In Death 12 - Betrayal in Death

leaving me out of the loop. Using me. They're the ones who should pay for all this. They're the ones you should go after."
    "Oh, don't worry about that. They're going to pay."
    While Eve was working to draw a more concise and thorough statement from Lane, Roarke walked into his home. He checked the security panel, noted that Mick was enjoying a dip in the pool.
    He took the long way around to give himself time.
    The pool house smelled of hot flowers and cool water. There was the musical sound of a fountain, spraying and tumbling, playing under the blast of the Irish rebel songs Mick had chosen to keep him company while he did laps.
    Roarke walked over, chose one of the thick blue towels from the stack, and went to wait by the side of the pool.
    Mick slapped a hand on the edge, shook his hair out of his eyes, and peered up at Roarke. "Ya coming in?"
    "No. You're coming out."
    "That I am." Mick stood up, let the water stream off him for a moment, then walked up the steps. "Christ, that's the kind of small pleasure a man could grow used to. Thanks," he added, taking the towel Roarke handed him and rubbing it briskly over his face.
    There were guest robes hanging nearby. Mick selected one, bundled in. "Don't expect a man of your means and responsibilities to pop home middle of the day."
    "I had an interruption this morning. You know, Mick, in all the times we've had, good and bad, all we've done together and apart, you were the last I'd have expected to come at a friend from the back."
    Slowly, Mick lowered the towel. "What's your meaning?"
    "Does friendship come so much cheaper these days than it did when we were lads?"
    "Nothing comes cheaper these days, God knows." He looked baffled. "Come out straight with it, Roarke. You've put me in the dark."
    "You want it straight?"
    "Aye."
    "Then here it is." He rammed his fist into Mick's face and watched his childhood friend topple backward into the pool.
    Weighed down by the sopping robe, blood streaming from his mouth, Mick surfaced. There was blood in his eye as well as he lunged for the side of the pool.
    But it had faded, nearly turned into a glint of humor as he hauled himself out again.
    "Fuck it, you've still got a fist like a brick." He wiggled his jaw, stripped off the wet robe. "How'd you figure it out?" he began, then lifted a hand. "No, if you don't mind, I'd rather have some pants on and a whiskey in my hand when you tell me."
    "All right." Roarke nodded coolly. "We'll go upstairs together." He strode toward the elevator. "Summerset's fine, by the way."
    "Why wouldn't he be?" Mick asked easily, and stepped in with Roarke.

CHAPTER TWENTY
    Roarke waited, standing by the south window while Mick put on trousers. He kept his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the trees, and the high stone wall beyond them.
    He'd used the trees, the lavish roll of lawn, the flowers, and that stone, to build a place. His place. A spot of beauty and comfort in a world that held too much pain. He'd used it, he knew, to prove to himself that the slums and miseries of Dublin were far behind him, too far behind to pant hot breath on his neck.
    And so he had invited into that place, that home, a reminder of what had never really stopped chasing him. He'd invited in a friend of his childhood who had become a betrayer of his present.
    "Was it only for the money, Mick? Was it only for the profit?"
    "Sure it's easy for you to say that in a deriding voice, Your Highness, when you're rolling in the stuff. Of course it was for the money. Jesus, my take will top twenty-five million at a coast. And it was for the fun. Have you really forgotten how much bloody fun it is?"
    "Have you forgotten, Mick, that however shaky the code might be, it sticks when it comes to betraying a friend?"
    "Well, for God's sake, Roarke, it's not like it was your money I'm after putting in my pocket." Mick sighed, and buttoning his shirt walked over to fetch the decanter of whiskey. He poured two glasses, and when Roarke still didn't turn at the sound of striking glass, shrugged and sipped his own.
    "All right, I admit it was a fine line, and maybe I've stomped over to the other side of it. I've a bit of envy in me for what you've managed to accumulate over the years since we parted ways."
    "A fine line?" Thinking of brutal and senseless murder, Roarke did turn. "Is that what it is to you?"
    "Listen." Impatient now, and a little embarrassed by it all, Mick gestured with his glass. "I was approached about the job. The