In Death 28 - Promises in Death

her family’s, Atlanta, and other key words that make sense to me and the computer to search for a second account. I haven’t found one.”
    Most of the tension eased. “So, at this point, it doesn’t look like she was on the take.”
    “You were in her apartment. Was there any art, any jewelry?”
    “Nothing that rings the bells. Framed posters, street art, a couple of good pieces of jewelry, the rest tasteful costume. Let’s let this alone until we talk to Alex Ricker. I don’t want to do this to her any more until I have to.”
    “All right.” He ordered all data saved, then laid his hand over the palm plate again. “Roarke. Power down.”
    When the console winked off, he crossed to her, put his hands on her shoulders. “It’s harder when it’s personal.”
    She closed her eyes a moment. “I can’t stop thinking about him. How he’s dealing, or not dealing. What I might find, and how whatever that is will affect him. I should take myself off the case, for all the same reasons I can’t and won’t take myself off the case. Because a friend’s life has been turned inside out.”
    With a nod of understanding, he stepped back to take her hand, to walk her to the elevator. “Tell me your instincts about her—your feelings. No filters,” he added as they stepped into the car. “Master bedroom,” he ordered.
    Eve hesitated, then shrugged. “I was a little bitchy about her, I guess.”
    “Because?”
    “Well, it sounds stupid. But because of Morris. Because he’s . . . He’s Morris, and I didn’t see her coming until she was already there and he’s gooey-eyed. It’s not like I have—ever had—that kind of thing with Morris. Or wanted one, or even thought about him. Not like Peabody and her sexual fantasies. I mean, Jesus.”
    “Why that slut. I thought I was her sexual fantasy.”
    Relieved with how he’d played it, she gave him a bland stare as they stepped into the bedroom. “You lead the charge, but apparently Peabody’s got the capacity for lots of fantasy partners. Probably all at the same time.”
    “Hmm. Interesting.”
    “And I probably just violated some girl code by saying that, which doesn’t apply to your question anyway.” She pushed her hands through her hair. “I don’t know what I thought of her, exactly, because it was all filtered through that ‘Wait a damn minute, this is Morris’ attitude. Which is embarrassing now that I really think about it.”
    “You have a connection. An intimacy. Not all intimacies are sexual. She was an interloper.”
    “That’s it.” Eve pointed a finger at him. “That’s exactly it. And she didn’t deserve that from me. She made him happy. Anybody could see it. I’d say, now that I think about it, her apartment didn’t surprise me. The look of it, the neatness of it, because that’s how she struck me. A woman who had things in place, and knew what she liked. Dressed well—not flashy, but well. Sexual. She gave off the sexual and the female more than the cop, but the cop was there. Under it. She took her time, in how she talked, how she moved. That’s a Southern thing, isn’t it? Nothing New York about her. I don’t know.” She shrugged again. “It’s not much.”
    “Your instincts on a very brief acquaintance told you she was a woman of subtlety—not flashy. Comfortable with her sexuality, who took her time and who liked order, respected her own tastes, and who was willing to try something new. A new city, a new man. That’s considerable, I’d say. Your instincts and what you’ve learned since confirm that her work was just that to her. Work. It didn’t drive her life. Given that, it’s very possible, isn’t it, that a sexual woman of taste could find herself attracted to a man like Alex Ricker. And he to her. Wouldn’t that relationship, if one developed, have eventually conflicted with her work, or become somewhat problematic?”
    “A cop hooking up with a guy with a shady rep?” She arched her eyebrows. “Gee, why should that be a problem?”
    He laughed. “We’re different, you and I.” He put his arms around her. “But it’s interesting, isn’t it, to speculate how a similiar situation might go very, very badly.”
    “We could’ve taken a turn, ended up—”
    He shook his head, touched his lips to hers to stop the words. “No. We were always meant to end up here.” He pressed the release on her weapon harness. “Always meant to find each other. Save each other. Be with each