Page 7

The rain started as she drove out of the garage at Central.

Drivers immediately lost twenty percent of their IQs, as if rain just washed part of their brains away.

At least their driving brains.

The wet didn’t stop the ad blimps from blasting out about Step into Fall sales.

“It’s still summer, you freaks! It’s eighty degrees!”

She glanced at her dash.

“Eighty-three! That is not goddamn sweater weather no matter what you say.”

And they did say it, repeatedly.

She fought her way through knots of traffic, shoving up into vertical twice. Not in a particular hurry, she reminded herself, but had to resist the temptation to hit lights and siren out of sheer frustration.

When her mind wandered to her discussion with Nadine, she nearly gave in just to erase it from her brain.

“Fine, it’s fine. I did my job there, didn’t I? There are Friendship Rules, too. Marriage Rules, Friendship Rules. Family Rules? Sure there are. They probably vary, depending.”

Her world required rules, and she added them on when necessary.

She intended to bend one of them now. Not a real break, but a definite bend by using Roarke’s unregistered equipment.

She didn’t want the all-seeing eye of CompuGuard, and the eyes behind it, to see her poking into an Italian security company she suspected served as a front for covert operations.

Something specific to Italy? Possibly. Something more broad-based? Maybe Interpol.

She had a contact there, but wasn’t ready to tap it.

Covert agents and international police tended to clam right up if outsiders poked in.

She didn’t hold it against them.

The rain, steady and gray, dogged her all the way uptown, made the drive a running series of annoyances.

And gave way to sun as she turned into the gates of home.

A rainbow arched like a fairy tale over the castle Roarke built. It shined over the towers, the turrets of glistening stone. And still, after all this time, it could take her breath away.

How could this glory be home? Her home, the beaten, battered, broken child of monsters? What wild twist of fate had brought her here, to this wonder, this warmth, this welcome?

She’d started her day with death—and did so often—and she’d pursue the one who’d caused that death. But for a moment, just this moment, she could steep herself in the beauty.

The sheer miracle of beauty.

She rarely, if ever, took photos that didn’t pertain to the job. But she stopped on the long drive where the thick green leaves dripped rain, where the still thriving flowers stood heavy-headed with it. And leaned out the window to take a shot of the house with its rainbow crown.

Maybe, she considered, when things got very bad, she could look at it and remember the miracle.

Now she had work, and it started with Summerset.

She left her car at the entrance, walked through the damp air to the grand front doors. And into the foyer.

He wasn’t there. No bony cadaver in black stood, looming, dark eyes cool—and scanning for bloody or ripped clothing. No fat cat sat by his feet.

“What the fuck! The one time.”

She turned to the house comp.

“Where the hell is Summerset?”

Darling Eve, Summerset is not in residence.

“Well, shit.”

I am unable to perform that function.

“Funny. Is Roarke in residence?”

Roarke has not yet returned. Shall I notify you when he does?

“No. Crap. Where’s the damn cat?”

Galahad is in your office, Darling Eve… Update, Galahad is leaving your office.

Frowning, she stood another moment. Then saw the cat coming down the stairs.

“Nobody here. You don’t count.” Then she bent to stroke him when he rubbed against her legs. “You count, but not for this. I’ve got the whole freaking castle to myself, when I don’t want it. I’m going up. You might as well come. Christ knows you can use the exercise.”

He didn’t seem offended as he jogged up the steps with her.

She went to her office. She could access Roarke’s private office and the unregistered. But if she waited for him, he could accomplish more than she could in a fraction of the time.

She’d set up her board, her book here.

“Where the hell is Summerset?” she asked the cat.

He just padded over to her sleep chair, leaped into it, and made himself comfortable.

“He’s always here. But today, no. Not here when I actually want to talk to him. I can contact Ivanna. No, no, that’s better coming from him.”

Annoyed, she began to set up her case board. When done to her liking, she sat at her command center. She opened operations and dealt with her murder book.

And maybe, since it was so damn quiet, she’d take some serious thinking time.

She programmed coffee, angled to her board, put her feet on the L of her command center.

As she did, Roarke came in.

She hadn’t heard him come up the stairs, walk down the hall.

The cat’s feet were an elephant’s compared to Roarke’s.

“You beat me home,” he said.

“You and everybody. Where the hell is Summerset?”

“It’s his day off. I hope he’s enjoying it.”

And since Summerset hadn’t been there to take Roarke’s briefcase, he set it aside, then crossed the room to bend down and kiss her.

“Disappointed you missed your daily insults?”

“I need to talk to him. About the Urbans.”

Frowning, Roarke looked at her board. “Then this somehow connects to that. To Summerset?”

“To the Urbans, and Europe. I figure he can give me a picture. But of course, he’s not here, so I can’t, and he can’t. I’m in a shitty mood,” she realized. “It’s his fault.”

“Of course it is.” Adoring her, he kissed her scowling mouth. “I’m going to get us some wine, and you’ll tell me about all this.”

“What do you know about Sicurezza Informatica?”

“Not a great deal, I suppose.” He crossed over to open the wine cabinet and choose a bottle. “A respected cyber firm based in Rome. It’s been around decades with a solid reputation.”

“I think it’s a front.”

He paused in the act of opening a bottle of red. Red, as he thought her mood would lighten with some very nice Cabernet. “For what?”

“Intelligence. Covert ops.”

“Is that so? Well now, that’s interesting.”

“If we used your unregistered, we could maybe find out.”

“And still more interesting. We can do that, of course. I’d like you to fill me in first, as it would give me better direction. You can do that while we have a meal.”

“I want fries,” she decided. “I want lots of fries. Like a mountain of fries.”

“All right then.”

“Jake’s moving in with Nadine. Jesus, Jesus on ’roids! Why is that stuck in my head?”

“Is he? That’s happy news, isn’t it?”

“I guess. Sure. Why not? Feeney and Whitney both did stuff during the Urbans. You had to figure that—plus, I knew Feeney did. They had code names.”

“Those I must know.” He handed her a glass of wine.

“Hound and Lightning. Guess which is which?”

“That’s no challenge, darling. Feeney would be Hound—he’d have the scent. So Lightning falls to your commander.”

“Apparently he used to be really fast. It was a long time ago, Roarke. But I think Rossi died because of something that happened back then.”

“How did he die?”

“Toxic gas piped into the back of a limo. Do you know what phosphine is?”

“I do, yes. A very unpleasant death.”

“Yeah. Very.”

“They found a stockpile—it had already been banned—when I was a boy in Dublin. There was a leak, and several died, others were sickened. I think I was six or seven, but I remember it.”

“He used a canister dated 2024.”

Rising, she walked to the board with her wine. “I think Rossi was a good man, a loyal friend, and a spy. My victim. His killer put a card with my name on it between his index and middle fingers, fingers that had been broken in the past. And in the spring of ’26. I’ve asked to have DeWinter date the breaks. He had more of them.”

“Your card, yes, I see.”

When he turned to her, she didn’t need the Marriage Rules to know to take his hand.

“It’s not about me. He wants me to hunt him, but it’s not about me. Read the message.”

“I have.”

“It’s about them. And until I figure out who the hell they are, the seven left, he’s got a clear field. He wants them dead. I don’t.”

“I’ll get the meal, and we’ll sit. You’ll start at the beginning.”

“Roarke.” She set her glass down, slid her arms around him.

Yeah, she was a hard case, and here he was, loving her anyway.

“There was a rainbow.”

“During the Urbans?”

She laughed, and loved him for keeping his mind on her case. “No, when I got home. It rained on the way, then it stopped, and there was a rainbow right over the house.”

She pulled out her ’link, swiped it up, showed him.

“Ah now, that’s lovely, isn’t it? Send it to me, will you? It lifts the day.”

“Did you have a hard one?”

“I didn’t, no. But it’s clear you did. So you’ll share that with me over dinner, and we’ll do what comes next.”

“I love you. So much.”

“ A ghrá. ” He drew her in again, kissed the top of her head. “You’re a rainbow to me, even in a shitty mood.”

He made her laugh, then she squeezed him tight. “I’ll never understand that. I don’t need to. Tons of fries. What goes with tons of fries?”

He tapped the shallow dent in her chin. “I’d say your mood requires red meat. We’ll have a steak.”

“Now, that sounds like the right choice. I’ll get it. You haven’t even had time to take a breath. You can feed the cat.”

“I’ll do that, and while we’re at it, you can start with the happy, and Nadine.”

More than fair, Eve thought as they moved into the little kitchen.

“Quilla’s doing a report or project on Homicide. She did one on EDD.”

“You told me, and you’d had a moment and agreed to let her do the same in Homicide.”

“Yeah, a moment. So she’s there, and Nadine’s there, and I wanted to see if Nadine had anyone going at her about me. The card.”

“I follow.”

She programmed the meal while he fed the cat, who acted as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

“Then she’s about this moving-in business. And all jumpy and weird. Worrying about screwing it up. I told her I screw up all the time.”

She looked over at him. “You’re not disagreeing with that. I don’t get: ‘No, darling Eve, that’s nonsense. You’re just perfect’?”

“For me, you are. But you will screw up, won’t you? I’ve been known to do the same myself.”

“Damn right. Anyway, she’s stupid in love with him, and I think that’s good because Jake’s solid. He’s not an asshole, and he gets her. I did the friend thing. There are rules.”

“Of course there are. You must have them.”

“I must have them,” she agreed, and set the plates on the table. “Rossi had rules.”

Nodding, Roarke brought side salads—she’d never think of that—and a basket of bread. “Tell me about him.”

So she did, what she believed, what she’d learned from his widow, his son, even from Peabody’s interview with his former supervisor.

“So what you see is a good man, a loyal friend, a family man who led a secret life.”

“In a nutshell. Why is it a nutshell?”

“They’re compact.”

She considered, nodded. Cut a bite of steak to go with her French fry mountain.

“Okay. He had a number of old injuries. DeWinter can pinpoint dates there. They’re not going to be from wiping out on his scooter.”

“I agree with you. Why you? I’d like that question answered.”

“I think, from what we have, he wants someone he thinks is good, but he’s better.”

“He’s not.”

She shrugged and ate another salt-drenched fry. “I’ll run the security feed from the terminal for you. He’s a smug bastard. Not Rossi’s generation. Maybe twenty years younger, so that’s a puzzle. Maybe an enemy’s son. Maybe just a pro hire.”

“Covert ops, my literal cop. There are ways to make one appear younger, different, to disguise age, race, even gender.”

She paused with another bite of steak halfway to her mouth.

“Well, fuck me.”

“I’d be delighted to later.”

“But it’s so much goddamn trouble.”

“No trouble at all.”

“Not that.” But she laughed. “If that’s it, he went to all that trouble to look a couple decades younger. I couldn’t, and so far EDD hasn’t, matched him on face rec. But he leaves a copy of my card, and a message? What’s the point?”

She held up a hand.

“To keep me spinning my wheels awhile. To give him time to plan out his next kill. It has to be in New York or I’m out. But maybe he’s picked investigators wherever his kills are.”

“Not impossible, but why just the one for you? No, Lieutenant, I believe he wants you. You may be right, it’s the notoriety from Nadine’s books, from the vid. Arrogance wants the best. Wants the shine.”

“So New York. But could the rest be here? It’s not probable, just not logical. He had to pull Rossi here. Is he—or had he already—done the same with the others?”

Sitting back, Roarke sipped his wine. “I’d want them one at a time. Draw out the pleasure of it, the satisfaction. And the challenge. And yet, do these other seven not know? Don’t they keep any sort of watch?”

“And know Rossi’s dead in New York? Or know when it gets out here? By tomorrow, I’d think, to anyone paying attention. That’s a good thought. That’s good.”

“So your talk with Summerset, to get a feel.”

“Yeah.” He’d been, essentially, raised by the man, she thought. And had ways of finding out whatever he wanted or needed to know.

“How much do you know?”

“Not a great deal. I know he served as a medic, and I know—though he’s been cagey, and I didn’t push—he did more.”

“Why didn’t you push? Or just look?”

Lifting his wine, he looked at her over the rim. “If he’d wanted me to know, he’d have told me. And to push, or look on my own? Why would I disrespect him just to satisfy my curiosity?”

“Okay. You only know what he’s told you, which is?”

“I know he worked as a medic during the Urbans, and met his wife. I know his wife was killed when Marlena was only a baby. I don’t know how, and there, again, I didn’t push. It’s painful for him.”

“Ivanna worked covert. Even after the Urbans.”

“True enough, but the details are sketchy. Before I was born, or when I was just a lad. Before Summerset took me in.”

Watching him, she tapped her fork in the air. “You could’ve found out more there, too.”

“I could have, yes. I didn’t. It’s, again, disrespectful. Ivanna is his friend, important to him. Summerset saved my life. He gave me a life, and he didn’t have to.”

Roarke handed her some bread.

“I never pried into his personal life. And accepted what he told me. Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t want to pry, either. I don’t need details, just a big picture. And Ivanna may have more. If he’d been home, I’d have this over with.”

“He’ll give you what he can,” Roarke told her. “And we’ll find what we can find on this security company. If it’s a front as you believe, we’ll dig down. And I do think, considering murder, Ivanna will tell you if she knows more.

“They fought as you do, Eve, for the innocent, for the right.”

“The fight should be over for them. I just want to say, to you, I’m sorry to bring it back.”

“You haven’t. Rossi’s killer did. After we finish dinner, we’ll clean this up, won’t we? And go up to the unregistered.”

The cat, curious enough to stir himself, followed them up to the secured office. At the door, Roarke plugged in the code, engaged the retinal scan.

“I’ve upgraded a bit, and as CompuGuard adds layers, so do I.”

“CG serves a purpose. I don’t always like it.”

Roarke gave an elegant little shrug. “And those who want to evade that purpose will find a way.”

He opened the door, called for lights on full as Galahad wandered in. He found a leather chair acceptable and made himself comfortable there. A plump, watchful gray pillow.

Here, privacy shields guarded the windows, the sort that would give the equipment and expertise at EDD a lot of frustration.

The vast command center looked the same to her, but then she expected upgrades meant some internal e-wizardry she’d never understand.

Roarke crossed to it, laid his hand on a palm plate. “Roarke. Open operations.”

It came to life, a quiet hum like a breath taken. Across the black field, control lights snapped on, gleamed like colorful jewels struck by the sun.

The command center faced an enormous wall screen, but for now, Roarke tapped a control. A screen slid out of a hidden slot on the black field.

“This may take a bit of a while,” he told Eve. “Even if they’re only what they purport to be, any good cybersecurity company will have their blocks, walls, tunnels, shields, and so on.”

“Okay.”

“If you’ve work of your own you want to deal with?”

He used another control, and a mini data and communication unit opened at the end of the counter.

“Upgrades,” he said again as she frowned at it. “You can use the mini well enough. It’ll require your thumbprint and voice command.”

She walked to it, pressed her thumb on the pad. “Dallas.”

And it hummed to life.

“I can’t use unregistered for reports.”

Roarke merely stepped over, pressed a glowing red button. It shifted to green.

“Now it reads as the comp in your office.”

Slick, she thought, just slick. And while more a violation than a crime, still.

Still, she decided, she’d think of it—right now—as a tool. A comp was a comp wherever it sat.

Roarke set coffee on the counter for her, then flicked his finger down the shallow dent in her chin.

“You can go to your own office, and I’ll bring you whatever results I have when I have them.”

“So I not only bend the rules, but I’m a hypocrite about it? This is fine.”

“The rules snap back, Eve. If we’re honest, CompuGuard’s stated purpose is to detect criminal activity, which they do a remarkably poor job of. You don’t.”

“Detecting terrorist activity…” She rolled her eyes at herself. “And they don’t do such a hot job there, either. Not anymore.”

“Outdated, underfunded, exploitive. So? Continue?”

“Yeah. Do what you do.”

“Command, Sicurezza Informatica , Rome, Italy, and satellite locations. Shielded first-level search.”

Received, accessing…

He took off his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves. From his pocket he took out a leather tie, pulled his hair back in a short tail.

Work mode, Eve thought, and settled into her own.

Her first step was to read Peabody’s report on the deeper run on the vic.

Everything about it said ordinary, blameless.

The ordinary and blameless often ended up on a slab, she thought, but not like this.

While Roarke worked manually, fingers swiping, tapping, sliding, so did she. His occasional voice command didn’t disturb her as she dug into 2025 and 2026, Europe.

Something happened, something she believed was big enough, important enough to resonate for decades after—and lead to the murder. The precise and complicated murder.

She found a pair of executions in Athens—ugly, public executions.

Over a dozen dead anti-war protestors, gunned down as they’d marched in Paris.

A group bringing humanitarian aid ambushed in Rome and slaughtered.

A bombing of a building in London, Dominion—extremists, a violent fringe element—HQ, resulting in more than a hundred deaths, scores of injuries.

Beatings of civilians by police in Dublin.

Homes invaded, bombed, burned. Children abducted.

When the back of the wars broke in the early summer of 2026 in Europe, the tribunals and trials. War crimes, insurrection, treason, assassinations.

Some, in that dreary aftermath, had medals pinned on them. Others sat in cages. And others faced execution.

When she sat back, Roarke signaled to her.

“Have a look here.”

He used the wall screen now, and on it she saw what she recognized as blueprints.

“Okay, that’s the building the cyber firm’s in?”

“It is, yes. And you see we have labs, offices, temp-controlled areas, secure areas, lounge areas, a fitness center—small, but big enough—data storage, two conference areas, and so on.”

“And?”

“Well now, it’s bollocks. Not all, but bollocks just the same. Look here.”

He brought up a second set of blueprints.

“This is the building that stood there until the mid-twenties. It was severely damaged in the Urbans, but not destroyed. Then it was razed, as it was deemed unsafe. What do you see?”

“I see there’s an underground area. Looks like two levels, and they don’t show on the new blueprints. Neither do the tunnels.”

“Interesting, isn’t it? As it’s well cloaked. Also interesting is this building has military-grade shields. Two layers of shields that are regularly upgraded. That’s not only a considerable cost for a company of this size, this nature, this profit/loss margin, but inexplicable as—”

“Military grade is for the military, not private companies, not for civilians or civilian companies.”

“Exactly.”

“Do you have them?”

“Well now, of course, but of my own design, and the expense is built in. We don’t have that here—not that shows. The financials are bogus as well, and I’ll go after that shortly. Here’s one more.”

“What’s this one?”

“This is the home of your victim’s supervisor. This area?”

He highlighted it.

“This also has two layers of shields. I believe if I take the time to pinpoint other supervisory staff, I’ll find the same.”

“Sometimes you have to work at home,” Eve murmured.

“As we prove most every day. Your victim’s home doesn’t have those shields. But it did, in one area. Apparently removed eight years ago.”

“When he retired. So the company is a front.”

“It carries on its business—a good business, successful, very competent. But that business doesn’t pay for these shields, and doesn’t require them. And it defies logic they wouldn’t use and have use for those two levels. The tunnels still exist—I’ve verified that with other buildings.”

“Can you get through the shields?”

His impossibly blue eyes met hers. “Darling Eve, you wound me.”

“Undetected?”

“Ouch.”

She rubbed her hands over her face, laughed. “All right, Ace, go at it. I’m picking through bombings, brutality, corruption, and treason.”

“Do what you do,” he said, and went back to his own.

Eve worked, drank more coffee. And heard Roarke’s occasional mutters, curses, heard the Irish thicken in his voice as he ran into walls.

The cat snored lightly in his sleep. Outside the windows, the city lights glimmered.

“There, bugger you now, I’ve bloody well got you.”

“You got it?”

“I’ll need a tourniquet if you keep stabbing my ego.”

She swiveled, stared at the screen. “That’s a live feed! You got a live feed.”

“I can’t keep it for you and stay in the shadows. What they have’s too good for that. You have ten seconds more.”

“Those are the lower levels. There are people working there. That’s a goddamn armory! And labs. And—”

“I’ve got you a still, but that’s all we can risk on the live. What you have there, Lieutenant, isn’t just a front.”

“It’s an HQ.”

“My guess, AISE—Italy’s intelligence agency. Possibly a collaboration with AISI.”

“What’s the difference?”

“AISE is foreign intelligence, and you mentioned the victim traveled through Europe. AISI is domestic.”

“I don’t think I want to know how you know that right off the top of your head.”

“I can also tell you that the two agencies helped form the Underground. With MI6, the CIA, DGSI—France—and others. It was more formally known as the International Intelligence Agency.”

“The IIA disbanded in the ’30s or early ’40s.”

Roarke smiled. “Did it?”

“Huh. Okay, maybe, maybe not. Maybe parts of it are still in operation in places like this, with people like Rossi still working as agents, operatives. Either way, Rossi wasn’t just a cybersecurity drone.”

She turned away, paced.

“He was born in Rome, worked in Rome, started his family there. In November of 2025, a group of humanitarian aid workers were bringing in supplies—food, water, medical supplies. A unit of paramilitary ambushed them, killed every one of them, stole the supplies.”

“I’ve read about that, yes. It was a turning point. Support and sympathy for the revolutionaries dried up. It’s known as—”

“Massacre of Hope. Hope was the name of the humanitarian organization. I read it just a bit ago. The Underground helped track down most of the killers. It took months to track them and bring them to trial. And most of those were executed for war crimes.”

She turned back. “This could come from that. Rossi worked for the Underground. He might have helped hunt them down. And this is payment for that.”

“The dots connect. It’s a straight line.”

“I’m going to follow it. In Paris, another massacre—civilians, slaughtered during a peace march right after the first of the year—2026. In London, the bombing of Dominion’s secret HQ in May. All contributed to the end of the wars, and fit the time period I’m looking at.

“We can shut down here. I can follow it on regular equipment.”

“And the HQ in Rome?”

“I’ll push on that if I need to. I had questions, now I’ve found these major incidents. I can talk to Feeney, Whitney. I still want to talk to Summerset. Ivanna could be a better source.”

“I left him a memo.”

Summerset found the memo when he came in the house. As habit, he used the house comp.

“Are the children at home?”

He never asked for their location, as that violated their privacy.

Affirmative.

Before Summerset stepped back, Roarke’s voice came through.

Welcome home. I hope you enjoyed your day. The lieutenant would like to speak with you when you get in, as a case she has may be tied to the Urbans in Europe. I suspect she’ll work near to midnight if you get in by then.

Eyebrows arched, a frown deepening, Summerset looked toward the stairs. The Urbans was an area of deep pain, and strange glory. And nothing he wished to discuss. Particularly since he’d planned to brew some tea and end his day off with a book he was currently enjoying.

But there was duty, and he had to admit, curiosity with it. So he walked to the stairs, and up. Since he couldn’t imagine he had anything he could—or would—tell her that would apply to a murder in 2061, he expected the conversation would be brief.

As the majority of their conversations were.

When he stepped into her office, he saw the empty command center—and no cat, who would be wherever they were. Thinking Roarke had talked her into sleep—or something more intimate—earlier than expected, he started to step out again.

Tomorrow would do.

Then he saw the board.

There was pain, sudden and sharp. Shock rushed behind it, just as searing.

And decades fell away in an instant.