Three in Death by J.D. Robb Page B

right after the keynote session.”
    “Don’t think you can use her as a shield. I told you to stay away from Skinner.”
    “That’s the second time someone’s accused me of hiding behind a woman today.” Though his voice remained mild, Eve knew the edge was there. “It’s getting annoying.”
    “You want annoying?” Eve began.
    “You’ll have to forgive her,” Roarke said to Mira as he walked her to the door. “Eve tends to become overexcited when I disobey.”
    “She’s worried about you,” Mira said under her breath.
    “Well, she’ll have to get over it. Have a good session.” He nudged Mira out the door, closed it. Locked it. Turned. The edge was visible now. “I don’t need a fucking shield.”
    “That was a figure of speech, and don’t change the subject. You went at Skinner after I told you to stay clear of him.”
    “I don’t take orders from you, Eve. I’m not a lapdog.”
    “You’re a civilian,” she shot back.
    “And you’re a consultant on someone else’s case, and your authority here, in my bloody world, is a courtesy.”
    She opened her mouth, closed it. Hissed. Then she turned on her heel, strode out through the terrace doors, and kicked the railing several times.
    “Feel better now?”
    “Yes. Because I imagined it was your stupid, rock-hard head.” She didn’t look back, but braced her hands on the railing and looked out over what was indeed one of Roarke’s worlds.
    It was lavish and extravagant. The slick spears of other hotels, the tempting spreads of casinos, theaters, the glitter of restaurants were all perfectly placed. There were fountains, the silver ribbons of people glides, and the lush spread of parks where trees and flowers grew in sumptuous profusion.
    She heard the click of his lighter, caught the scent of his obscenely expensive tobacco. He rarely smoked these days, she thought.
    “If you’d told me it was important for you to have a face-to-face with Skinner, I’d have gone with you.”
    “I’m aware of that.”
    “Oh, Christ. Men. Look, you don’t need to hide behind me or anybody. You’re a tough, badass son of a bitch with a really big penis and balls of titanium steel. Okay?”
    He cocked his head. “One minute. I’m imagining throwing you off the balcony. Yes.” He nodded, took a long drag on the cigarette. “That’s indeed better.”
    “If Skinner took a couple of pops at your ego, it’s because he knew it was a good target. That’s what cops do. Why don’t you just tell me what happened?”
    “He made it clear, while Hayes stood there with a hand inside his coat and on his weapon, that my father was garbage and by association so am I. And that it was long past time for my comeuppance, so to speak.”
    “Did he say anything that led to him ordering Weeks killed?”
    “On the contrary, he twice pointed the finger at me. Full of barely restrained fury and seething emotion. You could almost believe he meant it. I don’t think he’s well,” Roarke continued and crushed out his cigarette. “Temper put a very unhealthy color in his face, strained his breathing. I’ll have to take a pass through his medical records.”
    “I want to take a pass at his wife. Angelo agreed, after some minor complaints, to set it up so we can double-team her later this afternoon. Meanwhile, Peabody’s on Skinner, between us we’ll track down the uniform, and Feeney’s running names. Somebody on your security staff worked that bypass. We find out who, we link them back to Skinner and get them into interview, we change the complexion of this. Maybe put it away before ILE comes in.”
    She glanced back toward the suite as the ’link beeped. “Are we okay now?”
    “We seem to be.”
    “Good. Maybe that’s Angelo with the setup for Belle Skinner.” She moved past Roarke to the ’link. Rather than Darcia’s exotic face, Feeney’s droopy one blipped on screen.
    “Might have something for you here. Zita Vinter, hotel security. She was in Control