Celebrity in Death

she found her rhythm again, something snaked around her ankle. The next thing she knew she hung upside down, dangling from a rope from a tree branch.
    Somewhere, drums began to beat.
    Probably cannibals, she thought. It would figure.
    By the time she levered herself up—oh, her aching abs—and cut the rope, landed hard on the forest floor, the drums sounded a whole lot closer.
    She caught her breath, glanced at the map to choose directions.
    An arrow dug with a thwack into the tree an inch away from her braced hand.
    She ran hard. Climbed a mountain of stones, fell into a bog, jumped off a cliff into a river to avoid a really big bear.
    Her next reward—a flashlight—came in handy when dark fell like an avalanche.
    Wet, winded, momentarily lost, she found herself surprised when the screen flashed END TIME.
    She pulled off her goggles, turned to Roarke, and was pleased to find him as winded as she.
    Plus, she’d edged his score by three points.
    “Apparently I have a broken arm,” he told her. “It cost me.”
    “I was nearly snack food for a bear, and lost my knife when I fell into a bog. That was fun.”
    He grinned. “It was. Want another thirty?”
    She’d planned on an hour, she reminded herself. So why not?
    “You’re on. I want a quick swim after, then I’ve got work. Questions. Lots of them. Maybe if I bounce some off you, you’ll have an answer.”
    “All right then. Loser deals with dinner. I’ve a mind for red meat after this.”
    “Again, you’re on.”
    “From the beginning, or where we left it?”
    “Where we left it.”
    A t the end of thirty, she slid down to the floor—limp.
    “I was attacked by a pig.”
    “A boar,” Roarke corrected.
    “A mutant pig. I always knew there were mutant pigs with really sharp teeth in the woods. Why do people like to go there? And there was a meadow. Pretty. It looked safe. Snakes. I should’ve known there’d be snakes.”
    “I had a machete. It came in handy.” Seated beside her, he studied the tallies. “Make my steak rare, would you, darling?”
    “Crap. I was kicking ass here until the pig. Fucker cost me the game. And neither of us got to the goal.”
    “Next time.” He pushed to his feet, offered her his hand. “Still want that swim?” he asked as he pulled her up.
    “I had one. In a river. With jagged rocks. There may have been alligators.” She rolled her shoulders. “Hell of a workout, though.”
    She grabbed a shower instead of a swim. And fair being fair, put the meal together. With fair being fair, she put it together in her office. But didn’t object when Roarke opened a bottle of wine.
    They’d earned it.
    “So.” She took a long, slow drink. “Could you say who you heard, maybe who you didn’t hear, while we were in the theater watching the gag reel?”
    “Not for certain, no. I wasn’t paying attention.”
    “Me either. That part of my to-do list was mostly a bust. I talked to an LC Asner used for palship and sex.”
    “Always nice to have sex with a pal.”
    “She has sex with her pal the afternoon Asner was murdered, then made him a sandwich.”
    “Now that is a pal.”
    “Says the man eating steak.”
    “Where’s my sex?”
    “You ought to be able to find it.” She sent him an easy smile. “So, Asner told the sandwich-making LC he’d decided to play something straight, even though it might put him in a squeeze.”
    “Interesting. Do you think he’d decided to turn over the recording?”
    “Maybe. Piecing together his state of mind—from his secretary, conversations he had with his lawyer friend, and now this—I’m leaningtoward him learning his client, who I’m betting he made as Harris, had been murdered, which caused him to rethink any possible bonus round with the recording. Play it straight, turn it in, retire, and move to the islands.”
    “But end up dead instead.”
    “Yeah. His sex pal said he got tagged on his ’link right before he left. She didn’t hear the conversation, except that he agreed to meet the caller in his office that night at ten.”
    “Indicating his killer contacted him.”
    “Exactly. Indicating the killer knew about him, and how to contact him.”
    “From Harris’s ’link?”
    It was good to have someone who connected the dots. “That’s my bet. He arranges the meet, kills Asner, hauls out the files and electronics—covering all the bases. People kill for all sorts of strange reasons, but I’m not buying this is over that recording.”
    “You