In Death 27 - Salvation in Death

had come before my Annamaria.”
    “No. But no more girls were raped, terrorized, beaten, and strangled by their hands. Maybe that’s God’s will, too.”
    “I can’t say, but their deaths didn’t bring me pleasure.” He rose, put the empty mug neatly beside her AutoChef. “You’ve killed.”
    “Yes.”
    “It didn’t bring you pleasure.”
    “No.”
    He nodded. “I’ll get you the names. Maybe together we can find justice and God’s will, on the same path.”
    Maybe, she thought when she was alone. But as long as she wore a badge, justice had to take priority.

7
     
    SHE FELT PISSY. EVE COULDN’T QUITE FIGURE out why, but the pissiness stayed full-blown through the drive home. The floods of tourists cavorting in New York’s spring like a bunch of chickens before the plucking couldn’t shift the mood into mildly irritated or cynically amused. Even the animated billboards announcing everything from summer fashions—shoes this summer would apparently be clear to show off pedicured feet—to butt enhancers didn’t make a dent. She tried to imagine the city full of invisible shoes, painted toes, and padded asses, but it didn’t cheer her up.
    The ad blimps cruising overhead and tying up air traffic didn’t cut through the cloud of irritation as they blasted their litany of Sale! Sale! Sale! (in English this time) at the Sky Mall.
    She couldn’t find her appreciation for the chaos, the cacophony, the innate craziness of the city she loved, and so when she finally turned into the gates, couldn’t find her pleasure in being out of it. In being home.
    What the hell was she doing here? She should’ve stayed at work where she could turn a pissy mood to her advantage. Should’ve locked her office door, programmed a pot of black coffee, and dug in. To the evidence, the facts, the tangibles .
    Why the hell had she asked López what he’d done before wrapping that collar around his neck?
    It wasn’t relevant. It didn’t matter . What difference did it make to the case that some bastards had beaten, raped, and strangled the love of his life? It wasn’t connected.
    Identifying the victim was connected. Finding the killer mattered. The job didn’t include imagining some girl in Mexico left naked and dead by a river. She had enough blood and death crowded in her brain without adding more—more that didn’t apply to her or the work.
    She slammed out of her vehicle, strode into the house. And with that pissiness tangled with a depression she hadn’t acknowledged, barely spared a snarl for Summerset.
    “Kiss my unenhanced ass,” she said before he could speak, and kept walking. “Or I’ll plant my visibly shod foot up yours.” She stormed straight into the elevator, ordered the gym. What she needed, she thought, was a good, sweaty workout.
    In the foyer, Summerset merely cocked an eyebrow at the pensive Galahad, then stepped to the house ’link to contact Roarke up in his office.
    “Something’s disturbing the lieutenant—more than usual. She’s gone down to the gym.”
    “I’ll take care of it. Thanks.”
     
    He gave her an hour, though he checked on her by house screen once or twice. She’d hit the virtual run first, and it was telling, Roarke supposed, that she’d chosen New York’s streets rather than her usual beach canvas. Then she hit the weights, worked up a solid sweat. Roarke found it mildly disappointing when she didn’t activate the sparring droid and beat it senseless.
    When she’d moved into the pool house and dived in, he shut down his work. By the time he got down, she was out of the pool and drying off. Not a good sign, he decided. Swimming generally relaxed her, and she tended to draw out her laps.
    Still, he smiled. “And how are you?”
    “Okay. Didn’t know you were home.” She pulled on a robe. “I wanted a workout before I went up.”
    “Then it must be time to go up.” He took her hand, brushed her lips with his. Summerset’s barometer was, as usual, accurate, Roarke thought. Something was disturbing the lieutenant.
    “I’ve got to put a couple hours in.”
    He nodded, led the way to the elevator.
    “The case is a bitch.”
    “They’re rarely otherwise.” He watched her as they rode to the bedroom.
    “I don’t even know who the vic was.”
    “It’s not your first John Doe.”
    “No. It’s not my first anything.”
    He said nothing, only moved to the wall panel to open it and select a wine while she grabbed pants and a shirt from her