In Death 09 - Loyalty in Death

it open. She leaned out, had to lean out and breathe. The frigid air stung her cheeks, scraped her throat like little bits of ice.
    She wouldn't go back there, she promised herself. Couldn't afford to go back there. She would stay in the now. In control.
    "She talks about Zeke," Peabody called out. "It goes on -- pretty flowery love language here -- about meeting him, how she felt when she knew he was coming."
    She looked over, relieved to see color in Eve's face again, though she suspected it was mostly from the slap of cold wind. "She talks about going down to the workshop; it runs with what they'd told us before. Then she's saying that she found her strength because of him, and was leaving her husband at last. It stops with her writing that she was packed and about to call Zeke and begin her real life."
    "She covered her ass. If she decided not to run straight off, she'd have the disc, dated and logged, as verification of the story. I guess she figured Testing was too big a risk."
    "Doesn't help us any. Everything here's just as you'd expect it to be if her story was on the up."
    "But it's not, so there's more. This is a front." Eve closed the window, turned to wander the room. "This is image -- what do you call it -- veneer. Under this we've got a tough, determined, bloodthirsty woman who wants to be treated like a goddess. With awe and fear. She's not pink." Eve lifted a satin pillow, tossed it. "She's red; rich, powerful red. She's no delicate flower. She's poison -- exotic, sensual, but poison. She wouldn't have spent any more time in this room than it would have taken to set it up."
    Eve stopped, waiting for her racing mind to slow. Damn chemicals, she thought. She deliberately closed her eyes. "She'd come in here, probably sneer at all the little trinkets. False front. Society's trappings. She hates it. Uses it. She goes for the bold, but this is part of the stage. She's been acting for years. This room is to show people how soft and female she is, but it isn't where she works."
    "The rest of the house is guest rooms, baths, living and kitchen area." Peabody sat where she was, watching Eve, watching her work. Watching her mind. "If she didn't work here, then where?"
    "Close." Eve opened her eyes, studied the little closet. "Master bedroom's on the other side of that wall, right?"
    "Yeah. Big he and she walk-in closet takes up the facing wall."
    "All the closets are big. Except this one. Why would she settle for this little corner here?" She squeezed herself in, started running fingers over the wall. "Go around the other side, into the closet. Knock on the wall. Give it three good raps, and come back."
    While she waited, Eve crouched, dug her mini-goggles out of her field kit.
    "Why did I do that?" Peabody asked when she came back.
    "You knock hard?"
    "Yes, sir. Rap, rap, rap. Stung my knuckles."
    "I didn't hear a thing. There's got to be a mechanism, a control."
    "Hidden room?" Peabody tried to angle it. "That's so iced."
    "Back up, you're in my light. It's got to be here. Wait. Hell. Give me something to pry with."
    "I've got something." Peabody dug in her bag for her Swiss Army knife, selected the slim opener, and offered it.
    "Were you a Girl Scout?"
    "All the way to Eagle level, sir."
    Eve grunted, slid the opener into the minute crack in the glossy ivory wall. It slipped out twice before she got some leverage, and hissing out an oath, she shoved it hard. The little door swung open to reveal a control panel.
    "Okay, let's bypass this sucker." She worked for five cramped minutes, shifted her weight on her knees, wiped sweat off her face, and started again.
    "Why don't you let me have a go at it, Dallas?"
    "You don't know any more about electronics than I do. Hell with it. Step back." She rose, her shoulder bumping solidly into Peabody's nose. Peabody had a minute to yelp, check for blood, then Eve had her weapon out.
    "Oh, sir, you don't need to -- "
    Eve blasted the control lock. Circuits sizzled, chips flew, and the panel of ivory slid smoothly apart.
    "What's that fairy tale code? Open sesame." Eve stepped inside a small, pie-slice room, eyed the sleek control panel, the snazzy equipment that reminded her, a bit uncomfortably, of what Roarke had behind a locked door. "This," Eve said, "is where Cassandra worked."
    She ran her fingers over controls, tried manual and verbal commands. The machines stayed silent.
    "They'll be passcoded," she murmured, "and unregistered, and likely have a couple of traps