Naked in Death by J. D. Robb
Authors: J. D. Robb
Tags: Fiction, General, detective, Suspense, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Mystery Fiction, Political, Mystery & Detective - Women Sleuths, Fiction - Mystery, New York, New York (State), New York (N.Y.), Policewomen, Mystery & Detective - Series, Eve (Fictitious character), Dallas, Twenty-first century, billionaires, Policewomen - New York (State) - New York, Dallas; Eve (Fictitious Character)
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Sharon DeBlass had a different flavor.”
“Oh, I certainly agree.” He chose another grape, offered it.
Appetite was a weakness, Eve reminded herself even as she accepted the grape and bit through its thin, tart skin. “Did you see her after your dinner in Mexico?”
“No, I dropped her off about three A. M. and went home. Alone.”
“Can you tell me your whereabouts for the forty-eight hours after you went home — alone?”
“I was in bed for the first five of them. I took a conference call over breakfast. About eight-fifteen. You can check the records.”
“I will.”
This time he grinned, a quick flash of undiluted charm that had her pulse skipping. “I have no doubt of it. You fascinate me, Lieutenant Dallas.”
“After the conference call?”
“It ended about nine. I worked out until ten, spent the next several hours in my midtown office with various appointments.” He took out a small, slim card that she recognized as a daybook. “Shall I list them for you?”
“I’d prefer you to arrange to have a hard copy sent to my office.”
“I’ll see to it. I was back home by seven. I had a dinner meeting with several members of my Japanese manufacturing firm — in my home. We dined at eight. Shall I send you the menu?”
“Don’t be snide, Roarke.”
“Merely thorough, lieutenant. It was an early evening. By eleven I was alone, with a book and a brandy, until about seven A. M., when I had my first cup of coffee. Would you like another?”
She’d have killed for another cup of coffee, but she shook her head. “Alone for eight hours, Roarke. Did you speak with anyone, see anyone during that time?”
“No. No one. I had to be in Paris the next day and wanted a quiet evening. Poor timing on my part. Then again, if I were going to murder someone, it would have been ill advised not to protect myself with an alibi.”
“Or arrogant not to bother,” she returned. “Do you just collect antique weapons, Roarke, or do you use them?”
“I’m an excellent shot.” He set his empty snifter aside. “I’ll be happy to demonstrate for you when you come to see my collection. Does tomorrow suit you?”
“Fine.”
“Seven o’clock? I assume you have the address.” When he leaned over, she stiffened and nearly hissed as his hand brushed her arm. He only smiled, his face close, his eyes level. “You need to strap in,” he said quietly. “We’ll be landing in a moment.”
He fastened her harness himself, wondering if he made her nervous as a man, or a murder suspect, or a combination of both. Just then, any choice had its own interest — and its own possibilities.
“Eve,” he murmured. “Such a simple and feminine name. I wonder if it suits you.”
She said nothing while the flight attendant came in to remove the dishes. “Have you ever been in Sharon DeBlass’s apartment?”
A tough shell, he mused, but he was certain there would be something soft and hot beneath. He wondered if — no, when — he’d have the opportunity to uncover it.
“Not while she was a tenant,” Roarke said as he sat back again. “And not at all that I recall, though it’s certainly possible.” He smiled again and fastened his own harness. “I own the Gorham Complex, as I’m sure you already know.”
Idly, he glanced out the window as earth hurtled toward them. “Do you have transportation at the airport, lieutenant, or can I give you a lift?”
CHAPTER FOUR
Eve was more than tired by the time she filed her report for Whitney and returned home. She was pissed. She’d wanted, badly, to zing Roarke with the fact that she knew he owned the Gorham. His telling her in the same carelessly polite tone he used to offer her coffee had ended their first interview with him one point up.
She didn’t like the score.
It was time to even things up. Alone in her living room, and technically off the clock, she sat down in front of her computer.
“Engage, Dallas, Code Five access. ID 53478Q. Open file
“Oh, I certainly agree.” He chose another grape, offered it.
Appetite was a weakness, Eve reminded herself even as she accepted the grape and bit through its thin, tart skin. “Did you see her after your dinner in Mexico?”
“No, I dropped her off about three A. M. and went home. Alone.”
“Can you tell me your whereabouts for the forty-eight hours after you went home — alone?”
“I was in bed for the first five of them. I took a conference call over breakfast. About eight-fifteen. You can check the records.”
“I will.”
This time he grinned, a quick flash of undiluted charm that had her pulse skipping. “I have no doubt of it. You fascinate me, Lieutenant Dallas.”
“After the conference call?”
“It ended about nine. I worked out until ten, spent the next several hours in my midtown office with various appointments.” He took out a small, slim card that she recognized as a daybook. “Shall I list them for you?”
“I’d prefer you to arrange to have a hard copy sent to my office.”
“I’ll see to it. I was back home by seven. I had a dinner meeting with several members of my Japanese manufacturing firm — in my home. We dined at eight. Shall I send you the menu?”
“Don’t be snide, Roarke.”
“Merely thorough, lieutenant. It was an early evening. By eleven I was alone, with a book and a brandy, until about seven A. M., when I had my first cup of coffee. Would you like another?”
She’d have killed for another cup of coffee, but she shook her head. “Alone for eight hours, Roarke. Did you speak with anyone, see anyone during that time?”
“No. No one. I had to be in Paris the next day and wanted a quiet evening. Poor timing on my part. Then again, if I were going to murder someone, it would have been ill advised not to protect myself with an alibi.”
“Or arrogant not to bother,” she returned. “Do you just collect antique weapons, Roarke, or do you use them?”
“I’m an excellent shot.” He set his empty snifter aside. “I’ll be happy to demonstrate for you when you come to see my collection. Does tomorrow suit you?”
“Fine.”
“Seven o’clock? I assume you have the address.” When he leaned over, she stiffened and nearly hissed as his hand brushed her arm. He only smiled, his face close, his eyes level. “You need to strap in,” he said quietly. “We’ll be landing in a moment.”
He fastened her harness himself, wondering if he made her nervous as a man, or a murder suspect, or a combination of both. Just then, any choice had its own interest — and its own possibilities.
“Eve,” he murmured. “Such a simple and feminine name. I wonder if it suits you.”
She said nothing while the flight attendant came in to remove the dishes. “Have you ever been in Sharon DeBlass’s apartment?”
A tough shell, he mused, but he was certain there would be something soft and hot beneath. He wondered if — no, when — he’d have the opportunity to uncover it.
“Not while she was a tenant,” Roarke said as he sat back again. “And not at all that I recall, though it’s certainly possible.” He smiled again and fastened his own harness. “I own the Gorham Complex, as I’m sure you already know.”
Idly, he glanced out the window as earth hurtled toward them. “Do you have transportation at the airport, lieutenant, or can I give you a lift?”
CHAPTER FOUR
Eve was more than tired by the time she filed her report for Whitney and returned home. She was pissed. She’d wanted, badly, to zing Roarke with the fact that she knew he owned the Gorham. His telling her in the same carelessly polite tone he used to offer her coffee had ended their first interview with him one point up.
She didn’t like the score.
It was time to even things up. Alone in her living room, and technically off the clock, she sat down in front of her computer.
“Engage, Dallas, Code Five access. ID 53478Q. Open file
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