The In Death Collection Books 21-25 - J. D. Robb [243]
16
ROARKE WATCHED HER COME IN, HIS TALL, lanky cop in the rather spectacular black leather coat. Her eyes were tired, the stress showing in them even as he noted the way she scoped the room.
Cops were cops, he knew, 24/7. She’d be able to tell him, should he ask, how many were in the booth at the opposite corner, what they were wearing, possibly what they were eating. And she’d be able to do so with her back to them.
Fascinating.
She checked her coat, brushed off the waiter who must have offered to escort her to their table. And crossed the restaurant alone, in that long, loose stride he loved.
“Lieutenant,” he said, rising to greet her, “you make a picture.”
“A picture of what?”
“Confidence and authority. Very sexy.” He kissed her lightly, then gestured to the wine he’d poured when he’d seen her come in. “It’s not a tumbler, but you can consider it a bottomless glass.”
“Appreciate it.” She took a good slug. “Crappy day.”
“So I gathered. Why don’t we order, then you can tell me about it?”
She glanced up at the waiter who materialized at her side. “I want spaghetti and meatballs, with the red sauce. You got that here?”
“Of course, madam. And to start?”
She lifted her wine. “I’ve started.”
“Insalada mista,” Roarke told him. “Two. And I’ll have the chicken Parmesan.” He dipped some bread in the herbed oil already on the table, handed it to her. “Sop some of that wine up, why don’t you?”
She stuffed the bread in her mouth.
“Describe the waiter for me.”
“What? Why?”
“It’s entertaining. Go ahead.” And it would settle her down, he thought.
She shrugged, took another good swallow of wine. “Caucasian male, mid-thirties. Wearing black pants, white shirt, black loafer-style shoes. Five eight, a hundred and fifty. Brown and brown. Smooth complexion. Full bottom lip, long nose with a good-sized hook to it. Crooked eyetooth on the left. Straight, thick eyebrows. Bronx accent, but he’s working on losing it. Small stud, right earlobe—some kind of blue stone. Thick silver band, ring finger, left hand. Gay. He’s probably got a spouse.”
“Gay?”
“Yeah, he checked you out, not me. So?”
“So. As I said, entertaining. What went wrong today?”
“What didn’t?” she answered, and told him.
The salads arrived before she’d finished, so she stabbed at hers.
“So, that’s where I’m at. Can’t beat up Baxter or Trueheart, because—as far as I can see—they did the job. Wouldn’t have been a job if I hadn’t worked it.”
“Which means you beat up on yourself. What’s the point, Eve? If he was pushed, where does it come from? Where’s the gain?”
“You can go back to money. Trudy was pretty well set, and he’s doing okay. Or you go back to revenge. He was there, living in the house, her blood relation, when she was fostering.”
“He brought you food,” Roarke reminded her. “You wouldn’t have been the only one he’d done that for.”
“Probably not. But he didn’t stand up. Maybe somebody figures he should have.”
“Do you?”
She stabbed more salad, drank more wine. “No. Blood’s thicker, and so’s self-preservation. I don’t blame him for anything. But he was a kid when I was there, just another kid. He was older before she gave up fostering. Someone could figure he should pay, too.”
“His silence makes him an accessory?”
“Something like that. And damn it, it would be easier to erase them at home, wouldn’t it? Yeah, you got a strange city, more people, so that’s a plus. But you’d be able to scope their routines more back in Texas. Which takes me back, at least part of the way, to impulse.”
“Have you considered Bobby’s pretty new wife?”
“Yeah, and still am. Maybe she wasn’t as tolerant of her mother-in-law as she claims. From my side, it would take a hell of a lot of tolerance. So she sees an opportunity, takes it. Get rid of Mama Tru, and put the money in Bobby’s pocket. Then, hey, why not ditch the middle man? He’s out, I’m in. Could she be stupid enough to think I wouldn’t look at her for it?”
“When you look, what do you see?”
“Nothing that pops up and screams ‘I’m a murderer,’ not on evidence, not on her record. But she’s a little