Promises in Death (In Death #28)(71)

“Why did you choose it?” she asked Roarke.

“I dreamed of New York when I was a boy. It seemed like a shiny gold ring, and I wanted my fingers around it. I wanted a lot of places, and did what I did to get them. But here’s where I wanted my base. That shiny gold ring. I didn’t want to be swallowed; I wanted to own. To own here.”

He looked around, as Eve had, to the crowds, the traffic, the rush. “Well, that’s saying something, isn’t it? Then I fell for it, like a man might fall for a fascinating and dangerous woman. And it became more than the owning—the proving to myself, and I suppose, a dead man—and became more about being.”

“And you brought Summerset here.”

“I did.”

She sipped her wine. “Fathers make a difference, and they don’t have to be blood to do it. We both found fathers, or they found us, however it worked. It made a difference.”

“And you’re thinking Alex Ricker lost his, the day he learned his father murdered his mother. And that made a difference.”

“You read me pretty well.”

“I do indeed. Let’s go home, get to work.”

She waited while he paid the check, then rose with him. “Thanks for dinner.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Roarke?” On the sidewalk she stopped, studied his face, then shrugged. “What the hell, it’s New York.” And threw her arms around him, took his mouth in a long, shimmering kiss. “For reading me well,” she said when she released him.

“I’m buying a bloody case of that wine.”

She laughed all the way to the car.

At home, she peeled off her jacket, tossed it on the sleep chair. In shirt-sleeves, she circled her murder board.

“You said you were going to work from home, too. To Caro,” Eve reminded him.

“So I am. But not before you tell me what you plan to do.”

“I’m thinking about asking you to contact your new best friend before getting started on your own stuff.”

“And why would I be doing that?”

It had to be the wine, she thought, because sometimes when he talked—just the way that hint of Celtic music wove through the words—she wanted to drool. “Um.” She shook it off. “To tell him it’s important that both he and his PA stay in New York. And that I’d like to talk with each of them tomorrow.”

“On a Saturday. When you’re hosting a party.”

“I can do it in the morning. Peabody and Nadine are invading with God knows what stuff. I don’t have to do any of that. They said.”

“Easy, darling. And I’d be telling my new best friend this because?”

“Show of good faith. I’m inclined to believe him, blah, blah. I want to discuss some details tomorrow morning that may help me with a current line of investigation.”

“And put the heat on Sandy. Could work. I’ll do that. I’ll be a couple hours, I expect, after. You do remember I’m off to Vegas tomorrow?”

“I . . .” Now she did. “Yeah, yeah, male debauchery.”

“I could probably juggle things and go with you in the morning, as Peabody’s occupied.”

“No. No. You’ve juggled enough.” She could take it alone, but he’d get pissy about that. And he’d have a point, she admitted. “I’ll get Baxter.”

“All right then.”

Armed with coffee, Eve sat down to write up her notes. She ordered a secondary run on Rod Sandy, including his financials. The man had been in the Ricker stew since college, Eve thought. A long time.

He’d know how to tuck money away here and there. Maybe money paid by the father to betray the son.

She scanned the EDD reports on the data mined from the ’links and comps confiscated from the Ricker penthouse. Nothing to Omega, of course. It wouldn’t be that easy. Nothing to Coltraine but the single contact from Alex asking her over for a drink. Nothing to Coltraine’s precinct or any member of her squad.

But a smart guy like Sandy? He wouldn’t leave that clear a trace—one, in fact, his pal Alex might stumble on and question.

Second pocket ’link somewhere. Stashed, hidden, already ditched?

She checked her wrist unit. Hours, she thought, still hours before Callendar docked, much less started digging. Eve told herself to consider it time to refine her theory, to check for wrong turns.

She poured more coffee, had barely begun when Roarke stepped back in. “You reach Alex?”

“Yes, that’s done and he’s expecting you about nine. Eve, Morris was at the gate. I had Summerset let him through.”

“Morris?”

“On foot.”

“Oh, shit.” She pushed away from her desk, and started downstairs. “What condition is he in? Is he—”

“I didn’t ask. I thought it best to get him here. Summerset sent a cart down to him.”

“A cart?”

“God, how long have you lived here? One of the autocarts. It’ll bring him straight here.”

“How am I supposed to know we have autocarts? Do I ever use an autocart? What’s your take?” she demanded of Summerset as she came down the last flight of stairs. “His condition?”

“Lost. Not geographically. Sober. In pain.”