Vengeance in Death (In Death #6)(36)

“I couldn’t stand it.” She tightened her hold.“I couldn’t. I know I can’t even think about it because it’ll mess me up, but I can’t get it out of my head. I can’t stop — “

Then his mouth was on hers and the kiss was rough and hot. He would know that was the tone she needed, that she needed his hands on her, hard, impatient. And the promises he murmured as he tugged her shirt aside were for both of them.

Her weapon thudded to the floor. His beautifully cut jacket followed. She tipped her head back so that his lips could race thrills over her throat as she dragged at his belt.

No words now as they hurried to touch. With greedy little nips and bites they tormented each other. She was panting when he pushed her onto the desk. Paper crinkled under her back.

She reached for him.

“I’m not neurotic,” she managed to say.

He laughed first, delighted with her, delirious for her. “Of course not.” He closed his hands over hers and drove into her.

He watched her come at the first thrust, those golden brown irises blurring, that slim torso arching up. The shocked pleasure strangled in her throat then shuddered out on his name.

“Take more.” His hands were less gentle than he intended as he lifted her hips, went deeper. “Take all of me.”

Through the stunning waves of sensation she understood he wanted acceptance, finally and fully, for both of them.

She took all of him.

Later they shared soup in her office. By the second bowl, her head was clear enough to deal with the business at hand.

“I’m going to be working here for the most part for a while.”

“I’ll lighten my schedule so I’ll be available for you.”

She broke open a roll, buttered it thoughtfully. “We’re going to have to contact the Dublin police. Your name’s bound to come up.” She ignored the quick grin he flashed her and bit into the roll. “Should I expect any surprises?”

“They don’t have any more hard data on me than your records show.”

“Which is next to nothing.”

“Exactly. There’s bound to be a few members of the guarda with long memories, but there shouldn’t be anything too embarrassing. I’ve always been careful.”

“Who investigated Marlena’s murder?”

The amusement died out of Roarke’s eyes. “It was an Inspector Maguire, but I wouldn’t say he investigated. He went through the motions, took the bribes offered, and called it death by misadventure.”

“Still, his records might be of some use.”

“I doubt you’ll find much, if any. Maguire was one of the many cops in the pocket of the cartel whose territory I trespassed on.” He took the other half of Eve’s roll. “The Urban Wars started later and lasted longer in that part of the world. Even when I was a boy there were pockets of it still being waged, and certainly the results of the worst of it were still in evidence.”

He remembered the bodies, the sound of gunfire screaming through the night, the wails of the wounded, and the sunken eyes of the survivors.

“Those who had,” he-continued, “had in abundance. Those who didn’t, suffered and starved and scavenged. Most cops who’d been through the hell of it went one of two ways. Some dedicated themselves to maintaining order. Most took advantage of the chaos and profited.”

“Maguire decided to profit.”

“He was hardly alone. I took plenty of kicks from a beat cop if I didn’t have the payoff in my pocket. When you’re down to your last punt, you’d as soon have the kick and keep the pound.”

“Did you take any from Maguire?”

“Not personally. By the time I was working the grift and the games, he was riding a desk. He used uniforms as his runners and muscle and collected in comfort.” Roarke sat back with his coffee. “For the most part I outmaneuvered him. I paid my shot when I couldn’t get around it, but I usually stole it back. Cops are easy marks. They don’t expect to have their pockets picked.”

“Hmm” was all Eve could say to that. “Why was Maguire brought in on Marlena?”

“When she was killed, Summerset insisted on calling in the police. He wanted to see the men who had… he wanted to see them punished. He wanted a public trial. He wanted justice. Instead he got Maguire. The bastard came sniffing around, shaking his head, clucking his tongue. ‘Well, well,’ he said, ‘seems to me a father should keep a closer eye on a pretty young girl. Letting her run wild like that.’ “

As the old fury crawled back, Roarke shoved away from the table to rise and pace. “I could have killed him on the spot. He knew it. He wanted me to try it, then and there while he had six cops around him who’d have broken me to pieces at the first move. His conclusions were that she was an incorrigible, that there were illegals in her system and she’d fallen in with a bad lot who’d panicked and killed her when they’d done with her. Two weeks later he was driving a new car around Dublin Town and his wife had a new haircut to show off her diamond earrings.”

He turned back. “And six months later, they hooked him out of the River Liffey with enough holes in him for the fish to swim through.”

Her throat had gone dust dry, but she kept her gaze steady. “Did you kill him?”