"This isn't about politics. Goddamn you." She rose then, braced for the blow. She was grateful he didn't use the gun, but the back of his hand to knock her back. She turned with it, fell heavily onto the night table. The glass she'd left there shattered to the floor.
"Get up."
She moaned a little. Indeed, the flash of pain had her cheek singing and her vision blurred. She pushed herself up, turned, careful to keep her body in front of the 'link she'd switched on manually.
"What good is it going to do to kill me, Rockman?"
"It will do me a great deal of good. You were the spearhead of the investigation. You're sexually involved with a man who was an early suspect. Your reputation, and your motives will come under close scrutiny after your death. It's always a mistake to give a woman authority."
She wiped the blood from her mouth. "Don't like women, Rockman?"
"They have their uses, but under it all, they're whores. Perhaps you didn't sell your body to Roarke, but he bought you. Your murder won't really break the pattern I've established."
"You've established?"
"Did you really believe DeBlass was capable of planning out and executing such a meticulous series of murders?" He waited until he saw that she understood. "Yes, he killed Sharon. An impulse. I wasn't even aware he was considering it. He panicked afterward."
"You were there. You were with him the night he killed Sharon."
"I was waiting for him in the car. I always accompanied him on his trysts with her. Driving him so that only I, who he trusted, would be involved."
"His own granddaughter." Eve didn't dare turn to be certain she was transmitting. "Didn't it disgust you?"
"She disgusted me, lieutenant. She used his weakness. Every man's entitled to one, but she used it, exploited it, then threatened him. After she was dead, I realized it was for the best. She would have waited until he was president, then twisted the knife."
"So you helped him cover it up."
"Of course." Rockman lifted his shoulders. "I'm glad we have this opportunity. It was frustrating for me not to be able to take credit. I'm delighted to share it with you."
Ego, she remembered. Not just intelligence, but ego and vanity. "You had to think fast," she commented. "And you did. Fast and brilliantly."
"Yes." His smile spread. "He called me on the car 'link, told me to come up quickly. He was half mad with fear. If I hadn't calmed him, she might have succeeded in ruining him."
"You can blame her?"
"She was a whore. A dead whore." He shrugged it off, but held the gun steady. "I gave the senator a sedative, and I cleaned up the mess. As I explained to him, it was necessary to make Sharon only part of the whole. To use her failings, her pathetic choice of profession. It was a simple matter to doctor the security discs. The senator's penchant for recording his sexual activities gave me the idea to use that as part of the pattern."
"Yes," she said through numbed lips. "That was clever."
"I wiped the place down, wiped the gun. Since he'd been sensible enough not to use one that was registered, I left it behind. Again, establishing pattern."
"So you used it," Eve said quietly. "Used him, used Sharon."
"Only fools waste opportunities. He was more himself once we were away," Rockman mused. "I was able to outline the rest of my plan. Using Simpson to apply pressure, leak information. It was unfortunate that the senator didn't remember until later to tell me about Sharon's diaries. I had to risk going back. But, as we know now, she was clever enough to hide them well."
"You killed Lola Starr and Georgie Castle. You killed them to cover up the first murder."
"Yes. But unlike the senator, I enjoyed it. From beginning to end. It was a simple matter to select them, choose names, locations."
It was a little difficult at the moment to enjoy the fact that she'd been right, and her computer wrong. Two killers after all. "You didn't know them? You didn't even know them?"
"Did you think I should?" He laughed at that. "Who they were hardly mattered. Only what. Whores offend me. Women who spread their legs to weaken a man offend me. You offend me, lieutenant."
"Why the discs?" Where the hell was Feeney? Why wasn't a roving unit breaking down her door right now? "Why did you send me the discs?"
"I liked watching you scramble around like a mouse after cheese – a woman who believed she could think like a man. I pointed you at Roarke, but you let him talk you onto your back. All too typical. You disappointed me. You were emotional, lieutenant: over the deaths, over that little girl you didn't save. But you got lucky. Which is why you're about to become very unlucky."
He sidestepped over to the dresser where he had a camera waiting. He switched it on. "Take off your clothes."
"You can kill me," she said as her stomach began to churn. "But you're not going to rape me."
"You'll do exactly what I want you to do. They always do." He lowered the gun until it pointed at her midsection. "With the others, it was a shot to the head first. Instant death, probably painless. Do you have any idea what sort of pain you'll experience with a forty-five slug in your gut? You'll be begging me to kill you."
His eyes lit brilliantly. "Strip."
Eve's hands fell to her sides. She'd face the pain, but not the nightmare. Neither of them saw the cat slink into the room.
"Your choice, lieutenant," Rockman said, then jerked when the cat brushed between his legs.
Eve sprang forward, head low, and used the force of her body to drive him against the wall.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Feeney stopped on his way back from the eatery, a half a soy burger in his hand. He loitered by the coffee dispenser, gossiping with a couple of cops on robbery detail. They swapped stories, and Feeney decided he could use one more cup of coffee before calling it a night.
He nearly bypassed his office altogether, with visions of an evening in front of the TV screen and a nice cold beer swimming in his head. His wife might even be up for a little cuddle if he was lucky.
But he was a creature of habit. He breezed in to make certain his precious computer was secured for the night. And heard Eve's voice.
"Hey, Dallas, what brings you – " He stopped, scanning his empty office. "Working too hard," he muttered, then heard her again.
"You were with him. You were with him the night he killed Sharon."
"Oh my Jesus."
He could see little on the screen: Eve's back, the side of the bed. Rockman was blocked from view, but the audio was clear. Feeney was already praying when he called Dispatch.
Eve heard the cat's annoyed screech when her foot stomped his tail, heard too, the clatter as the gun hit the floor. Rockman had her in height, he had her in weight. And he'd recovered from her full body slam too quickly. He proved graphically that he was military trained.
She fought viciously, unable to restrain herself to the cool, efficient moves of hand to hand. She used nails and teeth.
The shortened blow to the ribs stole her breath. She knew she was going down, and she made sure she took him with her. They hit the floor hard, and though she rolled, he came down on top of her.
Lights starred behind her eyes when her head rapped hard against the floor.
His hand was around her throat, bruising her windpipe. She went for the eyes, missed, and raked furrows down his cheek that had him howling like an animal. If he'd used his other hand for a blow to the face, he might have stunned her, but he was too focused on reaching the gun. Her stiff-handed chop to his elbow had his hand shaking from her throat. Painfully gasping in air, she scrambled with him for the gun.