Seduction in Death (In Death #13)(21)

"Don't make me hurt you, Eve."

"Hear that?" She cocked her head. "That's the sound of my knees knocking." She sat back, satisfied the sadness she'd seen lingering on his face when he'd first come home was gone. She was really starting to nail this wife thing.

"Okay, now that I've let you f**k me and feed me, thereby satisfying all immediate appetites, I've got work."

"I beg your pardon, but I seem to recall someone promising to tuck me into bed.''

"That'll have to wait, ace. I want to run some probabilities, and see if I can get a line on the umbrella account this guy uses. French deal. La Belle Dame."

"Keats."

"What's that?"

"Not what, you plebeian, who. John Keats. Classic poet, nineteenth century. The poem is 'La Belle Dame Sans Merci.' The beautiful woman without mercy."

"How come you know all this stuff?"

"Amazing, isn't it?" He laughed as he pulled her to her feet. "I'll get you the poem, then we can get to work."

"I don't need -- "

He shut her up with a quick, hard kiss. "How about this? Let's pretend you argued about not needing or wanting civilian help or interference, then I pointed out all the very sane and reasonable advantages of same. We wrangled about it for twenty minutes, then admitting that I can find data more quickly than you, and two heads are better than one, and so on and so forth, we got to work. That'll save some time."

She hissed out a breath. "Okay, but if I catch you looking smug, I'm kicking your ass."

"Darling, that goes without saying."

CHAPTER FIVE

They didn't have his face. Whenever fear tried to creep under his skin like hot ants, he repeated that single and most essential fact.

They did not have his face, so they could not find him.

He could walk the streets, ride in a cab, eat in a restaurant, cruise the clubs. No one would question him or point fingers or run to find a cop.

He had killed, and he was safe.

In its most basic sense, his life hadn't changed. And still, he was afraid.

It had been an accident, of course. Nothing more than an unfortunate miscalculation caused by a perfectly understandable excess of enthusiasm. Actually, if one looked at the overall picture, it had been as much the woman's fault as his.

More, really.

When he said as much, again, while gnawing viciously on his thumbnail, his companion sighed.

"Kevin, if you must pace and repeat yourself do it elsewhere. It's very annoying."

Kevin Morano, a tall, trim young man of twenty-two, threw himself down, drummed his well-manicured fingers on the buttery leather arm of a wingback chair. His face was unlined, his eyes a quiet, unremarkable blue, his hair a medium brown of medium length.

His looks were pleasant if ordinary, marred only by his tendency to sulk at the slightest hint of criticism.

He did so now as he watched his friend, his oldest and most constant companion. From that quarter, at least, he felt he deserved some sympathy and support.

"I think I have some cause to be concerned." There was petulance in his voice, a whine for sympathy. "It all went to hell, Lucias."

"Nonsense." The word was more command than comment. Lucias Dunwood was used to commanding Kevin. It was, in his opinion, the only way they got anything done.

He continued to work on his calculations and measurements in the expansive laboratory he'd designed and equipped to suit both his needs and his wants. As always, he worked with confidence.

As a child he'd been considered a prodigy, a pretty boy with red curls and sparkling eyes with a stunning talent for math and science.

He'd been pampered, spoiled, educated, and praised.

The monster inside the child had been very sly, and very patient.

Like Kevin, he'd been raised in wealth and in privilege. They'd grown up almost like brothers. In a very real sense, as they'd been created in much the same way, for much the same purpose, they considered themselves even more than brothers.

From the beginning, even as infants, they had recognized each other. Had recognized what hid beneath those small, soft bodies.

They'd attended the same schools. Had competed academically, socially, throughout their lives. They fed each other, and found in each other the only one who understood that they were beyond the common and ordinary rules that governed society.

Kevin's mother had birthed him, then turned him over to paid tenders so that she could pursue her own ambitions. Lucias's mother had kept him close, and found in him her only ambition.

And both had been smothered with excesses, indulged in every whim, directed to excel, and taught to expect nothing less than everything.

Now they were men, Lucias was fond of saying, and could do as they pleased.

Neither worked for a living, nor needed to. They found the idea of contributing to a society they disdained laughable. In the town house they'd bought together, they'd created their own world, their own rules.

The primary rule was never, never to be bored.

Lucias turned to a monitor, scanning the various components and equations that rushed over the screen. Yes, he thought, yes. That was correct. That was perfect. And satisfied, he strolled over to the bar, a gleaming antique from the 1940s, and mixed a drink.

"Whiskey and soda," he said. "That'll set you right up."