The in Death Collection Books 11-15 - J. D. Robb [62]
And straightening again, had her head spin.
“Yep, still half drunk. Good enough.”
She left the apartment, rolling her shoulders like a boxer prepping for a bout. She would deal with Roarke all right, she thought. She was more than ready for it.
The fresh air hit her, knocked her back. She stood a moment, breathing slowly, then walked, in mostly a straight line, to her car. She had wit enough to program it to auto and let it take her home.
She was going to straighten this out, she told herself. Yes, she was. And if she had to get Roarke into bed to do it, well . . . the sacrifices she had to make.
That made her snort with laughter and settle back to enjoy the ride.
New York looked so cheerful, she decided. The glide-carts were doing brisk business, as the pedestrian traffic was thick. The street thieves, she thought with mild affection, were having a field day plucking the tourists and the unwary.
Greasy smoke stinking of overcooked soy dogs and rehydrated onion bits plumed in front of her car. Two street LCs were in a shoving match on the corner of Sixth and Sixty-second while a hopeful john cheered them on. One Rapid Cab tried a sneak maneuver around another, missed, and scraped fenders. The two drivers were out of the cars like jacks from the box, squaring off with fists.
God. She loved New York.
She watched a flock of the head-shaven Pure Sect, well out of their bailiwick, herd each other uptown. An ad blimp, past curfew, glided overhead and touted the delights of a package trip to Vegas II. Four days, three nights, round-trip and deluxe accommodations for two, all for the low-low-low price of twelve thousand and eighty-five.
What a deal.
The blimp chugged its way downtown as she continued up.
The pedestrian traffic thinned out and trimmed up. The glide-carts took on a sheen.
Welcome to Roarke’s world, she thought, amused at herself.
As she approached the gates, a figure stepped into the path of her vehicle. Eve let out a yelp, and fortunately, the programming accessed the obstruction and hit the brakes. Mild annoyance turned to disgust when Webster stepped out of the shadows.
She rolled down her window, glared at him. “You got a death wish? This is a city vehicle, and I was on auto.”
“Good thing, as you look a little impaired.” Sleepy, he thought. Sleepy, smashed, and sexy. “Night on the town?”
“Bite me, Webster. What do you want?”
“I need to talk to you.” He glanced at the gates. “It’s not easy getting into this place. How about a lift?”
“I don’t want you in my house.”
The engaging smile he’d fixed on his face hardened. “Ten minutes, Dallas. I promise not to steal the silver.”
“I have an office at Central. Make an appointment.”
“If it wasn’t important, do you think I’d be hanging out in front of your house waiting to give you a chance to bust my balls?”
She wished she didn’t see the logic of that. Wished she wasn’t sober enough to resist the urge to roll the window up and leave him outside the gates. She jerked a thumb toward the passenger seat. While he walked around the car to get in, it occurred to her that for the last few hours, murder hadn’t entered her head.
“It better be important, Webster. If you’re hosing me, I’m going to do a lot more than bust your balls.”
She completed the turn toward the gates. Her vehicle ID was scanned, and they opened silently.
“Pretty heavy security for a residence,” he commented.
She didn’t nibble at that particular bait, but she wished she’d gone for both Sober-Ups so her mind would be absolutely clear.
She left the car at the end of the drive, led the way up the steps. He was doing his best not to gape at the house but didn’t manage to swallow the low whistle when she opened the front door.
“I’ve got a meeting,” she said, even as Summerset stepped into view and opened his mouth.
With her hands jammed in her pockets, she headed upstairs. Webster gave up, stared down at the elegant butler, scanned what he could see of the lower floor. “Some place. I’m trying to picture you in this palace. You never struck me as the princess type.