Imitation in Death (In Death #17)(28)

So the f**k what? It was clothes. You put them on and you weren't naked or cold.

Love obliged her to edit her thoughts so her part of the conversation-when she could shove a word through the wall of noise the woman built around her-went something like: Yes.

"Ah, there's the most striking woman in the room. Excuse us, won't you?" Charles Monroe, smooth and handsome, beamed a smile at Eve's tormentor. "I simply have to. steal her."

"Kill me," Eve muttered as Charles drew her clear. "Take my weapon out of my bag, press it to the pulse in my throat, and fire. End-my torment."

He only laughed and swung her to the dance floor. "When I spotted you I thought you might be on the point of drawing that weapon and blasting the woman between the eyes."

"I imagined ramming it into her mouth. It was never shut anyway." She gave a quick. shudder. "Anyway, thanks for the rescue. I didn't know you were here."

"Running a bit late, only just arrived."

"Working?" Charles was a top-level LC. -

"I'm with Louise."

"Oh." And because he was a man who made his living selling himself, Eve couldn't quite figure how he and the dedicated Dr. Louise Dimatto developed, and maintained, a relationship.

Took all kinds, she reminded herself.

"I was going to get in touch with you," he continued. "About Jacie Wooton."

The cop shifted back to the forefront. "You knew her?"

"I used to. Not well, really. I don't think anyone knew Jacie well. But we ran in similar circles, so we'd bump into each other now and then. Or did, before she got busted." "Let's find a corner somewhere."

"I don't know that this is the time-"

"Works for me." Taking charge, she pulled him from the dance floor, scanning the little packs of people, the tables, and decided to take it outside.

Them was a terrace festooned with flowers, scattered with more tables, more people. But it was quieter. "Tell me what you know."

"Next to nothing." He wandered to the edge of the terrace, looked out over the lights of the city. "She was well established before I got into the life. She liked everything top drawer. The best clothes, the best venues, the best clients."

"The best dealer, then?"

"I don't know about her dealer. I don't," he insisted. "I'm not going to claim I don't know anything about that end of the business, but I stay clean. Spotless now that I'm dating a doctor," he added with a smile. "Jacie's busts took everybody by surprise. If she was an addict, she hid it well. If I knew anything, Dallas, I'd tell you. No hesitation, no bullshit. As far as I know she didn't have friends. Not real friends. Or enemies. She was the job."

"Okay." She started to slip her hands into her pockets, remembered the little copper-colored number didn't have any. "If something occurs to you, however small or remote, I want to hear about it."

"That's a promise. It's shaken me, the way it happened, the rumors I'm hearing. Louise is worried." He glanced back toward the terrace doors. "She hasn't said anything, specifically, but she's worried. When you love someone you can tell when they're carrying stress."

"Yeah, I guess so. You're going to want to be careful, Charles. You don't fit the vic profile on this, but you're going to want to be careful."

"Always," he replied.

She didn't say anything to Roarke about the conversation on the shuttle ride home. But she turned it over in her mind, replayed it, considered it.

When they were back in their bedroom and she was shimmying out of the tiny dress, she ran it by him.

"Doesn't sound like he'll be much of a source on this," Roarke commented.

"No, but that's not what I'm thinking about. After we went back in, I watched him and Louise together. They're practically like turtledoves or something. You know they're going to roll around naked tonight."

"Naked turtledoves. No, not an attractive visual. Let me think of another."

"Ha-ha. What I'm saying is how can she roll naked with him tonight knowing he's going to be doing the same deal with however many clients are on his book tomorrow?"

"Because it's not the same." He flipped down the bedspread. "One's personal, one's professional. It's his job."

"Oh, that's just bullshit. That's just a bullshit rationalization. And if it's not, can you stand there and tell me if I was a sex pro, you'd be perfectly fine, just iced with me riding some other guy's stick?"

"You have such a way with words. " He looked at her, standing with the glittery dress in one hand. She wore nothing but a matching triangle over her crotch, too small to be called-panties, a triple chain of multicolored stones she'd yet to remove, and high, backless heels.

And an annoyed scowl.

"No, I wouldn't be fine with it, or iced, or anything remotely like it. But then I don't share. Christ, you look sexy. Why don't you come over here and we'll roll around, naked as turtledoves?"

"We're having a conversation."

"You are," he corrected, as he stepped off thee bed platform and toward her.

"And speaking of conversations..." She evaded, nipping neatly behind the sofa. "I still have to beat you brainless for leaving me with that woman, the one who looked like a skinny purple tree."