Holiday in Death (In Death #7)(79)

“If she’s scrambled, we can get an order to enter and search. You did the right thing, Charles,” Eve said after a moment. “If she hadn’t heard the report, she might have had a change of heart and opened the door the next time. I appreciate you coming in.”

“Anything for you, Lieutenant Sugar.” He got to his feet. “Can you let me know what happens?”

“Watch your screen,” Eve advised.

“Yeah. Uh, would you mind showing me the way out, Officer?” He sent a killer smile at Peabody. “I’m a little turned around.”

“Sure. Lieutenant?”

“Go ahead.” Eve waved them away, then dived into Mira’s report. Engrossed and frustrated, she didn’t notice that it took Peabody twenty minutes to show Charles to his choice of people glide or elevator.

“She’s cleared the son of a bitch.” Eve sat back, scrubbing her face over her hands when Peabody came back in. “I’ve got nothing to hang on him.”

“Rudy?”

“His personality index doesn’t fit the profile. His capacity for physical violence runs low on the scale. He’s devious, intelligent, obsessive, possessive, and sexually limited, but in the doctor’s opinion, he isn’t our man. Damn it. His lawyer gets a copy of this, I won’t be able to touch the little creep.”

“Are you still looking at him for it?”

“I don’t know what I’m looking at.” She tried to keep her head and her temper clear. “We go back and we start over. From the beginning. We re-interview, starting with the first victim.”

At eight forty-five, Eve charged up the steps. She was already irked, as Summerset had greeted her in the foyer with his bilious stare and the comment that she had precisely fifteen minutes to make herself presentable before guests began to arrive.

It didn’t help to race into the bedroom and find Roarke showered and dressing. “I’ll make it,” she blurted out and dashed into the bath.

“It’s a party, darling, not an endurance test.” He wandered in behind her, mainly for the pleasure of watching her strip. “Take your time.”

“Yeah, like I’m going to walk in late and give that butt-face another reason to complain about me. Shower, all heads full, one-oh-one degrees.”

“You aren’t required to meet Summerset’s approval.” He leaned idly against the wall to watch her. She showered as she did nearly everything: quickly and efficiently, no wasted time or moves. “In any case, people traditionally arrive late for affairs like this.”

“I’m just running a little behind.” She hissed as shampoo ran into her eyes and stung. “I lost my prime suspect, and I’m starting from scratch.” She sprang out, took a step toward the drying tube, then stopped. “Shit, am I supposed to put that glop on my hair when it’s wet or when it’s dry?”

Having a fairly good idea which glop she referred to, Roarke plucked a tube from the shelf and poured a dab in his palm. “Here, allow me.”

The way his hands moved through her hair made her want to purr, but she eyed him narrowly. “Don’t mess with me, pal. I don’t have time for you.”

“I have no idea what you mean.” Enjoying himself, he chose another tube and poured a generous pool of body lotion into his hands. “I’m simply helping you get ready,” he began as he slid his slickened hands over her shoulders, her br**sts. “Since you seem frazzled.”

“Look — ” Then she closed her eyes and sighed when his hands slithered down to her waist, slipped over her butt. “I think you missed a spot.”

“Careless of me.” He lowered his head, sniffed at her throat. And bit. “Want to be very, very late?”

“Yeah. But I’m not going to.” She wiggled away and leaped into the drying tube. “But don’t forget where you left off.”

“A pity you didn’t get here twenty minutes ago.” Having decided that watching her wasn’t going to help his blood cool, he strolled back into the bedroom.

“I just have to gunk up my face some.” She whipped out of the tube and dashed for the mirror without bothering with a robe. “What am I supposed to wear to something like this?”

“I have it.”

She stopped fumbling ineptly with her lash dye and scowled. “Do I pick out your clothes?”

“Eve, please.”

She had to laugh. “Okay, bad example, but I don’t have time to think of another one.” Solving the problem of hairstyle by skimming her fingers briskly through what she had, she turned into the bedroom to see Roarke studying what she supposed some people would call a dress.

“Get out of here. I’m not wearing that.”

“Mavis brought it by the other night. Leonardo designed it for you. It’ll look very good on you.”

She frowned at the fluid panels of silver held together on the sides by thin sparkling straps. The straps were repeated at the shoulders, catching a drape of fabric in the front and much, much lower in the back.

“Why don’t I just go naked and save time?”

“Let’s see how it looks.”

“What do I wear under it?”

He tucked his tongue in his cheek. “You’re wearing it.”