Origin in Death (In Death #21)(36)

"Whether or not this warrant comes through, I'm going to want the money trail. Funding for whatever this project is, fees or profit generated from it."

"All right. Plans are to have the meal in here."

She frowned at him. "We are having the meal in here." She stabbed some pork, held it up. "See?"

"Thanksgiving, Eve." And he could admit he was a bit wound up about it as he was so completely unsure of his steps.

He knew how to handle people, parties, meetings, his very complicated wife. He knew how to run an interplanetary empire, and still carve out time to dabble in murder cases. But how the hell was he going to handle family?

"Oh, right. Turkey, sure." Eve looked vaguely around the room with its huge table, stunning art, glints of silver, and warm, glowing wood. "Well, this would be the place for it. So this assignment? It would be official. No slippery stuff."

"Well, you take the fun out of it, don't you?"

"I can get authorization for a full-level financial search. Icove's murder, the several working theories. Blackmail, whacked-out former patient, the possibility it was a professional and/or terrorist hit."

"None of which you subscribe to."

"I don't eliminate them," Eve said. "But they're bottom of my list. I've also got the secured and encoded discs to add weight to the authorization. I can argue that whatever this project was, it led to the murder. Push all that together, and I can get authorization without offending any sensibilities. Not saying Icove was dirty, but that something to do with his work-and income from same-led to his murder."

"Clever of you."

"I'm a clever gal. Until I have more, I don't make noises about possible human hybridization or sex slavery or companion training. Get me the money, so I can."

"Good as done, then."

He tried to relax into his dinner and not worry about the logistics of this event he'd started. The transportation was no problem. He'd already seen to that. And housing them, well, the place was big enough to tuck them in even if the whole lot of them hopped the shuttle.

But what the hell was he going to do with them once they got here? : wasn't like entertaining business associates or even friends. He had relations, for God's sake. How was he supposed to get used to having them, dealing with them, when he'd lived nearly the whole of his life without them?

Now they were going to be under his roof, and he hadn't a clue what they would expect.

"Should we have something separate for the children, do you think?"

"What?" Eve frowned at him as she poked at the food on her plate. Oh, that. Hell, I don't know. You're supposed to know how to do this stuff."

His face was a mirror of his frustration. "And how am I supposed to know how to do something I've never done before?" He scowled into his wine. "It's unnerving, that's what it is."

"You could contact them, say something's come up. Cancel."

"I'm not a bloody coward," he muttered in a way that made her think he'd considered doing just that. "And it would be rude as well."

"I can be rude." Shifting work to one side, she gave it some thought. I like being rude."

"That's because you're so good at it."

"True. You could tell them that due to my obsessive involvement in a juicy murder case, Thanksgiving's been cancelled. No turkey for you. See,, then it's all on me. Me bloody wife's driving me starkers," she said in an exaggerated Irish accent while she waved the water glass around. The lieutenant, she's working all the day and half the night as well, and not giving me five minutes of her precious time. What's a man to do, then? Bugger it."

He sat silent a moment, just staring at her. "I don't sound a bit like that, nor does anyone of my acquaintance."

"You haven't heard yourself when you're drunk, which you would be out of frustration with my selfish behavior." She shrugged, drank some water. "Problem solved."

"Not nearly, but thanks for the strange and generous offer. Well. Back to murder, which as it happens is a simpler matter for both of us to deal with."

"Got that right."

"Why do you suppose a man of Icove's stature would dabble, if your theory's correct, in gray medicine?"

"Because he could, that's one. And because he was hoping to build a-what do you call it?-better mousetrap. The human body's flawed, right. It breaks down, needs regular repair and maintenance. It's fragile. He grew up seeing its fragility with his parents' work. Then, with his mother's accident and subsequent suicide. His wife's death, and the whole ugly nightmare of the Urbans. So how much of a rush would it be to try to make it perfect, to make it stronger, more durable, smarter? You've already done considerable work toward that goal, and gotten accolades for it. Gotten way rich for it. Why not take it up a level?"

"With only women?"

"I don't know." She shook her head. "Maybe he had a thing for women. His mother, his wife. Maybe he focused on women because his women had proven too fragile.

"And rich or not, he's got to have income to sustain the work. Probably, that's more your area than mine. It's still easier to sell a female than a male. There are still more female LCs than male. Sexual predators are most usually male. You guys equate sex with power or virility, even life. Punishment, if you're twisted. Women, mostly, equate it with emotion first. Or see it as a commodity or bargaining tool."