In Death 16 - Portrait in Death

satisfied, and listened to Chopin while he scratched Galahad between the ears.
     
     
Eve went directly up to the private office, used the palm plate, gave her name and code.
     
     
ACCESS DENIED.
     
     
Baffled, she stared at the locked door, the blinking red light above it. "Well, that's bull," she grumbled and gave the door a little kick before trying again.
     
     
ACCESS DENIED.
     
     
On an oath, she yanked out her pocket-link and called Roarke's personal number. Her brows drew together when his voice slid out, but her screen remained blank.
     
     
Why the hell would he block video?
     
     
"Hey, what's up? I'm standing outside the door, but my code's not working."
     
     
"Give me a minute."
     
     
When the 'link clicked off, she stared at it. "Sure, ace, I'll give you a minute."
     
     
It took a full one, and a bit more, before she heard the security stand down. The light went green.
     
     
When she stepped in, he was seated behind the console. His sleeves were rolled up, a sign to her that he was working one or more of the keyboards manually.
     
     
But his face was as blank as the wall screens.
     
     
The door shut behind her, and locked.
     
     
"What's going on?"
     
     
"I have work."
     
     
"On the unregistered?"
     
     
Annoyance flickered over his face, and he picked up the heavy crystal glass at his elbow, watching her over the rim, coolly, dispassionately, as he drank. "Yes. On the unregistered."
     
     
There was no warmth in his voice. No smile of greeting. "Is there a problem?"
     
     
He swirled the liquid in his glass and watched her the way she'd seen him watch an adversary he intended to dispose of. "Why should there be?"
     
     
Baffled, she walked behind the console, but the screens there were also dark and blank. She caught the sharp scents of whiskey and tobacco. The ripple of unease she felt increased. "Because I was denied access, because you're sitting here drinking, because you closed down whatever you're working on so I couldn't see it."
     
     
"You were denied access because I'm working on a private matter. I'm drinking because I wanted a drink." He lifted the glass to his lips again, as if to prove it. "I closed down because what I'm doing has nothing to do with you. Does that clear it up for you, Lieutenant?"
     
     
There was a little punch of shock, dead center in her throat. Instinctively, she searched back through the day for something said or done to have caused his anger.
     
     
For it was anger, under all that cold wash. Hot and bubbling.
     
     
"If you're pissed at me about something, I'd like to know what it is. That way when I kick your ass, we'll both know why."
     
     
Get out, was all he could think. Get out and leave me be so I can finish this nightmare. "Not everything I do pertains to you. Not everything I feel revolves around you."
     
     
It was a quick and nasty slice in the heart, and she struggled to ignore it. "Look, something's wrong. I can see it." Worried now, she laid a hand on his shoulder, rubbed. And felt the vicious knots of tensed muscles. "If this is about Summerset, I just saw him, and he's his usual irritating self. I know you're upset about what happened to him, but-"
     
     
"He's being well seen to, isn't he? I've taken care of it. It might occur to you that I've more on my mind than you, and him, your work, your worries." He shoved away from her to get up, to get away from that supportive hand on his shoulder, to go over to pour another whiskey with the foolish hope that this time it might flood away the sickness inside him.
     
     
"Roarke-"
     
     
"Goddamn it, Eve, I'm busy here." He snapped it out, and stopped her in her tracks. "Give me some fucking space, will you? I'm not in the mood to chat or for a quick shag or a replay of your day."
     
     
Insult and anger lit her face. "Just what the hell are you in the mood for?"
     
     
"To be left alone to do what I'm set to do here."
     
     
I can't stand having you here, can't stand doing what I'm doing.
     
     
"The time I spend diddling about with your work takes away from my own, and I've got to make it up when I choose. As the bloody door was locked, it might've occurred to you that I didn't want to be interrupted. I've a great deal to do, so why don't you be about your own? I've no doubt you've plenty of the dead to keep you occupied for one evening."
     
     
"Yeah." She nodded slowly, and the temper in her eyes had faded into astonished hurt. "I've always got the dead.