Page 46 of Framed in Death (In Death #61)

He soothed and seduced, tending to her body, inch by inch. Drawing out her emotions to join with his, patiently, so patiently layering sensations that she slid to peak, slid over like water poured from a cup.

Then he was with her, inside her, bodies joined in a slow, easy rhythm that spun out time. So slow, slow and sweet, they climbed to peak and spilled over together.

She didn’t dream.

And when she woke, felt incredibly grateful for that single, simple fact. More gratitude filled her when she saw Roarke in his perfect dark suit, with his perfectly knotted tie, in the sitting area with the cat across his lap and the stock figures scrolling by on the muted screen.

The familiarity of it, the quiet routine of it kept worry at bay another few minutes. It wouldn’t be an easy day, she knew. She had to prepare for long, for hard, but to have this to start that long, hard day?

A gift.

“You slept well,” he said without looking over.

“I haven’t moved a muscle. How do you know I’m awake?”

“I can hear your brain working.”

“You know that’s not possible.”

“And yet.” Now he looked over, smiled that smile of his. “And as your brain’s working, I’ll suggest you wear something formidable today. Black if you must, but with punch.”

“My brain can’t worry about clothes before coffee.”

She rolled out of bed and went straight for coffee. Drinking that first life-saving sip, she studied him.

“You helped me out last night.”

“I reaped considerable benefits.”

“Damn right, but. I’m going to give you a little payback anyway. You pick out the formidable. I expect to deal with the obscenely rich. You qualify there, too. Just add intimidating to formidable.”

“First a barbecue and now this.” His clever fingers scratched at the cat as he studied her. “Where is my wife?”

“She’s right here, so don’t get used to it, Ace.”

With that she went in to shower.

More routine, and exactly what she needed to fortify for the day ahead. Hot jets, steam rising. Then warm air swirling, all giving her time to think, to begin to strategize.

When she came out, he’d laid clothes on the bed, had two domes on the table.

He hadn’t gone for black, she noted, but the dark gray of an angry thundercloud in the trousers, the jacket.

He’d paired that with a thundercloud vest with thin lines of dark, deep bronze.

A simple T-shirt and the buckle of the gray belt picked up the bronze.

As did the three chunky buckles on the over-the-ankle gray boots.

“Formidable?”

“With you in it, oh yes, indeed. Take off the jacket when you’re in Central. Show them your weapon and those well-toned arms. Show them who you are.”

“Okay then.”

“The diamond studs—the small ones.” He nodded toward the dresser.

“Oh, but—”

“The obscenely rich will recognize the quality. You’ll forget you’re wearing them. They won’t.”

She’d think about it, she decided, and walked over to join him.

With the cat now stretched on the floor, Roarke took the domes off.

“Waffles! Never wrong.”

Waffles and berries and bacon. Add more coffee and the day began perfectly.

She drowned the waffles in syrup.

“Do you have a plan of attack?”

“I’m juggling plans, since I don’t know how they’ll push on defense.

I do figure they can keep him quiet for a while.

That doesn’t mean I can’t bring him into the box with his attorneys present.

They’ll file briefs, but that’s Reo’s deal.

I can goad and insult him all I want. He might stay silent through a round of that.

Then it’s back to the cell. He’ll have to sit through arraignment, and take what Reo throws out. ”

“It’ll wear on him.”

“That’s just right. Maybe it’ll take another round, maybe two, I’d say three at the outside. Add a second night in a cell? He’ll break.”

She ate waffles, switched to bacon.

“He’ll break,” she repeated. “I just have to get to the buttons and keep pressing them. If I’m pressing the wrong ones, Mira will tell me. I don’t care how much they pay the lawyers, how good they are, nobody will be able to shut him down once I punch the first crack in the wall.”

“As I said before, my money’s on you.”

She looked over at the clothes on the bed. “Pretty much literally.” Eating, she considered. “What would you do if I started shopping for my own clothes?”

“After I’d been treated for shock? I’d implore Louise to give you a full medical workup, including a brain scan.”

“Ha ha. I used to shop for my own clothes.”

He leaned over, kissed her cheek. “I’d say it was more bought them than shopped for. And I do treasure the button that fell off the hideous suit you wore the day we met.”

“Sap. A smartass and a sap. Well, I’m going to go put on your money, get a little jump on the day. I’ll wake Reo up, if she’s not already up, on my way downtown. I think we need to meet before it all starts.”

She got up to dress.

“I’m figuring the legal wrangles may take a couple of days. If he has to spend the weekend in jail, he’ll crack like an egg on Monday. If he lasts that long.”

As she put on the trousers, pulled on the T-shirt, Roarke carried the plates and domes into his closet.

Amused, she watched him come out, firmly close the door as she buttoned on the vest.

“Really?”

“He needs to learn not to lap at dishes.”

“Next, you’ll put the breakfast stuff in your closet safe.”

“If needs be.”

She strapped on her weapon harness, frowned at the small studs. “I want to say cops don’t wear diamonds, but I’ve got a big-ass one under my shirt.”

“The studs are a subtle statement, and won’t go unnoticed if you deal with any of Ebersole’s family today.”

“I expect to. Someone’s going to come to protect the baby boy against the big bad cop.”

She put them on, and decided to do exactly what Roarke had told her she would. Forget she wore them. So she sat, pulled on her boots. And from her vantage point, watched the cat manage to open the closet just enough to squeeze his bulk through.

“Roarke.”

He glanced over where she nodded.

“Well, fuck me.” He marched to the closet, came back out with a disappointed Galahad. “Banishment it is then.”

As he put the cat out of the room, Eve’s ’link signaled.

“Looks like Reo’s tagging me first,” she said as she picked it up. “Dallas.”

“How soon can you get to the courthouse?”

“I’m leaving here in a minute. Why?”

“Jonathan Ebersole has Kopeckne, Addison, Wright, and Wu as his counsel.”

“Which means?”

“They’re who defense attorneys want to be when they grow up,” On-screen, Reo used both hands to somehow pull her fluffy hair into a smooth twist. “And he’s got a bail hearing at nine.”

“What? Nobody works that fast.”

“They do. Arraignment and bail hearing at nine.”

“He won’t make bail.” She worried there, but… “Not with these charges, he won’t. He’s a flight risk.”

“Dallas, they maneuvered somehow, and got Judge McEnroy.”

“Shit. Shit. I’m on my way.”

“Tell me what it means,” Roarke asked as she grabbed her jacket.

“It means they managed to get the judge most likely to set bail. Not a slam dunk, not with these charges, not with Ebersole’s money and connections that scream flight risk, but not impossible.

It should be. It should be impossible. If he gets out for five damn minutes, he’ll run.

His family will get him out of the country, set him up, and… ”

She had to take a minute, and a long breath with it. “They’ll put a tracker on him. McEnroy’s big on trackers, but… I need a favor.”

“Of course.”

Ten minutes later, she jogged down the steps. Roarke went with her, stopped her at the door by taking her shoulders.

“I expect you to take care of my cop and keep me updated.”

“I’ll do both. Thanks. Maybe I won’t need the insurance, but I’m not going to gamble.”

She kissed him, then dashed to the car. As she sped toward the gates, she hit lights and sirens.

She flicked her wrist unit to contact Peabody.

“Get to the courthouse. Fifteenth floor. Ebersole’s being arraigned at nine, and there’s a bail hearing.”

“At nine? How did they—”

“Money, Peabody. Get there.”

When Eve spotted a knot in traffic ahead, she punched vertical. She didn’t have time to waste.

Her in-dash signaled. She nearly ignored it when the readout told her Nadine Furst. Then she calculated.

“I’m on my way to the courthouse.”

“So am I. Or will be in three minutes.”

“If you want a one-on-one, you’ve got it, but it has to be fast.”

“Make that a minute and a half,” Nadine said, and clicked off.

APA Cher Reo didn’t allow herself to pace outside the courtroom. Pacing here would make her look weak and nervous.

She was, by God, not weak. But plenty nervous.

She had no doubt in her mind, with the evidence in hand—and whatever else could be gathered—she’d get a conviction.

For Christ’s sake, the NYPSD had caught him with his next victim, one he’d threatened to kill—on record.

They had the paintings, the costumes, his own words, the drugs used, the wire, the damn glue.

They had it all.

And none would matter if he got out, got away, riding and hiding on Harper Group money.

She’d make that case, and she’d push it hard.

But, but, but.

She sprang up from her bench, shoving files aside as she spotted Peabody.

“Where’s Dallas?”

“She was on her way when she made contact. I’m closer, but she’ll be here. How the hell did this happen so fast?”

“They pulled all the aces from the deck—including getting Judge McEnroy on the bench.”

“That’s not good. But still, bail’s not going to happen.”

“I want the judge to see NYPSD in the courtroom. I want, if I can wrangle it, a chance for him to hear the arresting officer’s statement on that arrest. I’ve barely had time to prepare. They got the jump on me.

“And here they come.”

Peabody glanced back to see four people striding down the wide hall. Two men in suits, one woman in a suit. And a second woman she recognized as Phoebe Harper.

She thought the three lawyers looked just like a vid version of slick and successful attorneys.

On the other hand, Phoebe Harper looked quietly elegant in a long-sleeved black dress, her golden brown hair waving to just above her shoulders.

She was thin and petite, makeup subtle, jewelry understated. And she looked, Peabody gauged, about a dozen years younger than sixty-seven.

The tallest of the lawyers, the one with silvery hair that formed wings at his temples, leaned down toward her, murmured something.

Peabody watched Phoebe’s gaze shift, and as they zeroed in on her and Reo, deep, dark blue eyes like her son’s went hard.

The female lawyer guided her to a bench on the other side of the courtroom door. She sat, crossed her legs, folded her hands in her lap, and stared straight ahead.

The tall man walked to Reo, held out a hand. “Ms. Reo.”

“Mr. Kopeckne.”

“My co-counsels Alan Addison and Carleen Hammott. I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

“No, we haven’t.”

“I know you by reputation, of course.” He smiled, charmingly.

“I can say the same. You’ve traveled a long way in a short time.”

“The flight from California gave us time to begin to review the case against our client.”

He went into the courtroom, followed by his associates. Hammott accompanied Phoebe inside.

“Where the hell is Dallas?” Reo muttered. “I’ve got to get in there.”

“Look, I’ll tag her, get an ETA.”

As Peabody started to, she saw her partner exiting the elevator.

Reo strode straight to her. “What took you so long? We have to go in.”

“I had to make a stop. I’m here now. The lab’s putting a rush on the drugs, the wire, glue, all of it.”

“We’ve got to go in now. I want both of you seated right behind my table. Ebersole’s got three attorneys at his, and his mother will be right behind them.”

“His mother. Mira scores again.”

“They’ll point out his family support.”

“I don’t see that as a weight on his side.”

“And I’ll turn it around. They’ll also use the fact he has no record, no violence. I’ve got ammo, Dallas, but if the court springs him, I need him under watch.”

“Trust me, already set up.”

Reo nodded. “It just had to be McEnroy,” she mumbled, then went into court.

“You didn’t say anything about making a stop,” Peabody said.

“Some insurance, just in case. I’ll explain if we need to use it.”

They went inside, sat, and Eve took the opportunity to study Phoebe Harper.

Some resemblance, she thought, in the coloring, but where Jonathan’s face had a kind of bland softness to it, his mother’s was honed. Maybe from DNA, maybe from what money could buy, but either way, she had a sharp, striking look about her.

And when the woman turned her head, met Eve’s steady gaze, Eve saw the cold, hard steel under the striking.

Used to having her own way, too, Eve decided. And damn determined to have it regarding her son.

And damned if she didn’t see Phoebe’s glance flick to the earrings.

Roarke scored again.

Though amused, Eve kept her face impassive, her gaze steady, a way of letting the woman know she was equally determined justice got its way.

Phoebe looked away first as they escorted Jonathan into the courtroom.

His mother had brought him fresh clothes, she noted, the suit, the crisp shirt, the tie, the shined shoes. He’d knotted his hair up.

He gave his mother a look of sorrow with just a hint of tears.

She touched her hand to her lips, then extended it to him.

Moments later, the bailiff ordered all to rise.