In Death 10 - Witness in Death

play." He lifted a shoulder, helped himself to what was left of Eve's coffee.
    "When I do my run on the victim, am I going to find illegals charges?"
    "Probably. If Areena was still using, she was discreet and professional. No missed rehearsals, no temperamental scenes. I wouldn't use the term discreet in the same sentence with Draco, but he did his job. And if they were involved in a romantic or sexual fashion, they kept it behind locked doors."
    "Nobody's ever discreet enough. If they were banging each other, someone knew. And if they were rolling around sweaty together or popping illegals, it adds some angles."
    "Do you want me to find out?"
    She got to her feet, leaned forward until her nose bumped his. "No. Now, if there's any part of that you didn't understand, let me repeat. No. Got it?"
    "I believe I do. I have a meeting in San Francisco in a few hours. Summerset knows how to reach me if you need to."
    Her scowl at the mention of Roarke's tight-assed aide de camp was instant and heartfelt. "I won't need to."
    "I should be home before nine." He rose, sliding his hands up the sides of her body, then down again to her hips. "I'll call if I'll be any later."
    She understood he was reassuring her she wouldn't be alone at night -- alone where the nightmares chased her. "You don't have to worry about me."
    "I like to."
    He bent his head to give her a light kiss, but she changed the tone, the texture, by pulling him close, her mouth hot and greedy. Her hands were fisted in his hair, and her blood was up before she released him.
    There was satisfaction in seeing his eyes had darkened and his breath quickened. "Well. What was that for?"
    "I like to," she said and picked up her empty coffee cup. "See you." She gave him a smile over her shoulder as she went to the kitchen for a refill.
    Eve screened her calls on her home unit, her palm unit, her vehicle, and her equipment in her office at Central. If her math held, she'd received twenty-three calls from reporters, which ran the gamut from charm, pleas, vague threats, and minor bribes, since midnight. Six of them, at varying locations and with increasing levels of frustration and urgency, were from Nadine Furst at Channel 75.
    They might have been friends, which never failed to surprise Eve, but for both of them business was business. Nadine wanted an exclusive one-on-one with the primary investigator in the death of Richard Draco. Eve just wanted his killer.
    She dumped each and every one of the calls from the media, signaled Peabody to stand by, and played the terse message from her commanding officer.
    That one was simple enough. His office. Now.
    It was still shy of eight A.M.
    Commander Whitney didn't keep her waiting. His aide gestured Eve straight into his office where Whitney sat behind his desk, juggling his own communications.
    His big hands tapped the surface of his desk impatiently, one lifting to jab a finger at a chair as she entered. He continued to man his tele-link, his broad, dark face betraying nothing, his voice calm and brisk.
    "We'll brief the press at two. No, sir, it cannot be done any sooner. I'm well aware Richard Draco was a prominent celebrity and the media is demanding details. We'll accommodate them at two. The primary will be prepared. Her report is on my desk," he said, lifting a brow at Eve.
    She rose quickly, set a disc at his fingertips.
    "I'll contact you as soon as I've analyzed the situation." For the first time since Eve entered, irritation rippled over Whitney's face. "Mayor Bianci, whether or not Draco was a luminary of the arts, he's dead. I have a homicide, and the investigation will be pursued with all energy and dispatch. That is correct. Two o'clock," he repeated, then ended the transmission and pulled off his privacy headphones.
    "Politics." It was all he said.
    He leaned back, rubbed at a line of tension at the base of his neck. "I read the prelim report you filed last night. We have a situation."
    "Yes, sir. The situation should be in autopsy right about now."
    His lips stretched in what was almost a smile. "You're not much of a theater buff, are you, Dallas?"
    "I get my quota of entertainment on the street."
    " 'All the world's a stage,' " Whitney murmured. "By now you're aware that the victim was a celebrity of considerable note. His death in such a public, and shall we say, dramatic venue, is news. Major news. The story's already hit on and off planet. Draco to Mansfield to Roarke to you."
    "Roarke isn't involved." Even