In Death 25 - Creation in Death

debase him and ream him out as is often necessary with those under my command. And adds some entertainment to my day.”
    “Because you’re so good at it.”
    “Yeah, I’ve got a knack.” She scanned the army of vehicles heading north, the throngs of pedestrians hustling along on the sidewalk, the glides, or bullying their way on the crosswalks. “Nobody notices things—other people. Sure, if somebody jumps out of a building and lands on their head, it gives them a moment’s pause, but they don’t click to a woman being forced into a car or a van or Christ knows unless she puts up one hell of a stink about it. Mostly, they just keep their heads down and keep going.”
    “Cynicism is another of your finely tuned skills. It’s not always so, not with everyone.”
    She shrugged. “No, not always. He’s slick about it, or has some cover, something people don’t register. If she kicked up enough fuss, yeah, somebody would notice. They might not do anything about it, but they’d notice. So no overt struggle on the street. One of the working theories is he drugs them somehow rather than overpowers them.
    “Quick jab,” she added. “Wraps an arm around her. ‘Hey, Sari, how you doing?’ Just a guy walking along with some zoned-out woman, helping her into his ride. Ride would need to be close to wherever he picks her up. Going to hit lots and garages tomorrow.”
    When she drove through the gates of home, she couldn’t remember ever being more grateful to see the jut and spread of the gorgeous house, to see the lights in the windows.
    “Going to grab a shower, grab something to eat in my office.”
    “You’re going to grab some sleep,” he corrected. “You’re burnt, Eve.”
    No question she was, but it annoyed her to have it pointed out. “I got some left.”
    “Bollocks. You haven’t slept in more than thirty-six hours. Neither have I, come to that. We both need some sleep.”
    “I’ll take a couple hours after I set up a board here, review some notes.”
    Rather than argue—he was too bloody tired to bother—he said nothing. He’d just dump her into bed bodily, and he imagined once she was horizontal for thirty seconds, she’d be unconscious.
    She parked in front of the house, grabbed her file bag.
    She knew Summerset would be in the foyer, and he didn’t disappoint. “Fill your personal cadaver in,” Eve said before Summerset could speak. “I’m hitting the showers before I get started on this.”
    She headed straight up, neglecting to take off her coat and sling it over the newel as was her habit. And which, she knew, irritated Summerset’s bony ass. Once she was out of sight, she rubbed at her gritty eyes, and allowed the yawn that had been barely suppressed to escape.
    The shower was going to feel like a miracle.
    She dumped the bag in the bedroom, shrugged out of her coat. As she hit the release on her weapon harness, her gaze landed on the bed. Maybe five minutes down, she considered. Five off her feet, then she could shower without risking drowning herself.
    Tossing the harness aside, she climbed the platform where the bed spread like the silk clouds of heaven. She slid onto it, stretching out across it, facedown.
    And beat Roarke’s guess by being out in ten seconds flat.
    He came in five minutes later, saw her on the bed, with the cat slung across her ass. “Well, then,” Roarke addressed Galahad. “At least we won’t have to fight about it. But for Christ’s sake, couldn’t she have pulled off her boots? How can she sleep well like that?”
    He pulled them off himself—and she didn’t stir a bit—pulled off his own. Then he simply stretched out beside her, draped an arm around her waist.
    He dropped out nearly as quickly as she had.

6
    IN THE DREAM THERE WAS A WHITE SHEET OVER the dark ground, and the ruined body that lay on it. Bitter with cold, dawn carved its first light, etching the eastern spires into sharpened silhouettes.
    She stood with her hands in the pockets of a black peacoat, a black watch cap pulled low on her forehead.
    The body lay between her and a big black clock with a big white face. The seconds ticked away on it, and every strike was like thunder that sent the air to quaking.
    And in the dream Feeney stood beside her. The harsh crime scene lights washed over them and what they studied. There was no silver in his hair to glint in those lights, and the lines in his face didn’t ride so deep.
    I trained you for this, so you could see what