In Death 03 - Immortal in Death

worth killing for. What will it give us without it?"
    "Identify with known data," Roarke ordered.
    FORMULA EQUALS STIMULANT WITH HALLUCINOGENIC PROPERTIES. ORGANIC BASE. WILL ENTER BLOODSTREAM QUICKLY TO AFFECT NERVOUS SYSTEM.
    "Results?"
    INCOMPLETE DATA.
    "Hell. Probable results with known data."
    WILL CAUSE FEELINGS OF EUPHORIA, PARANOIA, SEXUAL APPETITE, DELUSIONS OF PHYSICAL AND MENTAL POWERS. DOSAGE OF 55 MG INTO AVERAGE HUMAN OF 130 POUNDS WILL LAST FOUR TO SIX HOURS. DOSAGE OF MORE THAN 100 MG WILL CAUSE DEATH IN 87. 3 PERCENT OF USERS. SUBSTANCE SIMILAR TO THR-50, AKA ZEUS, WITH ADDITION OF STIMULANT TO ENHANCE SEXUAL ABILITY AND CELL REGENERATION.
    "It's not that different," Eve murmured. "It's not that important. We've already got chemi-heads mixing Zeus with Erotica. It's a nasty combination, accounts for most of the rapes in the city, but it's not secret or particularly profitable. Not when any average junkie can mix it up in a porta-lab."
    "Except for the unknown. Cell regeneration." His brow quirked. "The fabled Fountain of Youth."
    "Anybody with enough credits can get youth treatments."
    "But they're temporary," Roarke pointed out. "You have to go back at regular intervals. Bio peels and antiaging injections are expensive, time-consuming, and often uncomfortable. And standard treatments don't have all the extra punches of this."
    "Whatever the unknown is, it makes the whole works bigger, or deadlier. Or, as you said, more marketable."
    "You've got the powder," Roarke pointed out.
    "Yeah, and this might get the lab to shag their butts a bit. It's still going to take more time than I have."
    "Can you get me a sample of it?" He swiveled in his chair and smiled up at her. "Not to denigrate your police labs, Lieutenant, but mine might prove a shade more sophisticated."
    "It's evidence."
    His brow lifted.
    "Roarke, do you know how far I've already crossed the line getting you to do this?" She blew out a breath, remembered Boomer's face, his arm. "Hell with it. I'll try."
    "Good. Disengage." The computer shut down silently. "Now will you go to sleep?"
    "For a couple hours." She allowed the fatigue to seep back, linked her arms around his neck. "You going to tuck me in again?"
    "All right." He hitched up her hips so that her legs wrapped around him. "But this time you stay where I tuck you."
    "You know, Roarke, my heart just flutters when you get masterful."
    "Wait till I get you back in bed. It's going to flutter plenty."
    She laughed, nuzzled her head on his shoulder, and was asleep before the elevator finished its descent.

CHAPTER FOUR
    It was dead dark when the 'link beside Eve's head beeped. The cop in her surfaced first, smacked the engage, and reared up.
    "Dallas."
    "Dallas, oh God, Dallas. I need help."
    The woman in her caught up with the cop in a snap and stared at Mavis's image on screen. "Lights," she ordered, and the room brightened so that she could see clearly. The white face, a blackening bruise just under the eye, raw, bleeding scrapes on the cheek, wild disheveled hair.
    "Mavis. What is it? Where are you?"
    "You've got to come." Her breath hitched and snarled. Her eyes were too glazed with shock to allow tears. "Hurry. Hurry, please. I think she's dead and I don't know what to do."
    Eve didn't ask for location again, but punched in an order to trace transmission. Recognizing Leonardo's address when it blipped on under Mavis's face, she kept her voice calm and firm.
    "Stay where you are. Don't touch anything. You understand me? Don't touch anything, and don't let anyone in but me. Mavis?"
    "Yes, yes. I will. I won't. Hurry. It's so awful."
    "I'm on my way." When she turned, Roarke was already up and pulling on his trousers.
    "I'll go with you."
    She didn't argue. In five minutes flat they were on the road and speeding through the deepest slice of night. Empty streets gave way to the constant swarm of tourists in midtown, the flash of video billboards offering every pleasure and purchase known to man, then to the trendy insomniacs of the Village who loitered over minuscule cups of flavored coffee and lofty discussions in outdoor cafes, and finally, to the sleepy habitats of the artists.
    Other than to find out their destination, Roarke didn't ask questions, and she was grateful for it. She could see Mavis's face in her mind, white and terrified. Worse, much worse, she saw Mavis's hand, trembling. And the smear that had darkened it had been blood.
    A high wind that hinted of a brewing storm