The In Death Collection Books 6-10 - J. D. Robb [27]
Step by step, she ordered herself. Every disc, every area covered, no matter how long it took. In the morning she would have Roarke view them as well. He might recognize someone.
She knocked her coffee cup over when she did.
“Stop,” she ordered. “Replay from zero-zero-five-six. Jesus Christ. Freeze, enhance section fifteen to twenty-two by thirty percent, shift to slow motion.”
She stared as the figure in the trim black suit and flowing overcoat enlarged, as he walked across the sumptuous lobby of the apartment complex. Checked the expensive timepiece on his wrist. Smoothed his hair.
And she watched Summerset step into the elevator and head up.
“Freeze screen,” she snapped.
The time at the bottom read twelve P.M., the afternoon on Thomas X. Brennen’s murder.
She ran the lobby disc through, fast-forwarding through hour after hour. But she never saw him come back out.
chapter five
She didn’t bother to knock, but simply shoved open his door. Her blood was hot, her mind cold.
Roarke could clearly see both temperatures in her eyes. Deliberately and without haste, he flipped his computer manually to hold, closing off his work.
“You’re overdoing again,” he said easily, remaining seated as she stalked—a single posse closing in on her man—to his desk. “Fatigue always steals the color from your face. I don’t like seeing you pale.”
“I don’t feel pale.” She wasn’t sure what she felt. All she could be certain of was that the man she loved, a man she’d taught herself to trust, knew something. And he wasn’t telling her. “You said you hadn’t had any contact with Brennen or Conroy. Any contact, Roarke? Not even through a liaison?”
He angled his head. This wasn’t the track he’d expected. “No, I haven’t. Tommy because he preferred to sever ties, and Shawn because . . .” He looked down at his hands, spread his fingers, closed them. “I didn’t bother to keep in touch. I’m sorry for that.”
“Look at me,” she demanded, her voice sharp and keen. “Look me in the face, damn it.” He did, rising now so their gazes were nearly level. “I believe you.” She whirled away from him as she said it. “And I don’t know if it’s because it’s the truth, or because I need it to be.”
He felt the nick of her distrust at the edge of his heart. “I can’t help you with that. Would you prefer to do this in Interview?”
“I’d prefer not to do it at all. And don’t climb on your golden horse with me, Roarke. Don’t you even start.”
He opened the japanned box on his desk, carefully selected a cigarette. “That would be ‘high horse,’ Lieutenant.”
She clenched her fists, prayed for control, and turned back. “What was Summerset doing at the Luxury Towers on the day of Thomas Brennen’s murder?”
For perhaps the first time since she’d met him, she saw Roarke completely staggered. The hand that had just flicked on a silver lighter froze in midair. His just beginning to be annoyed blue eyes went blank. He shook his head once, as if to clear it, then carefully set down both the lighter and the unlit cigarette.
“What?” was all he managed.
“You didn’t know.” Her limbs went limp with it. It wasn’t always possible to read him, she knew. He was too controlled, too clever, too skilled. But there was no mistaking the simple shock on his face. “You weren’t prepared for that. You had no idea at all.” She took a step closer. “What were you prepared for? What did you expect me to ask you?”
“Let’s just stick with the initial question.” Outwardly his recovery was smooth and quick. His stomach muscles, though, were tightening into oily knots. “You believe Summerset visited Tommy on the day of the murder. That’s just not possible.”
“Why not?”
“Because he would have told me.”
“He tells you everything, does he?” She jammed her hands in her pockets, took a fast, impatient turn around the room. “How well did he know Brennen?”
“Not well at all. Why do you think he was there that day?”
“Because I have the security discs.” She stood still now, facing him with the desk