Rapture in Death by J. D. Robb Page A

around his waist, shook back his dripping mane of hair, cocked his head. “Yeah?”
    “I guess I like looking at you, too,” she muttered and went into the bedroom to dress for death.
    Street traffic was light. Airbuses rumbled overhead through the sizzling rain, carting night shift workers home, dragging day shifters to work. Billboards were quiet and the ubiquitous glida grills and carts with their offerings of food and drink were already setting up for the day. Smoke billowed through the vents in streets and sidewalks from the underground world of transportation and retail. The air steamed.
    Eve headed across town, making good time.
    The section of Madison where a body waited for her was pocked with exclusive boutiques and silvery spears of buildings fashioned to house those who could afford to shop there. The skywalks were glassed in to separate the clientele from the elements and from the noise that would begin to boom within an hour or two.
    Eve passed a taxi with a lone passenger. The elegant blonde wore a glittery jacket, a sparkling rainbow of color in the dingy light. Licensed companion, Eve mused, heading home after an all-nighter. The wealthy could afford to buy fancy sex along with their fancy clothes.
    Eve swung into an underground garage at the scene, flashed her badge for the security post. It scanned it, scanned her, then the light blinked from red to green and flashed the number of the empty space assigned to her.
    It was, of course, at the far end of the facility from the elevator. Cops, she thought with resignation as she hoofed it, aren’t given optimum spaces.
    Eve recited the number of the unit into the speaker box and was whisked up.
    There had been a time, not so long before, when she would have been impressed with the sumptuous foyer on the thirty-eighth floor, with its pool of scarlet hibiscus and bronze statuary. That was before she’d entered Roarke’s world. She scanned the small, tinkling fountains flanking the entrance and realized that it was highly possible that her husband owned the building.
    She spotted the uniform guarding the door of 3800, flipped up her badge.
    “Lieutenant.” The cop shifted subtly to attention, sucking in her stomach. “My partner’s inside with the deceased’s housemate. Mr. Foxx, on discovering his companion’s body, called for an ambulance. We responded in addition, as per procedure. The ambulance is on hold, sir, until you clear the scene.”
    “Is it secured?”
    “It is now.” Her gaze flicked toward the door. “We weren’t able to get much out of Foxx, sir. He’s a bit hysterical. I can’t be sure what he might have disturbed — other than the body.”
    “He moved the body?”
    “No, sir. That is, it’s still in the tub, but he attempted to, ah, revive the deceased. Had to be in shock to attempt it. There’s enough blood in there to swim in. Slashed wrists,” she explained. “From a visual confirmation, he’d been dead at least an hour before his housemate discovered the body.”
    Eve took a firmer grip on her field kit. “Has the ME been notified?”
    “On the way, sir.”
    “Fine. Clear Officer Peabody in when she arrives, and continue to stand. Open it,” she added and waited for the uniform to slide her master key in the slot. The door slid open into the wall. Eve immediately heard the hard, ragged sobs of terrible grief.
    “He’s been like that since we arrived,” the uniform murmured. “Hope you can tranq him soon.”
    Saying nothing, Eve walked in, letting the door slide shut and lock at her back. The entranceway was elaborate in black and white marble. Spiraling columns were draped in some sort of flowering vine, and overhead, a black glass chandelier dripped in five ornate tiers.
    Through the portico was a living area that followed the theme. Black leather sofas, white floors, ebony wood tables, white lamps. Drapes striped in black and white were drawn shut, but lights showered from the ceiling, spotlighted up from the