Creation in Death (In Death #25)(40)

“Good.” She pulled off her coat, went for coffee. “Did McNab actually give you an update?”

“He did, yes. I’ll go through the employee list, cull out any who might take a home appointment or consultation. Do you think now this has been his pattern all along?”

“I don’t know, can’t say.” Eve rubbed at her eyes, then scratched her head furiously as if to wake up the brain under her scalp. “But we’re talking more than twenty women. How likely is it that not one of them ever told anyone where they were going? Bogus name, sure, but if they had the location in advance, made this appointment, how likely is it none of them told anyone, or left any sort of record of the appointment?”

“Low. Yes, I see. But…There may have been more than the twenty. And I see you’ve considered that as well,” he added when he studied her face. “He picked them, made the arrangements, and if he sensed or learned they’d mentioned it, he’d simply follow through with the cover. Take his f**king dance lesson.”

“Yeah, I think he could pull that off. And I think he could grab or lure them later in his schedule. So we go back over the prior cases, find out if any of the vics took a house call in the week or two before they were killed. He’s focused,” Eve continued, “careful enough to make sure he’s clear, but focused. I can see him postponing the grab, or switching vics. If so, it’s something we didn’t have before. A mistake we missed.”

Roarke drank his coffee. The office seemed ridiculously confining to him all at once. The piss-poor light barely seeping through her excuse for a window, the tight box formed by the walls.

“Haven’t you ever considered asking for a bigger office?”

“What for?”

“A little breathing room might be a plus.”

“I can breathe fine. You can’t take this in, Roarke.”

“And how would you suggest I avoid that?” he demanded. “I’m his springboard, aren’t I? There’s a woman dead because she worked for me. Another who, even now, is being tortured. It’s too late for Gia Rossi.”

“It’s not too late until it’s too late.” Still, she knew she owed him the straight line, and that he had to be able to deal with it. “The probability is low that we’ll find her in time. It’s not impossible, but at this point, it’s not likely.”

“And the next, she’d already be in his sights.”

“He’d have stalked her, selected her, worked her by now. But we’ve got more time there. He’s not infallible, and there’s only one of him. I’ve put the best I’ve got on this. It ends here.”

Her eyes went flat, cop flat. “It’s going to end here. But you’re no good to me if you can’t set the emotional connection aside.”

“Well, I can’t. But I can use it. I can do what I need to do.”

“Okay.”

“Which includes getting right pissed from time to time.”

“Fine. But get this in your head. The responsibility for this is his. Totally, completely, absolutely. No portion of it’s yours. He owns it. If his mother used him as her butt monkey when he was a kid, he still owns it. He made the choice. If his father, uncle, aunt, cousin from Toledo kicked his ass every Tuesday, it’s still his. You and I know that. We know about the choice. We know, whenever we take a life, whatever the circumstances, whatever the reasons, it’s still our choice. Right or wrong, we own it.”

Roarke considered his coffee, set it aside. And his eyes met hers. “I love you, for so many reasons.”

“Maybe you can give me a few of them later.”

“I’ll give you one now. That unfailing moral center of yours. So very solid and true.” He laid his hands on her shoulders, drew her in. Kissed her softly. “And then there’s the sex.”

“Figured you’d work that in.”

“As often as humanly possible. Well then.” He gave her shoulders a rub, stepped back. “There’s one thing I can do now, and that’s order in lunch for the team. Don’t,” he continued, lifting a warning finger, “give me any lip.”

“I thought you like my lip—the set of them. Look, I don’t want you to—”

“I was thinking pizza.”

Her eyes slitted; she huffed out a breath. “That’s hitting below the belt, pal.”

“I know your every weakness, Lieutenant. And this one’s topped with pepperoni.”

“Just don’t make a habit of it. The food. They’ll get greedy.”

“I think your team’s steady enough to handle a few slices. I’ll take care of it, and start on the employee list.”

When he left, she closed the door behind him. She wanted to work in the quiet for a while, with minimal interruption. To think and theorize before she went back to the noise and pressures of the war room.

She brought up the files on the first investigation.

She knew these women. Their names, their faces, where they’d come from, where they’d lived, where they’d worked or studied.

A diverse group, in all but general appearance. And now she would look for one more point of origin.

Corrine, would-be actress working as a waitress, who’d squeezed in acting, dance, and vocal lessons when she could afford them. He could have played her, yes, he could have in several ways. Come to this location to audition for a part—what hungry young actress wouldn’t bite? Or come to this address on this date and time to help serve at a party. Pick up some extra cash. Possibilities.