In Death 13 - Seduction in Death

hair, odds are it's not his."
    "You have a bruise on your jaw, sir."
    "Yeah, and you have a flower in your buttonhole. So we both look stupid. Dickhead came through on the wigs and enhancements. I've got the brand names. You chase down outlets on them, Peabody, get me a consumer list. Cross-reference it with the one I've got on the wine. Roarke's getting me a list of the top shops for men in the city."
    "Roarke has got it for you." He stepped into the office, held out a disc. "Good morning, class."
    "Thanks." She passed it off to Peabody. "Our guy likes the good stuff. Designer shoes, tailored wardrobe. What do you call it?"
    "Bespoke," Roarke supplied. "While he may purchase directly from London or Milan, the first suit was definitely British cut," he added. "The second certainly Italian, he'd be likely to patronize some of the high-end shops here in New York."
    "Taking our fashion advisor at his word," Eve said dryly, "we run it through, see if anything pops. Unless he's got his own greenhouse, he's buying those pink roses from somewhere. Probability's high it's in his own neighborhood, and I'm betting that neighborhood is either Upper West Side or Upper East Side, so we look there first."
    She glanced over, momentarily surprised when Roarke gave her a mug of fresh, hot coffee. "I've got a consult with Mira here in an hour. Feeney's at Central, directing the exam of the unit we impounded from Cyber Perks. I want answers, I want a trail, and I want it today. Because he's going to move again tonight. He has to."
    She turned back to the screen where the killer's face sneered out at the crowd. "He's already got his next target."
    She walked over to a board where she'd pinned photographs of both victims, the computer images of the killer as he'd looked before and after each murder.
    "She'll be young," Eve said. "Early- to mid-twenties. She'll live alone. She'll be attractive and intelligent with an affection for poetry. She'll be romantic, and not currently in any serious relationship. She lives in the city. Works in the city. He's already seen her, studied her on the street or at her job. She may have spoken to him and not known he was the man who's been seducing her. She's probably thinking about tonight, about this date she has with a man who's exactly what she's waited for. In a few hours, she thinks, I'll meet him. And maybe, just maybe..."
    She turned away from the board. "Let's keep her alive. I don't want to see another face on this board."
    "A moment of your time, Lieutenant?" Roarke gestured to his office, stepped out himself before she could put him off.
    "Look, I'm on the clock here."
    "Then why waste time." He shut the door behind her. "I can get you those consumer lists, have them cross-referenced and complete in a fraction of the time it would take Peabody."
    "Haven't you got work?"
    "Considerable, yes. It would still take me less time." He skimmed a fingertip over the bruise on her jaw, then lightly along the shallow dent in her chin. "I find I prefer having my mind fully occupied just now. And," he added. "I'd rather not see another face on your murder board either. I intend to do it anyway, but I thought you might feel less annoyed if I made the pretense of asking."
    She scowled at him, folded her arms. "Pretense?"
    "Yes, darling." He kissed the bruise. "And this way, as you know what I'm up to, it frees you to have Peabody along with you in the field, wherever that might be." His in-house communication panel beeped. "Yes?"
    "A Dr. Dimatto is here to see Lieutenant Dallas."
    "Send her up," Eve ordered. "Do what you're going to do," she told Roarke. "But for right now I'm going with the pretense that I don't know about it."
    "Whatever works for you. I'm just going to take a minute to set some things up. Then I'd like to say hello to Louise."
    "Suit yourself." She opened the door, glanced back. "You generally do."
    "That's what makes me such a contented man."
    She gave a rude snort and crossed into her office to greet Louise.
    She came in fast, but Eve had rarely seen her move another way. She took one look at the coffee in Eve's hand and smiled. "Yes, I'd love some, thanks."
    "Peabody, coffee for Dr. Dimatto. Anything else we can get you?"
    Louise stared at the danish McNab was currently trying to swallow whole. "Is that an apple danish?"
    With his mouth stuffed, he made some sound, a mixture of affirmation, pleasure, and guilt.
    "Love one, too, thanks again."
    Eve swept a glance over Louise's snappy