In Death 04 - Rapture in Death

Summerset. "I want you to watch Roarke."
    "I beg your pardon?"
    "Listen to me." Her fingers dug through his neat jacket and into bone. "It's important. He could be in trouble. I don't want you to let him out of your sight until at least an hour after the performance. If anything happens to him, I'll fry your ass. Understood?"
    Not in the least, but he did understand her urgency. "Very well." He spoke with dignity, crossed the room with grace, but his nerves were shattered.
    Confident that Summerset would watch Roarke like a mother hawk, she wound her way through the audience again until she stood on the front edge of the group. She applauded with the rest, schooled herself to flash a supportive smile as Mavis wound up for the encore. And when the next round of applause rang out, she slipped toward Jess and skirted the controls.
    "Quite a triumph," she murmured.
    "I told you, she's a treasure." There was a wicked gleam in his eyes as he smiled up at her. "You and Roarke missed a couple of numbers."
    "Some personal business," she said levelly. "I really need to talk to you, Jess. About your music."
    "Glad to. Nothing I like better."
    "Now, if you don't mind. Let's go someplace a little more private."
    "Sure." He shut down his console, locked on the code. "It's your party."
    "Damn right it is," she murmured, and led the way.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
    She chose the elevator, wanting to move quickly and privately. She programmed it for the short vertical glide, then the horizontal shift from wing to wing.
    "I've got to tell you, you and Roarke have a fantastic place here. Just ultra mag."
    "Oh, it'll do until we find something bigger." She said it dryly and refused to let his laughter grate on her nerves. "Tell me, Jess, did you decide to work with Mavis, seriously, before or after you knew the connection with Roarke?"
    "I told you, Mavis is one in a million. Only had to see her a couple of times, doing a short gig down at the Down and Dirty to know we'd meld well." The grin flashed. Charming. A choirboy holding a frog under his robe. "It sure didn't hurt a thing that she had a contact like Roarke on her side. But she had to have the goods."
    "But you knew about the connection before."
    He moved a shoulder. "I'd heard about it. That's why I went down to see her. That kind of club isn't my usual venue. But she flashed for me. If I can move her into some hot gigs, then if Roarke, or someone of his ilk, let's say, is interested in investing in a coming act, it smooths everybody."
    "You're smooth, Jess." She stepped out of the car when the doors slid open. "Real smooth."
    "Like I said, I've been shaking gigs since I was a kid. I think I got it down." He looked around the corridor as she led the way. Old art, the real thing, he noted, pricey wood, carpet some craftsman had worn his fingers weaving a century before.
    This was money, he thought. The kind that built empires.
    At the doorway of her office, she turned. "I don't know how much he's got," she said, reading him perfectly. "And I don't really care."
    The smile still in place, he lifted a brow, lowered his gaze to the fat tear-shaped diamond lying against the bodice of soft midnight silk. "But you ain't wearing paste and rags, sugar."
    "I have, and I might again. And Jess?" She flicked off the coded lock. "Don't call me sugar."
    Eve glided in, nodded to a puzzled but attentive Peabody. "Have a seat," she told Jess and moved directly to her desk.
    "Nice milieu. Well, hi, sweetie." He couldn't for the life of him remember her name, but he beamed at Peabody as if they were old, dear friends. "Did you catch the act?"
    "Most of it."
    He dropped into a chair. "So, what do you think?"
    "I thought it was great. You and Mavis really put on a show." She risked a smile, not at all sure what Eve wanted from her. "I'm ready to buy the first disc."
    "That's what I like to hear. Can a guy get a drink in here?" he asked Eve. "I like to stay dry before a performance, and I'm more than ready to get wet."
    "No problem. What would you like?"
    "That champagne looked good."
    "Peabody, there should be a bottle in the kitchen. Pour our guest here a glass of wine, will you? And why don't you get us some coffee?"
    She leaned back and considered. Technically, she should record from this point, but she wanted a lead-in before she went on log. "Someone like you, who designs music and the atmosphere surrounding it, has to be as much technician as artist, right? That's what you were explaining to me before