Loyalty in Death (In Death #9)(30)

She shook her head, thinking of the income level and street crime. “You’d know more about that sort of thing, I guess. The building was insured.”

“Yes, for little more than the purchase price at this point. The project’s worth a great deal more to me.” Taking the neglected, the disdained and giving it value meant a very great deal to him. “The building was old, but it was sound. The problem with progress is that it often sweeps aside, destroying rather than respecting what others have built before us.”

She knew of his affection for old things but wasn’t sure there was a point here. She’d seen little more than a pile of bricks, and that was before it had been blown up.

His money, she thought with a shrug. His time.

“Do you know anyone name Cassandra?”

Now he smiled. “I’m sure I do. But I sincerely doubt this is a former lover’s jealous snit.”

“They had to get the name from somewhere.”

He moved his shoulders. “Maybe from the Greeks.”

“Greek Town isn’t anywhere near that sector.”

For a moment he just stared at her; then he laughed. “The ancient Greeks, Lieutenant. In mythology, Cassandra could foretell the future, but no one believed her. She warned of death and destruction and was dismissed. Her predictions always came true.”

“How do you know all this shit?” She waved the question away before he could answer. “So what’s this Cassandra predicting?”

“According to my disc, the uprising of the masses, the toppling of corrupt governments — which is one of those annoying redundancies — and the overthrow of the greedy upper class. Of which I am a proud member.”

“Revolution? Killing an old man and blowing up an empty warehouse is a pretty petty way to revolt.” But she wouldn’t dismiss the possibility of political terrorists. “Feeney’s working on Fixer’s office unit. It had a fail-safe feature, but he’ll get by it.”

“Why didn’t they?”

“If they’d had anyone good enough to break into that fortress of his, they wouldn’t have needed him in the first place.”

Roarke considered, nodded. “Good point. Do you need me for anything else?”

“Not now. I’ll keep you updated on the investigation. If you do a press release, keep it minimal.”

“All right. Did you have your leg looked at?”

“I took care of it.”

He raised his brow. “Let me see.”

Instinctively, she tucked her legs under the desk.“No.”

He only rose and stepped over to bend down and tug her leg up. At her sputtering protest, he tightened his grip and rolled up her trousers.

“Are you crazy? Stop that.” Mortified, she reached out to slam the door shut. “Somebody could come in.”

“Then stop squirming,” he suggested, and gently peeled back the bandage. He nodded in approval. “You did a decent job.” Even as she hissed at him, he lowered his head and touched his lips to the cut. “All better,” he said with a grin just as the door opened.

Peabody gaped, flushed, then stammered out, “Excuse me.”

“Just leaving,” Roarke said, patting the bandage back in place while Eve ground her teeth. “How did you come through this morning’s excitement, Peabody?”

“Okay, it was… well, actually.” She cleared her throat and shot him a hopeful glance. “I got this little nick right here.” She rubbed her finger at her jawline, heart fluttering pleasantly when he smiled at her.

“So you do.” He stepped to her, angled his head, and touched his lips to the tiny cut. “Take care of yourself.”

“Man, man, oh man,” was the best she could manage when he’d left. “He’s got such a great mouth. How do you stop yourself from just biting it?”

“Wipe the drool off your chin, for Christ’s sake. And sit down. We’ve got a report to write for the commander.”

“I almost got blown up and got kissed by Roarke all in the same morning. I’m writing it on my calendar.”

“Settle down.”

“Yes, sir.” She took out her log and got to work. But with a smile on her face.

Commander Whitney was an imposing figure behind his desk. He was a big man with beefy shoulders and a wide face. There were lines scored in his forehead his wife fussed at him to have smoothed away. But he knew that when furrowed, that brow symbolized authority and power to his officers. He’d sacrifice vanity for results every time.

He’d called in the top people in the required units. Lieutenant Anne Malloy from E and B, Feeney from EDD, and Eve. He listened to the reports, dissected, calculated.

“Even using three shifts,” Anne continued, “I’m projecting at least thirty-six hours before we’ve swept the site. The fragments coming in indicate multiple devices, using plaston explosives and intricate timers. This tells me the work was both expensive and sophisticated. We’re not dealing with vandals or a scatter group. More likely we have an organized, well-funded operation.”

“And the likelihood you’ll be able to trace any of the fragments?”

She hesitated. Anne Malloy was a small woman with a pretty, caramel-colored face and wide eyes of quiet green. She wore her blond hair in a bouncy ponytail and had a reputation for being both cheerful and fearless.