The in Death Collection Books 11-15 - J. D. Robb [103]
“How come you don’t have a place here?”
“Actually, I do have a string of properties that rent out, but I never had a yen to stay in one. Too ordinary and obvious.” He smiled at her. “But if you’d like one . . .”
“No. It’s too much like a neighborhood or something. You’d come down to kick back and probably have to talk to people. And have, I don’t know, get-togethers and stuff.”
“Hideous thought.” Amused, he turned off and pulled into the drive behind a hulking black sedan. “Do we assume that’s his car?”
“Yeah.” She scoped out the house. Not so different from the others lining the coast. Big arches filled with glass that opened to decks and were loaded with enormous urns of enormous flowers or potted trees. The structure was blond and gleaming in the half light and came to triple points on the third level where another deck ran in a ring.
“Pretty snazzy for a cop,” she commented. “But then he’s got a rich spouse.” She glanced at Roarke. “That kind of thing comes in handy.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“If he’s in there, he’s in the dark. I don’t like it.” It had been her plan to convince Roarke to wait in the car. Something she’d assumed would take some doing. Now her gut told her to try a different plan.
They got out opposite sides and walked up a narrow boardwalk to the front door. There were tall, glass panels flanking it, etched with stylized seashells. Through them she could scan the main living area with its soaring ceilings and pale walls.
Instinctively, she hitched her jacket back so her weapon would be more accessible. And rang the bell. “You’d think the place was empty, wouldn’t you? Except for the car.”
“He might’ve taken a walk on the beach. People tend to do that here.”
She shook her head. “He wouldn’t be in the mood to stroll through the surf.” She made the decision, bent down, and took her clinch piece from her ankle holster.
“I need you to go around, cover the back. Don’t use this, okay? Do not use this unless you’re in immediate jeopardy.”
“I know the rules.” He slipped it in his pocket. “Do you think Bayliss is dangerous?”
“No. No, I don’t. But someone is. I’m going up to the second level. I’ll circle around, left to right. Watch your back.”
“Same goes.”
They separated, each confident the other could handle whatever came. Eve moved to the side, up the open steps, over the deck. The doors here were clear sheets of glass and fully secured with their privacy shields lowered. She started to the left, moving slowly, her eyes tracking.
The gleam at her feet had her pausing, crouching. Water, she mused. Someone had slopped water on the deck, a path of it, she noted as she straightened to follow the trail.
The sound of the sea rose, a sly thrash and suck. Stars were beginning to come out, adding faint light to a sky going indigo. Ears cocked, she heard the footsteps mounting the steps to her right. Her fingers danced to her weapon.
It was in her hand when Roarke rounded the building.
“There’s water on the steps,” he told her.
“Here, too.” She lifted a hand, signaled. The side doors were open.
Roarke nodded, moved to the far side of them, and she to the near. Their eyes met, she took a breath, held it. They went through. He took high, she low.
“Take the right,” she ordered. “Lights on.” When they appeared, she adjusted her eyes to the change, sidestepped left. “Captain Bayliss,” she called out. “This is Lieutenant Dallas. I have a warrant. I need you to make your location known.”
Her voice echoed off the high ceilings, off the sand-colored walls.
“Bad feeling,” she muttered. “Very bad feeling.” Sweeping with her weapon, she followed the tracking water. She saw Bayliss’s suitcase open on the bed, a jacket tossed carelessly beside it.
She glanced toward Roarke, watched him check a room-sized closet, did the same herself on the other side, then moved along the wet to a door.
She signaled again, waiting until he’d joined her. With her free hand, she turned the knob, then shoving it open went in under Roarke’s arm.
Music blared. It gave her a jolt to hear