)

“You’ll need tools for that one,” Roarke commented.

She sent him a steely stare. “If you keep sneaking up on people, you could get stunned.”

He crouched down with her, kissed her cheek. “You know how it excites me when you threaten to use your weapon.”

She ignored that and focused on the safe. “Why do I need tools? I’ve got that app you put on my ’link.”

“This model—its mechanism is a bit more sophisticated than that.”

“Because it wants her thumbprint?”

“That’s one. I can work it so it won’t get what it wants and still opens. It’s a three-stage system. First a code, which can be numeric or a word, a phrase. Or a combination, which would be recommended. Then the thumbprint, then another code. It’s professional grade, in that it’s rarely for home use.”

She stared at the safe again. “Yours?”

“It is, yes, which is why I’ll be able to get around it. Still, if I’d known, I’d have the proper device. I’ll have to improvise, so it’ll take a bit of time.”

He gave her a nudge. “Shove up now, and give me some room.”

No point in letting pride get in the way of progress, she decided, and got up to continue her search of the closet.

“She has ten zillion clothes and, according to the comp, hardly wears anything more than once. Maybe two or three times on the regular stuff. Evening stuff, one time, all of it. She’s had some of these fancy dresses for three years, only worn once. Why does she keep them?”

He didn’t answer; she didn’t expect he would, not while he was muttering, not while whatever device he was using hummed.

“A lot of the shoes, not worn period. Some worn once. She’s got a couple months’ worth of underwear. Who owns sixty pairs of underwear? Even you don’t have sixty.”

“Ah, there you are, my lovely.”

“What?”

“Not you, though you are lovely.” He inched back, stayed cross-legged on the closet floor. “You can open it now.”

“You said it would take time.”

“A bit, and it did.”

She sat beside him, opened the door.

“Whoa.”

Stacks of bills filled an entire section. Eve pulled one out. “Hundreds of thousand-dollar wraps. There has to be…”

As she tried to calculate, Roarke measured the stash using his hands. “If they’re all the same wrap, you’d have about a million.”

“She’s got a freaking million dollars in her closet safe?”

“It’s an excellent safe.”

“Says the man who cracked it in under ten.” She drew out a leather jewelry case from another stack, another section, opened it to the flash and fire of diamonds. “Real?” she asked Roarke.

He took it, examined it under the light. “I don’t happen to have a loupe on me, but yes, quite real. Excellent cut and color. Somewhere around … fifteen carats. Fifty thousand, I’d say, depending on where she got it.”

She pulled out a leather box, found diamond drop earrings.

“Quite nice,” Roarke said. “They’d look well on you. I can estimate, Eve, but from the amount here, you’re better off with a reputable jeweler.”

Still, curious, he slipped a larger box out of yet another section, admired the emerald-and-diamond cuff. “Lovely craftsmanship on this. If all the pieces in here come to the quality we’ve seen so far, she has well over in jewelry what she has in cash. I repeat, the woman knew how to invest.”

She held out her hand. He closed the box, kissed her cheek again, and handed the box to her.

And grinned when she opened it again, just to check.

“Everything back in. I’m not going to transport all this in my damn car. Lock it back up.”

She put the necklace case in, the earring case.

Roarke tapped her shoulder, opened his hand. The earrings sparkled in his palm.

She wanted to laugh, but only rolled her eyes.

Grinning, he dropped them into her outstretched hand. “Haven’t lost my touch.”

“I’ll give you some touch,” she parried as she stowed the earrings.

“I’m counting on it. Give me a moment and I’ll reboot the safe.”

“Reboot it?”

“I’ll reprogram it so it takes your codes, your print. Another bit of time, and then when you have it transported, you’ll be able to open it without any fuss.”

She finished up the closet while he worked.

“First code?”

She used her badge number, then followed instructions and pressed her right thumb to the pad.

“Second code?”

“Sticky fingers.”

He laughed, programmed it in. Shut the safe.

“And done.”

“Office?”

“It appears to be all business—her legitimate business. Work and work-related communications, work and work-related data—stories done or in progress, research—which could lead you somewhere, I suppose. Personal finances,” he continued, “which do not include a million in cash or purchases of this sort of jewelry. While she does well enough in her field, she couldn’t afford any of this, the art, the jewelry, the furnishings. Even the rent here’s a bit of a stretch.”