Divided in Death (In Death #18)(2)

It took longer to clone, a full two minutes, but she felt a frisson of excitement work through her fury when the last voice entry played back.

August Rembrandt.

Reva's lips twisted in a sneer as her false friend's voice murmured the password. Reva had only to key in the cloned security numbers, then use her tools to lift the last, manual lock.

She slipped inside, closed the door, and out of habit reset the security.

Prepared for the house droid to appear, to request her business, she held her stunner at the ready. He'd recognize her, of course, and that would give her just enough time to fry his circuits and clear her way.

But the house stayed silent, and no droid stepped into the foyer. So, they'd shut him down for the night, she thought grimly. So they could have a little more privacy.

She could smell the roses Felicity always kept on the table in the foyer-pink roses, replaced weekly. There was a low light burning beside the vase, but Reva didn't need it. She knew her way, and walked directly to the stairs to climb to the second floor. To the bedroom.

When she reached the landing she saw all she needed to bring her rage back in full force. Tossed carelessly over the rail was Blair's light leather jacket. It was the one she'd given him for his birthday the previous spring. The one he'd hooked carelessly with his fingers over his shoulder just that morning when he'd kissed his loving wife good-bye, and told her how much he'd miss her, told her as he'd nuzzled her neck how much he hated having to take even this quick out-of-town trip.

Reva lifted the jacket, brought it to her face. She could smell him on it, and the scent of him nearly tore her grief through her anger.

To stave it off, she took one of her tools out of her bag and quietly shred the leather to ribbons. Then, tossing it on the floor, she ground her heel into it before stepping away.

Face hot with temper, she set her bag down, took the stunner back out of her pocket. As she approached the bedroom she saw the flicker of light. Candles, she could even smell them now, some spicy female perfume. And she could hear the low notes of music-something classic, like the roses, like the scent of the candles.

It was all so Felicity, she thought furiously. All so female and fragile and perfect. She'd have preferred something modern, something today and gutsy for this altercation.

Give her Mavis Freestone kicking some serious musical ass, she thought.

But then it was easy to tune out the music with the buzzing of temper and the ring of betrayal in her head. She toed the door wider with her foot, eased in.

She could see the two figures huddled together under the silk and lace of the coverlet. They'd fallen asleep, she thought bitterly. All cozy and warm and loose from sex.

Their clothes were tossed over a chair, messily, as if they'd been in a hurry to start. Seeing them, the tangle of clothes, broke her heart in hundreds of pieces.

Bracing against it, she strode to the bed, gripped the stunner in her hand. "Wake-up call, you piss-buckets."

And whipped the silk and lace cover away.

The blood. Oh my God, the blood. The sight of it all over flesh, all over the sheets made her head spin. The sudden smell of it, of death, mixed with the scents of flowers and candles, made her gag and stumble back.

"Blair? Blair?"

She screamed once, shocking herself into action. Sucking in air to scream again, she lunged forward.

Something, someone, slipped out of the shadows. She caught the movement, and another smell-harsh, medicinal. It filled her throat, her lungs.

She turned, to flee or defend she wasn't sure, and fought to swim through air that had gone to water around her. But the power had drained out of her limbs, numbing them seconds before her eyes rolled back in her head.

And she collapsed in a heap beside the dead who had betrayed her.

1

Lieutenant Eve Dallas, one of New York's top cops, sprawled naked with the blood beating in her ears and her heart pounding like an airjack. She managed to wheeze in a breath, then gave it up.

Who needed air when the system was revving from the aftermath of truly spectacular sex?

Beneath her, her husband lay warm and hard and still. The only movement was the knock of his heart against hers. Until he lifted one of those amazing hands and cruised it along her spine, from nape to butt.

"You want me to move," she mumbled, "you're out of luck."

"I'd say my luck's in."

She smiled in the dark. She loved hearing his voice, the way Ireland shimmered through it. "Pretty good welcome home, especially since you were gone less than forty-eight hours."

"It certainly put a nice cap on a short trip to Florence."

"I didn't ask, did you stop off in Ireland to see your-" She hesitated just a beat. It was still so odd to think of Roarke with family. "Your family?"

"I did, yes. Had a nice few hours." He continued to stroke that hand, up and down, up and down her back so that her heartbeat slowed and her eyes began to droop. "It's very strange, isn't it?"

"I guess it will be, for a while yet."

"And how's the new detective?"

Eve snuggled in, thinking of her former aide and how she was handling her recent promotion. "Peabody's good. Still finding her rhythm. We had a family dispute gone sour. Two brothers mixing it up over inherited property. Knocked the shit out of each other before one of them takes a header down the steps and breaks his stupid neck. So the other brother tries to mock it up like a bungled burglary. Tosses all this stuff they were fighting over in a blanket, hauls it out to his car, shoves it in the trunk. Like we're not going to look there."