Seduction in Death (In Death #13)(23)

"Yes..." Kevin could feel himself being pulled into the thrill of it. "Yes, but -- "

"The stakes are higher, and so much more interesting." Lucias turned back and gave Kevin's arm a manly and congratulatory squeeze. "Kevin, you're a murderer."

He paled, but the gleam of respect in Lucias's eyes made him want to preen. "It was an accident."

"You're a murderer. How can I be less?"

"You mean to..." Excitement began to ball in his belly. "Deliberately?"

"Look at me. Tell me, and you know you can't lie, not to me, if her death at your hands wasn't part of the thrill. Wasn't, in fact, the biggest part of it?"

"I..." Kevin grabbed his drink, gulped whiskey. "Yes. God, yes."

"Would you deny me the same experience?" He draped an arm around Kevin's shoulders, led him to the elevator. "After all, Kev, they're only women."

Her name was Grace. Such a sweet, old-fashioned name. She worked as a page in the New York City library, delivering discs and precious books to patrons who settled into the reading rooms to study or research or simply pass the time with literature.

She loved poetry.

She was twenty-three, a pretty, delicate blonde with a shy nature and a generous heart. And she was already in love with the man who called himself Dorian and wooed her in the safe world of cyber-space.

She'd told no one about him. It made it more special, more romantic that no one knew. For their first date, she bought a new dress with a long, flowing skirt in blending pastels that made her think of rainbows.

When she left her little apartment to ride the subway uptown, she felt very daring, very adult. Imagine having drinks at the Starview Lounge with the man she was convinced she would marry.

She was certain he'd be handsome. He just had to be. She knew he was rich and articulate and a great traveler, a man who loved books and poetry as she did.

They were soul mates.

She was too happy to be nervous, too sure of the outcome of the evening to have a single doubt.

She would be dead before midnight.

Her name had been Grace, and she had been his first. Not just his first kill, but his first woman. Even Kevin didn't know that he had never been able to complete the sexual act. Until tonight.

He had been a god in that narrow bed in the pathetic little apartment. A god who had made the woman beneath him cry out and weep and beg for more. She had babbled her love for him, had agreed to every demand. And her glassy, drugged eyes had clung adoringly to his face no matter what he'd done to her.

He'd been so surprised she'd been a virgin he'd come too quickly the first time. But she'd said it had been wonderful, she said she'd been waiting for him all her life. She had saved herself for him.

And his very disgust with her aroused him.

When he took the last vial out of his bag, he showed it to her so that the glass and liquid glinted in the candlelight. When he told her to open her mouth, she did so, like a little bird waiting for a worm.

Pounding himself into her, he felt her heart gallop. He felt it burst. And he knew Kevin had been right. It was like being born.

He studied her after she was used up, when her body grew colder on the tangled sheets and rose petals. And knew one thing more. This had been his right. She was every girl who had ever ignored his needs, or turned away when he was unable to perform. Everyone who'd ever refused him, denied him, smirked at him.

She was, in essence, nothing.

He dressed, brushed at the sleeves of his suit jacket, shot his cuffs. Leaving the candles burning, he strolled out. He couldn't wait to get home and tell Kevin.

Eve felt fabulous. Sex and sleep, she decided. It was hard to beat the combo. Then when you started the day with a quick swim, a monster cup of real coffee strong enough to break bricks, you were in fat city.

The way she was feeling, she figured the bad guys had best take a day off.

"You look rested, Lieutenant." Roarke leaned on the jamb of the doorway between their home offices.

"Ready to rock," she said, watching him over the rim of her coffee cup. "I guess you've got a lot of catching up to do."

"I made a pretty good start on that."

She snorted. "Yeah, not bad, but I was thinking of work."

"Ah. I've made a start on that as well." He crossed over, caged her in between his body and the desk. Leaning over, he stroked the cat who'd draped himself over the 'link like a rag.

"You're crowding me, pal, and I'm on the clock here."

"Not for five minutes yet."

She angled her head to look at her wrist unit. "You're right. Five minutes." She slid her arms around his waist. "We ought to be able to..." Just as she caught his bottom lip between her teeth, she heard the approaching footsteps, the unmistakable clomp of cop shoes. "Peabody's early."

"Let's pretend we didn't hear her." Roarke nibbled at her mouth. "That we can't see her." Traced it with his tongue. "That we don't even know her name."

"That's a good plan except -- " When he put sincere effort into the kiss, she was pretty sure she could feel her heart melting. "Down boy," she murmured just as Peabody strode into the room.

"Oh. Um. Ahem."

Roarke turned, picked up Galahad to scratch his ears. "Hello, Peabody."