Reunion in Death (In Death #14)(57)

She stepped toward the bedroom. The linens had been stripped away, sent to the lab, but her scope had found traces of se**n. "Easy enough. I'm so wired up, so energized. All those years in prison, those lonely years. I need someone to touch me. You're the only one I can be with, the only one who knows what I'm feeling right now."

"He should've known," Peabody murmured. "Of all people, he should've known."

"Her eyes would be shining, all those lies in them. He's old enough to be her grandfather, and there she is. Young and beautiful, with that tight, smooth body. He likes them young. Younger even than she, but she's here. She lets him do whatever he wants to her, take all the time he needs. It doesn't matter to her. He's already dead. Her mind's on the next, even as she groans and writhes and pretends to get off. Afterwards, she'll natter him. It was wonderful. Amazing. She knows what to say, how to say it to make him feel like the f**k king of the world. She'd have researched him, too."

She turned back into the living area. "She knows he likes brandy. She poisoned the bottle while he was in the shower, or taking a piss. Doesn't take long. Doesn't matter if he drinks it now, or later, but she'd rather now so she can watch. Cozy up to him on the couch, tell him all about what and who she's doing next. Can she have some wine? Can she stay awhile? It's so good to have someone to talk to, to be with.

"He pours the wine, he pours the brandy. It's his wine, his brandy. He's not worried. She probably drinks first, while she chats, just bubbling over with energy and enthusiasm. He'd smile at her while he drinks, caught up in her, sated from the sex, wondering if he'll be able to get it up for a second round. When he feels the poison in him, it's too late. He's shocked, horrified. Not him. It can't be. But he'd see it on her face then. She'd let him see it. That cold pleasure. Tidy herself up, secure the apartment. Run into the neighbor and have a friendly conversation. Uncle Eli's going out of town for several weeks, isn't that nice?"

"And she walks away," Peabody finished.

"And she walks away. Seal it up, Peabody. I'll go in, file the report. Then I'm going home."

CHAPTER 12

If the appeal of the suburbs baffled steadfast urbanite Eve Dallas, the appeal of the great flat stretches of Texas was foreign as a moonscape. Texas had cities, great, sprawling, crowded cities.

So why did anyone actually choose to live on the pancake grass of the prairie where you could see for miles, where you were surrounded by an endless spread of space?

Even so, there were towns, of course, with buildings that blocked that uneasy view, and straight-arrow roads that spilled into pretzel-curved freeways leading to and from civilization.

She could certainly understand people driving toward those towns and cities and buildings. But she'd never comprehend what pushed them to drive out into the nothingness.

"What do they get from this?" she asked Roarke as they zoomed down one of those roads. "There's nothing here but grass and fences and four-legged animals. Really big four-legged animals," she added as they traveled past a herd of horses with cautious suspicion.

"Yippee-ky-yay."

She shifted that suspicious stare to Roarke only briefly. She preferred to keep close watch on the animals. Just in case.

"This guy's loaded," she went on, slightly mollified by the roaring clack of a helicopter that buzzed the near field. "He's got a thriving, successful business in Dallas. But he chooses to live out here. Voluntarily. There's something really sick about that."

With a laugh, Roarke picked up her hand, the one that kept inching up toward her weapon, and kissed it. "There are all kinds of people in the world."

"Yeah, and most of them are crazy. Jesus, are those cows! Cows shouldn't be that big, should they? It's unnatural."

"Just think steaks, darling."

"Uh-uh, that's just creepy. Are you sure this is the right way? This can't be right. There's nothing out here."

"May I point out the several houses we're passing along this route?"

"Yeah, but I think the cows must live in them." She had a flash of bovine activities inside the low-slung houses. Watching some screen, having cow parties, making cow love in four-poster beds. And shuddered. "God, that's creepy, too. I hate the country."

Roarke glanced down at the in-dash navigation screen. He'd worn jeans and a white T-shirt, and a pair of sleek, black sunshades. It was a casual look for him, even simple. But he still looked like city. Rich city, Eve mused.

"We should be there in a few minutes," he told her. "There's a bit of civilization up ahead."

"Where?" She risked taking her attention away from the cows, looked through the windshield and saw the spread of a town. Buildings, fuel stations, shops, restaurants, more houses. Her gut loosened a little. "Okay, that's good."

"But we're not going through there. We veer off here." So saying, he turned off the wide ribbon of road onto a narrow offshoot. One that, in Eve's opinion, brought them entirely too close for comfort to those strange, flat grassy fields.

"Those fences don't look all that strong."

"If there's a stampede, we'll outrun them."

She moistened her lips, swallowed. "I bet you think that's funny."