The in Death Collection Books 11-15 - J. D. Robb [396]
“Got it.” Too tired to stand, she sat on the arm of the sofa in the sitting area. “I hate to be the one to break this to you, Morris, but I already got the data from a media source. You’ve got a gossip in your house.”
“No! Why, I’m shocked and amazed. A city official leaking information to the media. What is the world coming to?”
“You’re a fucking jolly soul.”
“Love your work, love the world. I don’t imagine your media contact had quite everything, as I’ve just gotten the tox results.”
She shook her head clear as Roarke came into the room. “He was drugged?”
“Between the initial insults and the coup de grâce, the doctor was given a stimulant.”
“They tried to revive him?” Her thoughts jumbled, then cleared before Morris could answer. “No, that doesn’t make sense. They wanted to keep him alive a little longer.”
“Give the lady a stuffed panda. The substance used stimulates the heart, and it’s quickly absorbed. If we’d gotten him in here twenty, thirty minutes later, we wouldn’t have found a trace of it.”
“They kept him alive so they could get him to a dumping site and kill him there. He’d have died anyway, right, from the initial beating?”
“Without immediate medical attention, yes. And even then his chances were minimal. He’d certainly have drowned without that final blow.”
“So they wanted to give him that last shot. When he was unconscious, helpless. Stripped of his dignity.”
“You’ve got yourself mighty nasty customers, Dallas. I’m sending the data to our mutual friend Renfrew. His robbery theory doesn’t cut the mustard.”
“Thanks. I appreciate you handling this yourself.”
“Just part of our luxury package. Get some sleep, for sweet Christ’s sake, Dallas. I’ve got customers in here who look perkier than you.”
“Yeah, I’ll do that.” She broke transmission, then just sat, staring down at her ’link. She blinked back when Roarke released her weapon harness. “You put them in a room together, didn’t you?”
“Haven’t you more to worry about than the sexual activities of your subordinates?”
“My subordinates come dragging their asses into the briefing because they’ve spent what’s left of the night playing hide the salami . . . what’re you doing?”
“Taking off your boots. You’re going to bed.”
She stared down at the top of his head. Jesus, the man had the most incredible hair . . . All black and silky, she thought as her head started to loll. So you just wanted to bury your hands in it. Your face in it and . . .
She snapped back. “I’m going to grab a shower and get another hour in.”
“No, Eve, you’re not.” Temper simmered in his voice as he tossed her boots aside with just enough force to have them bounce and skitter. “I’m not standing here watching while you make yourself sick. You go to bed on your own, or I knock you out and put you there.”
She frowned at him. It wasn’t often the rage showed, that hot and bubbling violence they both knew lived inside him. Seeing it leap, she knew she must look every bit as ragged as Morris indicated.
“I saw his face. I looked in his face.” She spoke quietly. “I can’t sleep, Roarke, because I’ll see it.” She pressed her fingers to her eyes, then rose. “I looked at him, and if I hadn’t known what he was, I wouldn’t have seen it.”
She walked away, dragged open a window. Breathed. “He’s young. His face is still a little soft around the edges. His hair’s all red and curly like, I don’t know, a pretty kid’s doll or something. He’d killed tonight, taken a life—a life connected to him by blood—with deliberation and forethought and extreme violence. And he sat there talking to me. Teary. Remorseful. He played it perfectly, and I wouldn’t have seen it. I wouldn’t have seen what’s in him.”
He hated to hear the fatigue in her voice, and more the discouragement that ghosted through it. “Why should you?”
“Because I was