Loyalty in Death (In Death #9)(70)

“I — No.” His gaze flicked to Roarke, then back. “I… play a little handball.”

“Team or solo?”

He lifted his hand, rubbed it over his mouth. “Mostly solo.”

“Your father made bombs during the French War,” she continued. “Did he work team, or solo?”

“I — he worked for the SRA — the Social Reform Army. I guess that’s a team.”

“I assumed he freelanced, worked for the highest bidder.”

Color rushed back into Lamont’s face. “My father was a patriot.”

“Sabotage for causes. Terrorists often call themselves patriots.” She kept her voice mild, but saw the shimmer of anger in his eyes for the first time. “Do you believe in sabotage for causes, Lamont? In the slaughter and the sacrifice of the innocent for a just and righteous cause?”

He opened his mouth, closed it again, then took one long breath. “War is different. During my father’s time, our country had been seized by exploitive bureaucrats. The second revolution in France was necessary to give its people back the power and justice that are their right.”

“So…” Eve smiled a little. “I take that as a yes.”

“I don’t make bombs for causes. I make them for mining, for the demolition of old buildings. Empty buildings. For military testing. Contracts,” he said, smoothly now. “Autotron is a respected and reputable company.”

“You bet. You like making boomers?”

“We don’t make boomers here.” The tone was slightly scathing now and subtly more French. “Our devices are highly sophisticated, technologically advanced. We produce the best on the market.”

“Sorry. You like making sophisticated, technologically advanced devices?”

“Yes. I enjoy my work. Do you enjoy yours?”

A little cocky now, Eve noted. Interesting. “I enjoy the results of mine. How about you?”

“I believe in utilizing my skills.”

“Me, too. Thank you, Mr. Lamont. That’s all.”

The little smile that had begun to form faded. “I can go?”

“Yes, thank you. End record, Peabody. Thanks for the use of the room, Roarke.”

“We’re always pleased to cooperate with the police at Autotron.” He lifted a sleek eyebrow in Lamont’s direction. “I believe Lieutenant Dallas is finished with you, Lamont. You’re free to return to your work.”

“Yes, sir.” He rose, stiffly, and walked from the room.

Eve sat back. “He was lying.”

“Oh yes,” Roarke agreed. “He was.”

“About what?” It came out before Peabody could stop it.

“He recognized the name Cassandra, and he knew about Fixer.” Contemplatively, Eve scratched her chin. “He was a little shaky at first, but he started to warm up. He doesn’t care for cops.”

“A common emotion,” Roarke pointed out. “Just as it’s a common mistake to underestimate certain cops. He thought he was stringing you quite nicely toward the end.”

She snorted, rose. “Amateur. Peabody, order a shadow for our friend Lamont. Roarke, I’ll want you to — “

“Pull his work files, review his equipment and materials lists, any requisitions, and run a fresh inventory.” He rose as well. “That’s already being done.”

“Show-off.”

He took her hand, and because watching her work put him in the mood, nibbled on her knuckles before she could snatch it away. “I’ll be keeping an eye on him.”

“Keep your distance,” she ordered. “I want him to think he pulled off the interview. Peabody…” She turned, then cleared her throat when she caught her aide dreaming into space. “Peabody, snap to.”

“Sir!” She blinked, leaped to her feet, and nearly upended her chair. Seeing Roarke’s clever mouth linger over Eve’s fingers had made her wonder just what McNab would have in store for her later.

“Stay on planet, will you? I’ll be in touch,” she added to Roarke.”

“Do that.” He moved to the door with them, then caught Peabody’s arm to hold her back a step. “He’s a lucky man,” he murmured.

“Huh? Who?”

“Whoever you were just dreaming about.”

She grinned like an idiot. “Not yet, but he’s going to be.”

“Peabody!”

Peabody rolled her eyes and double-timed it to catch up with Eve.

“Take the jet, Lieutenant,” Roarke called after her.

She glanced over her shoulder, saw him, tall, gorgeous, in the center of the wide doorway. She wished she’d had the time and the privacy to stride back and give those marvelous lips one quick little bite. “Maybe.” She shrugged and made the turn for the elevator.

She took the jet — as much to keep Peabody from pouting as to save time. She’d been right. It was brutally cold in Maine. Naturally, she’d forgotten her gloves, so she stuffed her hands in her pockets as she stepped off the plane and into the bitter wind.

An airport official in cold-weather coveralls hustled over, handed her a vehicle coder.

“What’s this?”

“Your transportation, Lieutenant Dallas. Your vehicle is in the green parking area, level two, slot five.”