The In Death Collection Books 6-10 - J. D. Robb [127]
“I’ll fill you in while we do the search. McNab’s on his way over.”
“McNab.” Feeney danced after her, ditching his straw hat and his vacation mood as he went. “EDD’s working with you on this?”
“Our guy’s an electronics and communications whiz. He’s got a high-end jammer among his toys. McNab’s been cutting through the layers, and he managed to nail the source. But we haven’t found his hole.”
“McNab. The boy’s good. I’ve been bringing him along.”
“You can talk techno-jazz when he gets here. Right now I’ve got a straight search—and a ’link log to verify.” She paused at the entrance to Summerset’s quarters. “You want in, or do you want to go back and find your party hat?”
“I’ll just call the wife and tell her I won’t be home for supper.”
Eve grinned. “I missed you, Feeney. Damned if I didn’t.”
He grinned wickedly. “The wife took six hours of video. She wants you and Roarke to come over for dinner next week, and the show.” Wiggling his brows, he turned to Peabody. “You come too.”
“Oh, well, Captain, I wouldn’t want to horn in on—”
“Stow it, Peabody. If I have to suffer, you have to suffer too. That’s chain of command.”
“Another incentive,” Peabody decided, “for increasing my rank. Thank you, Lieutenant.”
“No problem. Recorder on. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve; Feeney, Captain Ryan; Peabody, Officer Delia entering quarters of Summerset, Lawrence Charles, standard search for evidence.”
She’d never been inside Summerset’s private domain. It was just one more surprise. Where she’d expected the stark and utilitarian, straight edges and minimal style, was a lovely living area with soft, blending tones of blue and green, pretty trinkets on tables of honey-hued wood, generous, giving cushions, and an air of welcome.
“Who’d have figured it?” Eve shook her head. “You look at this and picture a guy who enjoys life, even has friends. Feeney, take the communications center, will you. Peabody—That’ll be McNab,” she said when the buzz sounded from the recessed house monitor on the south wall. “Clear him through, Peabody, then I want you to start in here. I’ll take the bedroom.”
Four rooms spread out from the living area like ribs of a fan. The first was an efficient office and control center where Feeney rubbed his hands together and dived into the equipment. Opposite that was an equally efficient kitchen that Eve ignored for now.
Two bedrooms faced each other, but one was doubling now as an artist’s studio. Eve pursed her lips, studied the watercolor still life in progress on the easel. She knew it was fruit because she saw the huge bowl with overflowing grapes and glossy apples on the table under the window. On the canvas, however, the fruit was having a very bad season.
“Don’t quit your day job,” she murmured and turned in to his bedroom.
The bed was big, with an elaborate pewter headboard that twisted into vines and silvery leaves. The duvet was thick and spread neatly over the mattress without a wrinkle. The closet held two dozen suits, all black, all so similar in style they might have been cloned. Shoes, again black, were housed in clear protective boxes and ruthlessly polished.
That’s where she started, checking pockets, searching for anything that would signal a false wall.
When she came out fifteen minutes later, she could hear Feeney and McNab happily chirping about mainframes and signal capacitors. She went through the bureau drawer by drawer and shut down any threatening shudder that she was pawing through Summerset’s underwear.
She’d been at it an hour, and was just about to call Peabody in to help her flip the mattress when she looked at the single watercolor over a table decked with hothouse roses.
Odd, she thought, all the other paintings—and the man had an art house supply of them—were in groupings on the walls. This one stood alone. It was a good piece of work, she supposed, moving closer to study the soft strokes, the dreamy colors. A young boy was the centerpiece, his face angelic and wreathed with smiles,