In Death 04 - Rapture in Death

identify."
    Working... Incomplete data... Searching medical files. Please wait for analysis.
    "That's what they all say." She pushed away from the console to pace while the computer juggled its brain. When the door opened, she spun around on her heel and very nearly flushed when Roarke walked in.
    "Hello, Lieutenant."
    "Hi." She dipped her hands in her pockets. "I -- ah -- had some trouble with my unit at Cop Central. I needed this analysis, so I... I can put a hold on it if you need the room."
    "No need for that." Her obvious discomfort amused him. He strolled to her, leaned down, and kissed her lightly. "And no need for you to fumble through an explanation as to why you're using the equipment. Digging for secrets?"
    "No. Not the way you mean." The fact that he was grinning at her increased the embarrassment level. "I needed something a little more competent than the tin cans we have at Cop Central, and I figured you'd be gone for a couple more hours."
    "I got an early transport back. Need some help with this?"
    "No. I don't know. Maybe. Stop grinning at me."
    "Was I?" His grin only widened as he slid his arms around her and tucked his hands in the back pockets of her jeans. "How was your lunch with Dr. Mira?"
    She scowled. "Do you know everything?"
    "I try. Actually, I had a quick meeting with William, and he mentioned that Reeanna had run into you and the doctor. Business or pleasure?"
    "Both, I guess." Her brows lifted as his hands got busy on her butt. "I'm on duty, Roarke. Your hands are currently rubbing the ass of a working cop."
    "That only makes it more exciting." He shifted to nibble her neck. "Want to break a few laws?"
    "I already am." But she turned her head instinctively to give him better access.
    "Then what are a few more?" he murmured and slid his hand out of her pocket and around her body to cup her breast. "I love the feel of you." His mouth was trailing along her jawline toward her mouth when the computer beeped.
    Analysis complete. Display or audio?
    "Display," Eve ordered and wiggled free.
    "Damn," Roarke sighed. "I was so close."
    "What the hell is this?" Hands fisted on her hips, Eve scanned the display on the view screen. "It's gibberish. Fucking gibberish."
    Resigned, Roarke sat on the edge of the console and studied the display himself. "It's technical; medical terms, primarily. A bit out of my realm. A burn, electronic in origin. Does that make sense?"
    "I don't know." Thoughtfully, she tugged on her ear. "Does it make sense for a couple of dead guys to have an electric burn hole in the frontal lobe of their brains?"
    "Some fumbling with the equipment during autopsy?" Roarke suggested.
    "No." Slowly, she shook her head. "Not on two of them, examined by different MEs in different morgues. And they're not surface flaws. They're inside the brain. Microscopic pinpricks."
    "What's the relationship between the two men?"
    "None. Absolutely none." She hesitated, then shrugged. He was already involved in a peripheral manner, why not drag him into the center? "One of the men is yours," she told him. "The autotronics engineer from the Olympus Resort."
    "Mathias?" Roarke pushed off the console, his half-amused, half-intrigued expression going dark. "Why are you investigating a suicide on Olympus?"
    "I'm not, officially. It's a hunch, that's all. The other brain your fancy equipment's analyzing is Fitzhugh's. And if Peabody can untangle the red tape, I'll plug in Senator Pearly's."
    "And you expect to find this microscopic burn in the senator's brain?"
    "You're a quick study, Roarke. I've always admired that about you."
    "Why?"
    "Because it's annoying to have to explain everything step by step."
    His eyes narrowed. "Eve."
    "All right." She held up her hands, let them fall. "Fitzhugh just didn't strike me as the type to do himself. I couldn't close the case until I'd explored all the options. I've been running out of options. I might have put it to bed anyway, but I kept thinking about that kid hanging himself."
    She began to pace restlessly. "No predisposition there, either. No obvious motive, no known enemies. He just has himself a snack and makes a noose. Then I heard about the senator. That makes three suicides without logical explanations. Now, for people like Fitzhugh and the senator, with their kind of financial base, there's counseling at the snap of a finger. Or in cases of terminal illness -- physical or emotional -- voluntary self-termination facilities. But they took themselves out in