The In Death Collection Books 6-10 - J. D. Robb [643]
But apparently, she didn’t intend to stay that way.
“They all hated him.” She scooted up to straddle him and gave Roarke a very pleasant view of slender torso and firm breasts. “Or at least actively disliked him. Maybe feared him,” she considered. “Nobody in that cast is particularly sorry to see him dead. Several of the actors had worked with each other before. Had histories, links, connections. To Draco, to each other. Maybe it was more than one of them.”
“Murder on the Orient Express.”
“What’s that? An Asian transpo system?”
“No, darling, it’s yet another play by Dame Christie. She seems to be popping up. A man is murdered in his bed, in the sleeping car of a train. Stabbed. Repeatedly. Among the passengers is a very clever detective, not nearly as attractive as my cop,” he added.
“What does a make-believe dead guy on a train have to do with my case?”
“Just enhancing your theory. In this fictional murder, there were a number of varied and seemingly unconnected passengers. However, our dogged detective refused to take such matters at face value, poked around, and discovered links, connections, histories. Disguises and deceptions,” he added. “When he did, he discovered they all had motives for murder.”
“Interesting. Who did it?”
“All of them.” When her eyes narrowed, he sat up, wrapped his arms around her. “Each of them took a turn with the knife, plunging it into his unconscious body in return for the wrong he’d done to them.”
“Pretty gruesome. And pretty cagey. No one could betray anyone else without betraying themselves. They back up each other’s alibis. Play the role,” she murmured.
“Very nearly a perfect murder.”
“There are no perfect murders. There are always mistakes, with the murder itself the biggest of them.”
“Spoken like a cop.”
“I am a cop. And I’m going back to work.”
She wiggled away, slid off the bed, and once again reached down for the dress.
“You put that red number back on, baby, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”
“Simmer down. I’m not strolling around naked. You never know where Summerset’s skulking.” She began pulling the dress up and glanced around the room. “I guess we should clean up some.”
“Why?”
“Because it looks like we’ve—”
“Had a very enjoyable evening,” Roarke finished. “This may shock you, but Summerset knows we have sex.”
“Don’t mention his name and sex in the same sentence. Gives me the creeps. I’m going to grab a shower, then work awhile.”
“All right. I’ll join you.”
“Uh-uh. I’m not showering with you, ace. I know your games.”
“I won’t lay a hand on you.”
He didn’t say anything about his mouth.
“What do you do? Take a pill?”
Limber, refreshed, and utterly satisfied, Roarke buttoned his shirt. “You’re stimulation enough.”
“Apparently.”
He took her hand, led her to the elevator, requested her office.
The cat was stretched across her sleep chair and gave a twitch of his tail when they walked in.
“Coffee?” Roarke asked.
“Yeah, thanks.”
The minute he turned toward the kitchen, Galahad leaped down and bolted into the room ahead of him. Eve heard the single demanding meow.
She sat at her desk, stared at her computer, tapped her fingers.
“Computer, Draco case file. Cross-reference task. Find and list any and all connections, professional, personal, medical, financial, criminal, civil, between cast members.”
Working . . .
“I assumed you ran that already.”
She glanced over as Roarke came back with coffee. “I’m running it again, with a few added details.
“Computer, highlight any name with sealed files, all areas.”
That information requires authorization. Please submit same . . .
“Would you like me to get around that little hitch for you?”
She made a low sound, a definite warning. Roarke merely shrugged and sipped his coffee.
“Authorization Code Yellow, slash Dallas, slash five-oh-six. Request from Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, regarding double homicide. You are authorized to flag sealeds.”
Authorization correct. Sealeds will be flagged. Data