The In Death Collection Books 16-20 - J. D. Robb [309]
She took her time, then as an afterthought snagged the robe off the back of the door in case he’d reinstated the video on the ’link.
She was belting it as she went back in, and saw he was up and at his closet. “Who was it?”
“Caro.”
“You’ve got to go now? At two in the morning?” His tone, just the way he’d said his admin’s name, had the skin on her neck prickling. “What is it?”
“Eve.” He pulled out a shirt to go with the trousers he’d hastily put on. “I need a favor. A very large favor.”
Not from his wife, she thought. But from his cop. “What is it?”
“One of my employees.” He dragged on the shirt, but his eyes stayed on Eve. “She’s in trouble. Considerable trouble. Someone is dead, after all.”
“One of your employees kill someone, Roarke?”
“No.” Since she continued to stand where she was, he moved to her closet, took out clothes. “She’s confused and panicked, and Caro says somewhat incoherent. These are not traits one associates with Reva. She works in Security. Design and installation, primarily. She’s solid as stone. She was with the Secret Service for a number of years, and isn’t a woman who shakes easily.”
“You’re not telling me what happened.”
“She found her husband and her friend in bed at the friend’s apartment. Dead. Already dead, Eve.”
“And finding two dead bodies, she contacted your administrative assistant instead of the police.”
“No.” He pushed the clothes he’d chosen into Eve’s hands. “She contacted her mother.”
Eve stared at him, cursed softly, then began to dress. “I have to call this in.”
“I’m asking you to wait, until you see for yourself, until you talk to Reva.” He laid his hands on hers, held them there until she looked back at him again. “Eve, I’m asking you, please, wait that long. You don’t have to call in what you haven’t seen with your own eyes. I know this woman. I’ve known her mother more than a dozen years, and trust her to the level I trust very few. They need your help. I need it.”
She picked up her weapon harness, strapped it on. “Then let’s get there. Fast.”
It was a clear night with the heaviness that had dogged the summer of 2059 lightening toward the crispness of the coming fall. Traffic was light, and the short drive required little skill or concentration on Roarke’s part. He judged by his wife’s silence that she’d closed in. She asked no questions as she wanted no more information, nothing that would influence her from her own impressions of what she would see and hear and feel.
Her narrow, angular face was set, the long golden brown eyes cop flat. Unreadable even to him. The wide mouth that had been hot and soft against his only a short time before was firm and tight-lipped.
He parked on the street, in an illegal spot, and flicked the ON DUTY light in her vehicle before she could do so herself.
She said nothing, but stepped onto the sidewalk and stood, tall and lanky, her shaggy brown hair still mussed from love-making.
He crossed to her, gently combed his own fingers through her hair to order it, as well as he could. “Thank you for this.”
“You don’t want to thank me yet. Prime digs,” she commented with a nod toward the brownstone. Before she could mount the steps, the door opened.
There was Caro, her shiny white hair like a silvery halo around her head. Without that, Eve might not have recognized Roarke’s dignified and efficient admin in the pale woman wearing a smart red jacket over blue cotton pajamas.
“Thank God. Thank God. Thank you for coming so quickly.” She reached out with a visibly trembling hand and gripped Roarke’s. “I didn’t know quite what to do.”
“You did just right,” Roarke told her, and drew her in.
Eve heard her stifle a sob, let go with a sigh. “Reva—she’s not well, not well at all. I have her in the living area. I didn’t go upstairs.”
Caro eased away from Roarke, straightened her shoulders. “I didn’t think I should. I haven’t touched anything, Lieutenant, except a glass out of the kitchen. I got Reva a glass of water, but I only touched the glass, and the bottle. Oh, and the handle of the friggie.