Loyalty In Death Part 26

"To catch this when it pops out. If they're as clever as I think, they'd have used an impact chip. Which means if this little darling falls, hits below, it'll take out a good dozen rows and put a very nasty crater in my floor. Very possibly shaking us off our perch here with the backwash. Ready?"

"Oh sure. Absolutely." She rubbed her sweaty hand on her b.u.t.t, then held it out. "So you figure we can still have s.e.x, wherever?"

He glanced up long enough to grin at her. "Oh sure. Absolutely." He took her hand, squeezed it once, then lowered it. You're going to need to lean out a bit. Keep your eye on what I'm doing. Watch the chip."

She emptied her mind, s.h.i.+fted so that her head and shoulders were unsupported. She stared at the little black box, the colorful wires, the dull green of the miniboard.

"This one." He touched the point of his tool to a gray chip no bigger than the first knuckle on a baby's pinkie. "I've got it. Finish the job."

"Don't squeeze it. Be gentle. On three then. One, two." He slid the tip around the edge of the chip, pried it gently. "Three." And it snapped out with a quiet click that sounded like a bomb blast to Eve's ears.

It hit her cupped palm, bounced. She rolled her fingers into a loose fist. "Got it." "Don't move."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Roarke pushed up to his knees, took out a handkerchief. Taking Eve's hand, he uncurled her fingers and placed the chip in the center of the silk, folded it, folded again. "Not much padding, but better than nothing. He slipped it into his back pocket. "As long as I don't sit on it, we'll be fine."

"Be careful. I like your a.s.s too much to see it blown off. Now, how the h.e.l.l do we get off of here?"

"We could go back the way we came." But there was a glint in his eye as he stood. "Or we can have some fun with it." "I don't want any fun."

"I do." He took her hand to help her to her feet, then reached out to grip a rope and pulley. "Do you know what today's matinee was?" "No."

"A revival of that longtime children's favorite, Peter Pan. Hold tight, darling." "Don't." But he'd already pulled her close and in automatic defense, her arms locked around him. "I'll kill you for this." "The pirates look great swinging to stage on these. Inhale," he suggested, then with a laugh swung free.

She felt a rush of wind that took her stomach and flung it behind her. Before her glazed eyes, she watched color and shape fly. The only thing that stopped her from screaming was pride, and even that was nearly used up as they flew over the orchestra pit.

Then the crazy man she was somehow married to closed his mouth silkily over hers. A hot little ball of pure l.u.s.t burned along with terror, and both managed to jelly her knees so they buckled clumsily when her boots. .h.i.t the stage.

"You're dead. You're meat."

He kissed her again and chuckled against her mouth. "It was worth it."

"Nice entrance." Feeney, his face rumpled and weary, walked toward them.

"Now, if you kids have finished playing, we've got two more of these b.a.s.t.a.r.ds still armed."

Eve elbowed Roarke aside and managed to stand on her own. "Civilians out?"

"Yeah, we're clear there. If they stick to deadline, we should make it. Cutting it d.a.m.n close, but -- "

He broke off as the rumble sounded below and the stage shook beneath their feet. Above, lights and cables swung wildly.

"Oh h.e.l.l, oh s.h.i.+t." Eve slapped her communicator into her hand. "Malloy?

Anne? Report. Give me a report. Anne? Do you copy?"

The answering buzz had her gripping Feeney's shoulder, then there was a crackle. "Malloy here. We had it contained. No injuries, no casualties. The timer went and we had to contain and detonate. Repeat, no injuries. But this understage area is one holy mess."

"Okay. All right." Eve rubbed a hand over her face. "Status?" "We got them all, Dallas. This building's clean."

"Report to the conference room at Central when you're secured here. Good work." She broke transmission, spared Roarke a quick glance. "You're with me, pal." She offered Feeney a brief nod before striding off. "We'll need all security data on this building, a complete list of personnel -- techs, performers, maintenance, managerial. Everyone."

"I ordered that for you when I learned the target. It should be waiting for you at Central." "Fine. Then you can go back to buying the planet and stay out of my hair. Give me the chip." He lifted a brow. "What chip?"

"Don't be cute. Let me have the impact chip or whatever it's called."

"Oh, that chip." With the appearance of cooperation, he took out his handkerchief, unfolded it. And revealed nothing. "I seem to have lost it somewhere."

"Like h.e.l.l. Give me the G.o.dd.a.m.n chip. Roarke. It's evidence." Smiling blandly, he shook the handkerchief, shrugged.

She moved in until her toes b.u.mped his. "Give me the d.a.m.n thing, Roarke."

She hissed it out. "Before I order you strip-searched."

"You can't do that without a warrant. Unless, of course, you'd like to do it yourself, in which case I'd be more than delighted to waive a few of my civil rights."

"This is an official investigation."

"It was my property, twice. My woman, twice." His eyes had gone very cool.

"You know where to find me if you need me, Lieutenant." She grabbed his arm.

"If 'my woman' is your new way of saying 'my wife,' I don't like it any better."

"I didn't think you would." He gave her a friendly kiss on the brow. "See you at home."

She didn't bother to snarl. Instead, she contacted Peabody to let the rest of the team know they were heading in.

Clarissa raced into the workroom where Zeke was quietly fas.h.i.+oning the grooves for the tongue-and-groove joints on his cabinet. He glanced up in surprise, noted that her eyes were huge, her face flushed.

"Did you hear?" she demanded. "Someone tried to set off a bomb in Radio City." "In the theater?" His brow furrowed as he set down his tools. "Why?" "I don't know. Money or something, I suppose." She brushed a hand over her hair. "Oh, you're not using the entertainment center. I thought you would have heard. They aren't giving out any real details, just that the building's been secured and there's no danger."

She fluttered her hands as if she didn't know what to do with them now. "I didn't mean to interrupt your work." "It's all right. That's such a beautiful old place. Why would anyone want to destroy it?"

"People are so cruel." She ran a fingertip along one of the smoothly sanded boards he had stacked on a worktable. "Sometimes there's no reason for it at all. It just is. I used to go to the Christmas show there every year. My parents would take me." She smiled a little. "Good memories. I suppose that's why I got so upset when I heard the news. Well, I should let you get back to work."

"I was about to take a break." She was lonely -- and more. He was sure of it.

Out of politeness, he avoided looking beyond, scanning her aura. He could see enough in her face. She'd used enhancers carefully, but the faint bruise on her cheek showed, as did the results of weeping.

He opened his lunch sack, took out his bottle of juice. "Would you like a drink?"

"No. Yes. Yes, I suppose I would. You don't have to bring your lunch Zeke. The AutoChef is fully stocked." "I'm sort of used to my own." Because he sensed she needed it, he smiled. "Got any gla.s.ses?" "Oh, of course." She walked to a doorway, disappeared through it.

He tried not to pay close attention. Really, he did. But it was such a pleasure to watch her move. All that nervous energy just under the seamless grace.

She was so tiny, so beautiful.

So sad.

Everything inside him wanted to comfort her.

She came back with two tall, clear gla.s.ses, then set them down so she could study his work. "You've already done so much. I've never seen the stages of something being built by hand, but I thought it would take much more time."

"It's just a matter of sticking with it."

"You love what you do." She looked back at him, her eyes just a little too bright, her smile just a little too wide. "It shows. I fell in love with your work the first time I saw it. With the heart of it."

She stopped, laughed at herself. "That sounds ridiculous. I'm always saying something ridiculous."

"No, it's not. It's what matters to me, anyway." He picked up a gla.s.s he'd filled, offered it. He didn't feel tongue-tied and miserably shy around her as he often did with women. She needed a friend, and that made all the difference.

"My father taught me that whatever you put of yourself in your work, you get back twice over."

"That's nice." Her smile softened. "It's so important to have family. I miss mine. I lost my parents a dozen years ago and still miss them." "I'm sorry."

"So am I." She sipped the juice, stopped, sipped again. "Why, this is wonderful. What is it?" "It's just one of my mother's recipes. Mixed fruit, heavy on the mango."

"Well, it's marvelous. I drink entirely too much coffee. I'd be better off with this." "I'll bring you a jug if you like."

"That's kind of you, Zeke. You're a kind man." She laid a hand over his. As their eyes met, he felt his heart stumble in his chest, fall flat. Then she slid her hand, and her gaze, aside. "It, ah, smells wonderful in here. The wood."

All he could smell was her perfume, as soft and delicate as her skin. The back of his hand throbbed where her fingers had skimmed it. "You've hurt yourself, Mrs. Branson."