Ceremony in Death (In Death #5)(57)

As the computer-generated translation of the contract droned in his ears, he watched the faces, the body language. Occasionally, he conferred with his translator for subtleties and syntax.

He already knew every phrase, every word of the buyout agreement. He wasn’t paying what the board had hoped for. Then again, they had hoped his examination of the company wouldn’t turn up some of the more delicate — and well-hidden — financial difficulties.

He couldn’t blame them for that. He would have done the same. But his examinations were always thorough and turned up everything.

He signed his name on each copy, added the date, then passed the contracts to his assistant for her to witness and seal. She rose, fed the contacts into a laser fax. Seconds later, the copy was across the ocean and being signed by his counterpart.

“Congratulations on your retirement, Mr. Vanderlay,” Roarke said pleasantly when the countersigned and witnessed copies were faxed back to him. “I hope you’ll enjoy it.”

This was acknowledged by a brief nod and a short formal statement. The holograms winked off.

Roarke eased back, amused. “People aren’t always grateful when you give them large quantities of money, are they, Caro?”

“No, sir.” She was tidy, with hair shockingly white and gloriously styled. She rose, taking both the hard copy and the record disc of the transaction for filing. Her trim, rust-colored suit showed off beautifully shaped legs. “They’ll be less grateful when you turn ScanAir into a financial success. Within a year, I’d say.”

“Ten months.” He turned to the translator. “Thank you, Petrov, your services were invaluable, as always.”

“My pleasure, sir,” He was a droid, created by one of Roarke’s science arms. His body was slim, garbed in a well-cut dark suit. His face was attractive, but not distractingly so, and formed to simulate trustworthy middle age. Several of his line were leased by the UN.

“Give me an hour, Caro, before the next. I have some personal business to tend to.”

“You have a one o’clock lunch with the department heads of Sky Ways to discuss the absorption of ScanAir, and the publicity strategies.”

“Here, or off site?”

“Here, sir, in the executive dining hall. You approved the menu last week.” She smiled. “In anticipation.”

“Right. I remember. I’ll be there.” He moved through the side door and into his office. Before going to the desk, he engaged locks. It wasn’t strictly necessary. Caro would never come in unannounced, but it paid in certain areas to be cautious. The work he intended to do couldn’t go on his log. He would have preferred to handle it at home, but he was squeezed for time. And so, he thought, was Eve.

At his desk unit, he engaged the jamming field that would block any scan by CompuGuard. The law frowned on unauthorized hacking, and the penalties were stiff.

“Computer, membership data, Church of Satan, New York City branch, under direction of Selina Cross.”

Working… That data is protected under religious privacy act. Request denied.

Roarke only smiled. He’d always preferred a challenge. “Oh well, I think we can change your mind about that.” Prepared to enjoy himself, he slipped off his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work.

Downtown, Eve paced Dr. Mira’s pretty, designed-to-soothe office. She was never completely relaxed there. She trusted Mira’s judgment; she always had. More recently, she had come to trust the doctor on a personal level. As much as it was possible. But it didn’t make her relax.

Mira knew more about her than anyone. More, Eve suspected than she knew about herself. Facing someone with that kind of intimate knowledge wasn’t relaxing.

But she hadn’t come to talk about personal matters, Eve reminded herself. She was here to talk murder.

Mira opened the door and stepped in. Her smile was slow and warm and personal. She always looked so… perfect, Eve decided. Never too glossy, never undone, never less than competent. Today, instead of her customary suit, Mira wore a slim, pumpkin-colored dress with a single-button matching coat of the same above-the-knee length. Her shoes were of a slightly darker tone and boasted the skinny heels that Eve always marveled a woman would wear by choice.

Mira offered both hands, a gesture of affection that simultaneously baffled and pleased Eve.

“It’s good to see you back in fighting shape, Eve. No problem with the knee?”

“Oh?” With a faint frown Eve glanced down, remembering the injury she’d suffered while closing a recent case. “No. The MTs did a good job. I’d forgotten about it.”

“A side affect of your job.” Mira settled in one of her scoop chairs. “I’d think it would be a bit like childbirth.”

“Excuse me?”

“The ability to forget the pain, the trauma to both body and mind, and go on to do the same thing again. I’ve always believed women make good cops and doctors because they’re inherently resilient that way. Won’t you sit, have some tea, tell me what I can do for you?”

“I appreciate you fitting me in.” Eve sat, shifted restlessly. She always felt inclined to bare her soul once she was settled in this room with this woman. “It’s about a case I’m working on. I can’t give you many details. There’s an internal block.”

“I see.” Mira programmed tea. “Tell me what you can.”