Seduction in Death (6 page)

"You could make up for it." She turned her head so that her lips skimmed over his jaw.

"I intend to."

"Intentions are easy." Now she used her teeth. "I prefer action. Right here, right now."

He let her back him toward a long, padded chaise. "What about Lars and Sven?"

"I'll take care of them later."

He grinned, spun her around so she hit the chaise first. "I think you're going to be much too tired for a lap dance."

"I don't know. I'm feeling pretty energetic." She shifted to cradle him between her thighs. And her eyebrows winged up. "Hey, you, too."

"I seem to have caught my second wind," He opened the first button on her shirt, paused. "Isn't this my shirt?"

She winced before she could stop herself. "So?"

"So." Touched, amused, he dispatched the rest of the buttons. "I'm afraid I'll have to have it back."

"Yeah, like you don't already have about five hundred..." She trailed off when his fingers traced over her breasts. "Okay, if you want to be that way about it."

"I do." He touched his lips to hers.

He sank into her, layer by layer. The taste of her mouth, her skin, and the texture of both, aroused, soothed, seduced. The shape of her -- the long legs, the narrow torso, the small, firm breasts -- were an unending delight.

She tugged at the shirts, the one he wore, the one she'd borrowed, and flesh met flesh. She arched; he burrowed.

The night air cooled around them, but blood heated. She sighed as their mouths met again, as lips parted, as tongues slicked in a long wet kiss that slipped from gentle to urgent.

And her sigh was a moan as his mouth began to move restlessly down her body.

More. All. Everything, he thought. Then stopped thinking.

Her throat, her shoulders, the lines and curves of them. He fed on them, then hungrily on her breasts until it seemed he fed on her heart as well.

Shuddering, she bowed to him, offering more while her hands streaked over him to take.

He made her want more than she'd known there was to have. It was always the same. And when his mouth, his hands stroked down her, she gripped the side of the chaise and rode the ferocious storm of pleasure.

She saw the stars wheeling in the sky overhead, felt others explode inside her body. She went limp, she went liquid, and moved against him now in a slow, sinuous rhythm.

Urgency mellowed toward tenderness. A caress, a whisper, a gentle shift, body to body.

Her fingers stroked through his hair. Her lips found the curve of his throat, nuzzling against the pulse that beat for her. When he slipped inside her, she opened her eyes to find him watching her.

No one, she thought as the breath trembled through her lips, no one had ever looked at her as he did. In a way that told her she was the center.

She rose to him, fell away, rose again in a dance that was both patient and pure. The rhythm stayed slow, silky and slow as their lips met again.

She heard, felt him say her name. "Eve."

She wrapped her arms around him, held him close, as they slipped home together.

He unearthed robes from somewhere. Eve sometimes wondered if he had some factory of silkworms buried in the house as he never seemed to run out of silk robes. These were black and just weighty enough to keep a body comfortable on a warm spring night while dining alfresco.

She decided it was hard to beat eating rare steak, from actual cows, drinking a full-bodied red wine at a candlelit table on the roof garden. And all this after stupendous sex.

"It's a pretty good deal," she said between bites.

"What is?"

"Having you back. No fun having a fancy dinner by yourself."

"There's always Summerset."

"Now you're going to spoil my appetite."

He watched her plow through the steak. "I think not. Haven't you eaten today?"

"I had a doughnut, and don't start. What's Pinot Noir forty-nine run?"

"What label?" he retorted just as casually as she had asked.

"Ahh, shit." She closed her eyes until she had the image of the bottle in her head. "Maison de Lac."

"Excellent choice. About five hundred a bottle. I'd have to check to be certain, but that's close."

"One of yours?"

"Yes. Why?"

"It's one of the murder weapons. Do you own the apartment building on Tenth Street?"

"Which apartment building on Tenth Street?"

She hissed, rifled through her mental files, and gave him the address.

"I don't believe I do." He smiled easily. "Now how did I miss that one?"

"Very funny. Well, it's nice to know I can catch a murder someplace in the city you don't own."

"How is a five-hundred-dollar bottle of very nice wine used as a murder weapon? Poison?"

"In a way." She debated about five seconds, then told him.

"He courts her through e-mail," Roarke said. "Romances her with poetry, then slips two of the most despicable illegals ever devised into her drink."

"Drinks," Eve corrected. "He was plying her through the evening."

"And sets the stage -- romance, seduction -- and uses her. Uses her up," he said softly. "All the while telling himself, I'd think, that she was enjoying it. That it wasn't rape, but again, seduction, romance. Non-violent, erotic, and mutually satisfying."

Eve set down her fork. "Why do you say that?"

"You said he was disguised. Once he was in her apartment, and she was already under the influence, he could have done what he wanted with her. If he'd wanted to hurt her, if violence was part of his turn-on, he could have done so. But he added candlelight, music, flowers. And gave her a drug designed to make her aggressive and needy sexually. The illusion that she was not only willing, but passionate. Did he need that for his ego, to be able to perform physically? Or both?"

"That's good. That's good," she said again with a nod. "I haven't been thinking enough like a guy. The disguise is part of the seduction, too. The expensive clothes, the hair and makeup. He wanted to look like..."

She stopped, stared at the exceptional specimen across from her.

"Oh shit, he wanted to look like you."

"Excuse me?"

"Not you you -- he went for really long, curly hair and green eyes. But you as a type. The perfect fantasy."

"Darling, you'll embarrass me."

"Fat chance. What I'm saying is the look was part of his fantasy, too. He wants to be the great lover, the irresistible image. How he looks and what he is, or pretends to be. Rich, traveled, well-read, sophisticated yet hopelessly romantic at the core. There's a certain type of woman who's prime target for that kind."

"But not you, Lieutenant," he said with a smile.

"I just married you for the sex." She picked up her fork again. "And the regular servings of red meat. Which brings me to a little sidebar here. Louise Dimatto lives in the same apartment building."

"Does she?"

"And she was standing on the sidewalk when Bankhead hit the pavement."

He topped off their glasses. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"I swung by the clinic today to bring her up to date. Lot of changes around there."

"Hmm."

"Yeah, hmmm. Why didn't you tell me you'd given the clinic three million dollars?"

He lifted his glass, sipped. "I make quite a number of charitable donations I don't tell you about." He offered a smile. "Would you like to be copied on the data in the future?"

"Don't get smart with me, ace. I'd like to know why you went around me and gave her five times the amount agreed on. I'd like to know why you didn't tell me about this shelter you asked her to give time to."

"I liked the work she was doing."

"Roarke." She laid her hand over his. Firmly. "You started this shelter for me. Did you think I'd be upset, or pissed off or what if you told me about it?"

"I implemented plans for the shelter several months ago. For you," he said and turned his hand over hers so that their fingers linked. "For myself. We had nowhere to go, did we, Eve? And if I had, I wouldn't have gone. Too tough, too angry. Even bleeding from the ears from the last beating, I'd not have gone. But others will."

He lifted their joined hands, studying the way they fit. The way they held. "Still, I'm next to certain I wouldn't have thought to do this thing if it hadn't been for you."

"But you didn't tell me."

"The shelter's not altogether finished," he began. "It's open, and they've taken in what they're calling guests. But there are still details to be completed, some programs that are yet to be fully implemented. It should be -- " He broke off. "No, I didn't tell you. I don't know whether I intended to or not because I couldn't be sure if it would please you or distress you."

"The name pleases me."

"Good."

"And what distresses me, though that's a wimpy word, is that you didn't tell me about something you're doing that makes me really proud of you. I wouldn't have gone to one of those places either," she continued when he only looked at her. "Because he had me so scared of them, because he made them sound like big, dark pits and I was as afraid of the dark as I was of him. So I wouldn't have gone. But others will."

He lifted her hand to his lips. "Yes."

"Now look at you, Dublin's bad boy. Pillar of the community, philanthropist, a leading social conscience of the city."

"Don't you start."

"Tough guy with a big, gooey heart."

"Don't make me hurt you, Eve."

"Hear that?" She cocked her head. "That's the sound of my knees knocking." She sat back, satisfied the sadness she'd seen lingering on his face when he'd first come home was gone. She was really starting to nail this wife thing.

"Okay, now that I've let you fuck me and feed me, thereby satisfying all immediate appetites, I've got work."

"I beg your pardon, but I seem to recall someone promising to tuck me into bed.''

"That'll have to wait, ace. I want to run some probabilities, and see if I can get a line on the umbrella account this guy uses. French deal. La Belle Dame."

"Keats."

"What's that?"

"Not what, you plebeian, who. John Keats. Classic poet, nineteenth century. The poem is 'La Belle Dame Sans Merci.' The beautiful woman without mercy."

"How come you know all this stuff?"

"Amazing, isn't it?" He laughed as he pulled her to her feet. "I'll get you the poem, then we can get to work."

"I don't need -- "

He shut her up with a quick, hard kiss. "How about this? Let's pretend you argued about not needing or wanting civilian help or interference, then I pointed out all the very sane and reasonable advantages of same. We wrangled about it for twenty minutes, then admitting that I can find data more quickly than you, and two heads are better than one, and so on and so forth, we got to work. That'll save some time."

She hissed out a breath. "Okay, but if I catch you looking smug, I'm kicking your ass."

"Darling, that goes without saying."

CHAPTER FIVE

They didn't have his face. Whenever fear tried to creep under his skin like hot ants, he repeated that single and most essential fact.

They did not have his face, so they could not find him.

He could walk the streets, ride in a cab, eat in a restaurant, cruise the clubs. No one would question him or point fingers or run to find a cop.

He had killed, and he was safe.

In its most basic sense, his life hadn't changed. And still, he was afraid.

It had been an accident, of course. Nothing more than an unfortunate miscalculation caused by a perfectly understandable excess of enthusiasm. Actually, if one looked at the overall picture, it had been as much the woman's fault as his.

More, really.

When he said as much, again, while gnawing viciously on his thumbnail, his companion sighed.

"Kevin, if you must pace and repeat yourself do it elsewhere. It's very annoying."

Kevin Morano, a tall, trim young man of twenty-two, threw himself down, drummed his well-manicured fingers on the buttery leather arm of a wingback chair. His face was unlined, his eyes a quiet, unremarkable blue, his hair a medium brown of medium length.

His looks were pleasant if ordinary, marred only by his tendency to sulk at the slightest hint of criticism.

He did so now as he watched his friend, his oldest and most constant companion. From that quarter, at least, he felt he deserved some sympathy and support.

"I think I have some cause to be concerned." There was petulance in his voice, a whine for sympathy. "It all went to hell, Lucias."

"Nonsense." The word was more command than comment. Lucias Dunwood was used to commanding Kevin. It was, in his opinion, the only way they got anything done.

He continued to work on his calculations and measurements in the expansive laboratory he'd designed and equipped to suit both his needs and his wants. As always, he worked with confidence.

As a child he'd been considered a prodigy, a pretty boy with red curls and sparkling eyes with a stunning talent for math and science.

He'd been pampered, spoiled, educated, and praised.

The monster inside the child had been very sly, and very patient.

Like Kevin, he'd been raised in wealth and in privilege. They'd grown up almost like brothers. In a very real sense, as they'd been created in much the same way, for much the same purpose, they considered themselves even more than brothers.

From the beginning, even as infants, they had recognized each other. Had recognized what hid beneath those small, soft bodies.

They'd attended the same schools. Had competed academically, socially, throughout their lives. They fed each other, and found in each other the only one who understood that they were beyond the common and ordinary rules that governed society.

Kevin's mother had birthed him, then turned him over to paid tenders so that she could pursue her own ambitions. Lucias's mother had kept him close, and found in him her only ambition.

And both had been smothered with excesses, indulged in every whim, directed to excel, and taught to expect nothing less than everything.

Now they were men, Lucias was fond of saying, and could do as they pleased.

Neither worked for a living, nor needed to. They found the idea of contributing to a society they disdained laughable. In the town house they'd bought together, they'd created their own world, their own rules.

The primary rule was never, never to be bored.

Lucias turned to a monitor, scanning the various components and equations that rushed over the screen. Yes, he thought, yes. That was correct. That was perfect. And satisfied, he strolled over to the bar, a gleaming antique from the 1940s, and mixed a drink.

"Whiskey and soda," he said. "That'll set you right up."

Kevin only waved a hand, sighed heavily.

"Don't be tedious, Kev."

"Oh pardon me. I'm just a bit out of sorts because I killed someone."

Chuckling, Lucias carried the highball glasses across the room. "It doesn't matter. If it did, I'd be very angry with you. After all, I was very clear on the dosage, and the choice. You weren't to mix the two solutions, Kevin."

"I know it." Irritable, Kevin took the glass, frowned into it. "I got carried away with the whole thing. I've never had a woman so completely under my spell. I didn't know it could be that way."

"That was the point of the game, wasn't it?" Smiling, Lucias lifted his glass in toast, drank. "Women have never been what we wanted them to be for us. Christ, look at our mothers. Mine's spineless and yours is bloodless."

"At least yours shows an interest in you."

"You don't know how lucky you are." Lucias gestured with his glass. "The bitch would hang around my neck like a pendant if I didn't keep away from her. Small wonder dear old Dad spends the majority of his time out of town."

Lucias stretched out his legs. "In any case, back to the point. Women. If they were interested in either of us, they were usually dull intellectuals or brainless money-grubbers. We deserve better, Kevin. We deserve exactly the women we want, as many as we want, and in precisely the way we want them."

"We do. Of course we do. But God, Lucias, when I realized she was dead -- "

"Yes, yes." Lucias sat in the matching chair, leaned forward eagerly. "Tell me again."

"She was so sexy. Beautiful, exotic, confident. The kind of woman I've always wanted. And she couldn't keep her hands off me. I could've had her in the cab, in the elevator. I scored a hell of a lot of points even before we were in her apartment."

"We'll tally them up shortly." Lucias gave an impatient wave. "Go on."

"I had to keep slowing her down. I didn't want it to be over too quickly. I wanted the romance of it, for both of us. The slow steps of seduction. And of course..," The first hints of amusement crossed his face. "To continue to rack up as many points as possible during the allotted time period."

"Naturally," Lucias agreed, and toasted.

"It was working. She let me do whatever I wanted. She enjoyed it."

"Yes. Yes. Then?"

"I told her to wait so I could set the scene in the bedroom. Just as I'd planned. It was perfect. It was all perfect. The lighting, the music, the scent of the air."

"And she surrendered to you."

"Yes." Kevin sighed, letting it come flooding back. "I carried her into the bedroom. I undressed her, so slowly, while she trembled for me. She whimpered for me. But then, she became lethargic."

Lucias rattled the ice in his glass. "You'd given her too much."

"I know it, but I wanted more, damn it." His mouth turned down, his voice was edged with temper. "It wasn't enough for her to lie there like a droid. I wanted her hot, out of control. I deserved that after all I'd done."

"Of course you did. So you gave her the Rabbit."

"I should have diluted it. I know. But I was careful, just a few drops on her tongue. Lucias..." He wet his lips. "She went wild. Hot and screaming. Begging me to take her. She begged me, Lucias. We coupled like animals. Romance to seduction to the primitive. I've never felt like that. When I came it was like being born."

He shuddered, sipped. "When it was over I lay there, spent, drifting with her under me. I kissed her, caressed her so she'd know she'd pleased me. Then I looked down at her. She stared up at me. Just stared and stared. I didn't understand at first, but then... I knew she was dead."

"You were born," Lucias said, "and she died. The ultimate in experiences." He sipped and considered. "Think of it, Kevin. She died much the same way as we were conceived. From a frantic coupling induced by chemicals. One an experiment with superior results. If we do say so ourselves."

"And we do," Kevin agreed with a laugh.

"The other a game. A game well played, for the first round. Now it's my turn."

"What are you talking about?" Kevin leaped to his feet as Lucias rose. "You can't be serious. You can't go through with it."

"Of course I can. Why should you have all the fun?"

"Lucias, for God's sake -- "

"It was stupid of you to throw her out the window. If you'd just left her there, walked out, it would have taken more time for them to find her. Deduction in points for poor strategy. I won't make that mistake."

"What do you mean?" Kevin gripped his arm. "What are you going to do?"

"Kev, we're in this together. Planning and execution. When we started we considered this a bit of recreation, a kind of interlude where we'd expand our sexual experiences. And at a dollar a point, a kind of casual competition to keep us entertained."

"No one was supposed to be hurt."

"And you're not," Lucias pointed out. "Who else matters? It's our game."

"Yes." It was unarguable logic, and calmed him again. "That's true."

"And now, think of it." Lucias spun away, threw out his arms. "In a way it's the most fascinating circle. Birth to death. Don't you see the irony, the beauty of it? The very drugs that were used to help us come into existence are the ones you used to end someone else's existence."

"Yes..." Kevin could feel himself being pulled into the thrill of it. "Yes, but -- "

"The stakes are higher, and so much more interesting." Lucias turned back and gave Kevin's arm a manly and congratulatory squeeze. "Kevin, you're a murderer."

He paled, but the gleam of respect in Lucias's eyes made him want to preen. "It was an accident."

"You're a murderer. How can I be less?"

"You mean to..." Excitement began to ball in his belly. "Deliberately?"

"Look at me. Tell me, and you know you can't lie, not to me, if her death at your hands wasn't part of the thrill. Wasn't, in fact, the biggest part of it?"

"I..." Kevin grabbed his drink, gulped whiskey. "Yes. God, yes."

"Would you deny me the same experience?" He draped an arm around Kevin's shoulders, led him to the elevator. "After all, Kev, they're only women."

Her name was Grace. Such a sweet, old-fashioned name. She worked as a page in the New York City library, delivering discs and precious books to patrons who settled into the reading rooms to study or research or simply pass the time with literature.

She loved poetry.

She was twenty-three, a pretty, delicate blonde with a shy nature and a generous heart. And she was already in love with the man who called himself Dorian and wooed her in the safe world of cyber-space.

She'd told no one about him. It made it more special, more romantic that no one knew. For their first date, she bought a new dress with a long, flowing skirt in blending pastels that made her think of rainbows.

When she left her little apartment to ride the subway uptown, she felt very daring, very adult. Imagine having drinks at the Starview Lounge with the man she was convinced she would marry.

She was certain he'd be handsome. He just had to be. She knew he was rich and articulate and a great traveler, a man who loved books and poetry as she did.

They were soul mates.

She was too happy to be nervous, too sure of the outcome of the evening to have a single doubt.

She would be dead before midnight.

Her name had been Grace, and she had been his first. Not just his first kill, but his first woman. Even Kevin didn't know that he had never been able to complete the sexual act. Until tonight.

He had been a god in that narrow bed in the pathetic little apartment. A god who had made the woman beneath him cry out and weep and beg for more. She had babbled her love for him, had agreed to every demand. And her glassy, drugged eyes had clung adoringly to his face no matter what he'd done to her.

He'd been so surprised she'd been a virgin he'd come too quickly the first time. But she'd said it had been wonderful, she said she'd been waiting for him all her life. She had saved herself for him.

And his very disgust with her aroused him.

When he took the last vial out of his bag, he showed it to her so that the glass and liquid glinted in the candlelight. When he told her to open her mouth, she did so, like a little bird waiting for a worm.

Pounding himself into her, he felt her heart gallop. He felt it burst. And he knew Kevin had been right. It was like being born.

He studied her after she was used up, when her body grew colder on the tangled sheets and rose petals. And knew one thing more. This had been his right. She was every girl who had ever ignored his needs, or turned away when he was unable to perform. Everyone who'd ever refused him, denied him, smirked at him.

She was, in essence, nothing.

He dressed, brushed at the sleeves of his suit jacket, shot his cuffs. Leaving the candles burning, he strolled out. He couldn't wait to get home and tell Kevin.

Eve felt fabulous. Sex and sleep, she decided. It was hard to beat the combo. Then when you started the day with a quick swim, a monster cup of real coffee strong enough to break bricks, you were in fat city.

The way she was feeling, she figured the bad guys had best take a day off.

"You look rested, Lieutenant." Roarke leaned on the jamb of the doorway between their home offices.

"Ready to rock," she said, watching him over the rim of her coffee cup. "I guess you've got a lot of catching up to do."

"I made a pretty good start on that."

She snorted. "Yeah, not bad, but I was thinking of work."

"Ah. I've made a start on that as well." He crossed over, caged her in between his body and the desk. Leaning over, he stroked the cat who'd draped himself over the 'link like a rag.

"You're crowding me, pal, and I'm on the clock here."

"Not for five minutes yet."

She angled her head to look at her wrist unit. "You're right. Five minutes." She slid her arms around his waist. "We ought to be able to..." Just as she caught his bottom lip between her teeth, she heard the approaching footsteps, the unmistakable clomp of cop shoes. "Peabody's early."

"Let's pretend we didn't hear her." Roarke nibbled at her mouth. "That we can't see her." Traced it with his tongue. "That we don't even know her name."

"That's a good plan except -- " When he put sincere effort into the kiss, she was pretty sure she could feel her heart melting. "Down boy," she murmured just as Peabody strode into the room.