Obsession in Death (In Death #40)(54)

Bigger than the last one, she noted, heftier. And with a face designed to appear as if it had taken years of punches. Crooked nose, scars around the eyes, a mouth that sneered even when turned off.

Roarke again, she mused, and had to appreciate his style.

She turned it on.

“Activated. Select program.”

“You got a name?”

“They call me Crusher,” he responded in a voice that sounded like he gargled gravel.

“What ya got, Crusher?”

“I’m programmed for boxing, kung fu, karate, street fighting, tae kwon do, wrestling —”

“Bring it,” Eve ordered. “All of it.”

He punched first, a straight jab to the face. She barely dodged it, and even the air displacement near her ear was impressive.

She bounced back on her toes, set. Smiled fiercely. “Okay, then.”

Roarke stepped into the house wanting nothing more than a glass of wine and a quiet hour. Getting a late start had crowded the rest of his day, and a quick, unplanned trip to one of his plants in Trenton had stolen more time.

Not that he minded. If he wanted less to do he could sell holdings instead of acquiring more.

“Where’s your feline companion?” he asked Summerset.

“I believe he’s upstairs with the lieutenant.”

Roarke lifted an eyebrow as he took off his coat. “Eve’s home?”

“And has been for nearly an hour now. Uninjured,” Summerset added before Roarke could ask. “Concerned, apparently, about my routine outside the house, and – as I mentioned before – about those who may come into it.”

“You saw the media conference?”

“I did.” Taking Roarke’s coat, Summerset hung it in the closet hidden in the foyer wall – where he’d already hung Eve’s. “Adding her concern to that, I assume she’s pursuing someone who’s drawn her in on a more personal level.”

“He – or she – leaves messages, to Eve, at the crime scenes. She had a loose connection to both victims.” Roarke glanced upstairs as he spoke. “The killer claims to be her friend, and bringing true justice to those who’ve shown her disrespect.”

“Ah well, that clarifies things. I’d make a prime candidate. Both you and the lieutenant,” Summerset continued when Roarke’s eyes heated, “should know I’m capable.”

“You’ve been hurt before. I’d prefer you weren’t hurt again. Vary your routine,” Roarke began.

“The lieutenant has already… suggested the same. Don’t worry, boy. I’ll be careful and trust you to do the same.”

Knowing he had to be satisfied with that, Roarke went upstairs. It surprised him not to find her in her office, but then again, he thought, it wouldn’t surprise him to find her facedown on the bed.

There, he found only the cat, stretched out as if on the rack, eyes fixed on the elevator. Galahad rolled over as Roarke approached, exposed his belly. Obliging, Roarke gave it a brisk rub.

“Went that way, did she?” Roarke nodded toward the elevator. “But to where?”

He crossed to the in-house intercom.

“Where is Eve?”

Eve is in the fitness room.

“On screen,” Roarke ordered, and angled to the screen.

According to Summerset, she hadn’t come home injured, he thought, but she sported a bruise on her cheekbone now, and a bloody lip. The droid – still so new he’d yet to do more than a test round with it himself – staggered back when Eve spun into a vicious back kick, rammed her foot into its midsection.

Crusher – he’d thought she’d find the name amusing – looked considerably worse for wear. Simulated blood ran into its swollen left eye, dripped from the corner of its mouth.

Roarke winced when the droid caught Eve on the shoulder, but she turned her body into the blow, used the momentum and flipped the droid onto its back.

Now Roarke hissed through his teeth as she stomped, enthusiastically, on the droid’s face.

“Ah well,” he murmured, and loosening his tie, began to change out of his suit.

By the time he pulled on a fresh shirt, she came, dripping sweat, out of the elevator.

“Hey,” she said. “You’re home.”

“As you are. Got in a workout, I see.”

“Yeah.” She swiped at her puffy lip. “Needed it. You got a new sparring droid.”

“I did. Do we still have it?”

“Yeah. Well, it said it needed to do an internal diagnostic.” She rubbed and rolled her shoulder.

“And you?”

“It’s got a hell of a punch. And it bleeds, blooms bruises, too. I have to give you the frosty on that. It threw me off some, and he got by my guard a couple times.”

“It’s a prototype. Or was.”

“I probably shouldn’t have stomped on its face, but maybe you shouldn’t bring really expensive toys around for me to break.”

“What fun would that be?” He opened the first-aid kit he had ready, took out a healing wand. “Over here.”

“I need a shower.”

“You do, yes, but this first.” He cupped her chin, ran the wand over her swollen lip. “Feel better now that you’ve kicked droid ass?”