In Death 12 - Betrayal in Death

London?"
    "Don't be a wiseass. About what you're doing in that room right now."
    "If I were, I'd simply compound it by lying again. I suppose you'll just have to trust me, won't you?" He smiled at her. "Now as much as I'd love to while away the day chatting with you, darling, I do have work. What do you want?"
    "All right." She hissed out a breath. "I got Yost's place on record. Fancy stuff. You'd like most of it. I can run it down, or try to piece by piece, but I figured if you took a look, you might be able to tag it faster. Paintings, sculptures, antiques. You'd know if they're the real thing by looking at a disc?"
    "I would, most likely. I can't guarantee, as good copies need to be examined in person."
    "I don't peg him as the good copy kind of guy. He's vain about that stuff, like somebody else I know."
    "You're insulting your expert consultant, civilian."
    "Gotta get the digs in where I can. Anyway, maybe you can narrow down the sources for the artwork and the jazzy furniture."
    "Shoot it over. I'll take a look."
    "Appreciate it."
    "See that you do. Good-bye, Lieutenant."
    He disconnected, leaned back, and examined the data on his wall screen.
    Jacoby, Special Agent James.
    The date and place of birth, the family data weren't of particular interest. But he noted Jacoby hadn't precisely excelled in his studies. He'd gotten through by staying nearly dead average, with minute peaks and valleys. His social skills were the deepest valleys, his analytical talents the highest peaks.
    He'd barely skimmed by the minimal requirements for FBI training, but had excelled in the areas of weapons training, electronics, and tactics.
    His sealed profile indicated a difficulty with authority and co-workers, a tendency to ignore or circumvent procedure, and a marginal ability for teamwork.
    He'd been cited three times for insubordination and had faced an internal investigation for suspicion of tampering with evidence.
    He was single, heterosexual, and appeared to prefer the company and services of licensed companions to a personal relationship with a woman.
    He had no criminal record, even as a juvenile, no questionable vices. That made Roarke shake his head. He didn't doubt the FBI file. They were usually every bit as thorough and covert as he could be himself. A man without vices was either a dangerous man or a terminally tedious one.
    He bought his clothes off the rack, lived in a small, modest apartment, and had no particular friends.
    Small wonder, Roarke mused, and since he'd gone that far, set his computer to work picking through Jacoby's case files.
    As it searched, he switched the screen to Karen Stowe's data.
    She was the stronger of the team, Roarke thought, and the smarter. Graduated cum laude, American University, where she'd double-majored in criminal justice and electronics. She'd been recruited straight out of college and had completed her training precisely on schedule and in the top five of her class.
    The personality profile on her found her driven, focused, intense, with a tendency to overwork and take personal and physical risks. She followed the rules, but could find ways to bend them to her needs. Her weakness was a difficulty with objectivity. She often became too involved in a case, projecting personalities rather than law.
    She was, Roarke thought, so much like Eve in this area he was surprised the two of them had yet to come to blows.
    Ambition, skill, and tenacity were pushing her steadily up the ranks. And interestingly, he noted, she had requested and campaigned for her current assignment.
    On a personal level, she'd had four lovers, all at different times, all male. The first had been in high school. The second her third year of college. She'd spaced them out meticulously, with only one relationship, during her first year in training, lasting more than six months.
    She had a close circle of friends, liked to paint in her spare time, and had no reprimands or cautions on file.
    He ran a search on her cases as well, then began to skim through Jacoby's.
    An hour later, he broke for coffee, noted his incoming data light blinking. The lieutenant, he thought, had transmitted her visual. He nearly postponed Stowe's case files, just for a change of pace, but even as he began to issue the command to save and close, something caught his eye.
    Not one of her cases, but a request to review, a request made nearly six months before she'd been assigned to the Yost investigation.
    Just why, he wondered, had Special