In Death 05 - Ceremony in Death

face. "You need food and a decent night's sleep, so you can do what you need to do."
    "What I need to do?"
    "Close the case. Once you have, you can put all this behind you."
    "Yeah." She pushed her hands over her hot, wet cheeks. "Close the case. That's the bottom line." She hissed out a breath. "That's the goddamn job."
    "That's justice." He brushed a thumb over the dent in her chin. "Isn't it?"
    She looked up at him, her eyes reddened, swollen, exhausted. "I don't know anymore."
    She didn't eat, and he didn't press her. There had been grief in his life, and he knew food wasn't the answer. He'd considered browbeating her into taking a sedative. That, he knew, would have been an ugly business. So he was grateful when she went to bed early. He made some excuse about a conference call.
    From his office, he watched on the monitor until her restless twists and turns stopped, and she slept. What he had to do would take no more than an hour or two. He doubted she'd surface before then and miss him.
    He'd never been to Feeney's. The apartment building was comfortably shabby, well-secured, and unpretentious. Roarke thought it suited the man. Because he didn't want to risk being refused entrance, he bypassed the security buzzer and entrance locks.
    That suited him.
    He strolled through the tiny lobby, caught the faint scent of a recent insect extermination. Though he approved the intent, he disliked the lingering reminder of it, and made a note to have it dealt with.
    After all, he owned the building.
    He stepped into an elevator, requested the third floor. He noticed when he stepped out again that the corridor carpet could use replacing. But it was well lit, the tiny beam on the security cameras blinking efficiently. The walls were clean and thick enough to muffle all but a faint hum of life behind closed doors.
    A low drift of music, a quick rumble of laughter, a fretful baby's nighttime wail. Life, Roarke thought, and a pleasant one. He rang the bell at Feeney's door and waited.
    His eyes stared soberly at the peep screen, continued to stare when Feeney's irritated voice came through the intercom.
    "What the hell do you want? You slumming?"
    "I don't think this building qualifies as a slum."
    "Anything does, compared to that palace you live in."
    "Do you want to discuss the difference in our living arrangements through the door, or are you going to ask me in?"
    "I asked what you want."
    "You know why I'm here." He quirked a brow, making sure it was just insulting enough. "You've got guts enough to face me, don't you, Feeney?"
    It had, as Roarke had expected, the right effect. The door swung open. Feeney stood, blocking entrance with his compact body braced for war, his rumpled face bright with fury. "It's none of your fucking business."
    "On the contrary." Roarke stood where he was, kept his voice even. "It's very much my fucking business. But I don't believe it's any of your neighbors'."
    Teeth clenched, Feeney stepped back. "Come in and say what you have to say, then get the hell out."
    "Is your wife at home?" Roarke asked when Feeney slammed the door at his back.
    "She's got a girl's thing tonight." Feeney inclined his head, much like a bull, Roarke thought, preparing to charge. "You want to take a shot at me, you go ahead. I wouldn't mind pounding that pretty face of yours."
    "Christ Jesus, she's just like you." Shaking his head, Roarke wandered the living room. Homey, he decided. Not quite tidy. The viewing screen was set on the ball game, the sound muted. The batter swung, the ball flew in total silence. "What's the score?"
    "Yanks are up by one, bottom of the seventh." He caught himself on the verge of offering Roarke a beer, then stiffened again. "She told you, didn't she? Filled you in right from the get-go."
    "She wasn't under orders not to. And she thought I could help."
    He could help, Feeney thought and tasted bitterness. Her rich, fancy husband could help, but not her former trainer, not her former partner. Not the man who had worked side by side with her with pride, and goddamn it, affection, for ten years. "Doesn't make you less of a civilian." His tired eyes went broody. "You didn't even know Frank."
    "No, I didn't. But Eve did. She cared."
    "We'd been partners, me and Frank. We were friends. Family. She had no business bumping me out of it. That's how I feel, that's what I told her."
    "I'm sure you did." Roarke turned away from the view screen, looked Feeney dead in the eye. "And however you told her, it