Lucias had to stop and consider. His hands, slick with blood, were steady now. His mind already clearing. "Powerful," he decided. "Extremely. Energizing."
"I want to try it."
"We'll finish him off together then. But not here." Lucias checked his wrist unit. "We have to work quickly. I have a date tonight."
It didn't take long, all things considered.
It was a matter of pulling his grandfather's car into the garage. As a point of pride and control, Dr. McNamara made a habit of driving himself nearly everywhere. He wouldn't, Lucias thought, drive himself to his final destination. With Kevin's help, he wrapped his grandfather's nude body in plastic and folded it into the trunk.
"He might have told someone he was coming here," Kevin pointed out.
"Low probability. He disliked sharing personal business."
"Your grandmother?"
"Her least of all." Lucias tossed the bag of clothes and valuables into the trunk. "It wouldn't have occurred to him to bother, nor would it occur to her to ask if he had any plans. Now." He slammed the trunk closed, brushed his hands together. "You've reprogrammed the droid?"
"Check. There'll be no record we had any company."
"Excellent. We have the location for disposal your computer scan indicated was the best for our purposes. You follow in your car, we finish it, then dump him and the goodie bag. You did weigh it down enough, didn't you?"
"Absolutely. It'll sink to the bottom of the river."
"And he won't. Perfect. We torch the car, drive back home. And I have plenty of time to dress for my evening out."
"You're a cool one, Lucias. I've always admired that about you."
"Thank you. Well, we'd best be off. You know, this will be a record. Two perfect crimes in one night. I'll have to claim the lion's share of points for the first, though."
"I can't argue about that." Kevin gave him a friendly smack on the shoulder.
"Clean as a whistle," Eve said as she studied Lucias's data. That either makes him a droid or a… what's that term Mavis uses? Dweebazoid. No school infractions, no traffic violations. Following right along with the family tradition, too."
"That's why they're called family traditions," Roarke pointed out. "What will ours be, I wonder? Crime, of course, but which side of the spectrum?"
She spared him a look. "He's got his own residence here in the city. I'm going to make time to talk to him. He's rolling in money, so he's a hit there. He's got knowledge of chemistry."
"Attractive young man," Roarke commented, nodding toward the picture beside the written data."Young being the operative word. He's barely been out of university a full year."
"I'm checking him out. And I'll use checking him out to see if it makes his grandfather a little more forthcoming."
"He pissed you off."
"That's affirmative. And I'm going to piss him off right back when I get authority to open the sealeds."
"I can get that data for you."
"I've already had you do an unauthorized and illegal computer block. Let's leave our black marks to a minimum."
"The block may save a life. That's no black mark. And I can get you some of that sealed data by perfectly legal means. A single 'link call to a source at Allegany who worked on the project. If you want names to run, I'll get you names."
"Just a call?"
"Very simple."
"Then do it."
"All right, but it'll cost you."
Because she recognized the gleam in his eye, she narrowed her own. "Get out. I'm not paying for information with sex."
"Consider it taking one for the team," he suggested, and tumbled her into the sleep chair.
By the time she'd paid up, her ears were ringing and every ounce of tension had melted out of her body. It seemed her bones had melted along with it as she discovered when she tried to stand.
She wore only her boots and the diamond pendant he'd once given her.
"You know if you hadn't become a cop, you might have had a future in porn vids. And I mean that in the best possible way. Christ, Eve, you're a picture."
"Don't even think about trying for a second round. I want that data, pal."
"A deal's a deal." He rose, fluidly, wearing nothing but his grin. "Why don't you order us up a meal of some sort," he suggested as he started for his office. "I'm starving."
She watched him go.Talk about pictures, she thought. If she didn't consider herself on duty, she'd have been tempted to sprint after him, tackle him, and sink her teeth into his really superior ass.
Instead she'd settle for an AutoChef burger.
She leaned down, scooped up her clothes.
"Catch!"
She straightened and, as her arms were full, took the robe he tossed her in the face.
"Might as well be comfortable," he said. "And oh, darling? I could use a glass of wine."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A cheeseburger wouldn't have been his first choice, particularly with the Savignon Blanc '55. But it was Eve's show.
"Why didn't you tell me about this guy before?"
He watched Eve shake a blizzard of salt over her fries, and winced. "Had your blood pressure checked lately?"
"Just answer the question."
"You had a lot of irons in the fire, so I took this one. Stiles was bound to be more cooperative with me than with you. As illustrated by the fact that after only minimal grousing, he's digging through his files and his memory. You'll have your data by the time we finish this delightfully adolescent meal. More onion rings?"
"You trust him?"
"I do, yes. Stiles makes a career out of being irritable, but under the rough exterior is an equally rough but honest interior. You'd like him."
It was plain Roarke did, and she trusted his instincts. "What I need is project staff who got a little too involved with the experimentation. People who might have taken it home with them. Their family, friends, associates."
"And so I explained. Relax, Lieutenant, or you'll give yourself indigestion." He watched her scarf up onion rings. "Though that's pretty much a given in any case."
"You're just sulking because I didn't pick out rack of lamb or something. The murders are connected to the project. It just follows logic. You have to figure supply and intent. You don't pick these particular illegals up on the street. Derivatives, diluted clones, but not the pure goods."
She lifted her wineglass, studied the pale gold liquid. "Just like this stuff. You can't walk into the corner liquor store, a twenty-four-seven and cop a bottle of this. You can get cheap substitutes, inferior, what do you call them, labels, but for the snooty stuff you need a high-end supplier and the wherewithal."
"Or your own vineyard."
"Or your own vineyard," she agreed. "You got that, you can drink it like water. He doesn't settle for substitutes. He's better than that, deserves the very best. The best illegals, the best wines, the best clothes. And the women of his choice. Just another commodity."
"He has the means to indulge himself, in every vice. Isn't it probable he's worked his way up to this ultimate indulgence?"
"Yeah, if you go by percentages, probabilities of profiling. But there's more to it, because there are two of them. Teamwork, competition, mutual dependence. The first one fucked up. He hadn't worked his way up to killing yet, so he panicked. But that upped the stakes. Second guy can't let his pal get ahead of him. He's got more violence in him, and isn't afraid of seeing that part of himself. He enjoys it. Then you bounce back to the first player, and he messes up again. He leaves her alive. He's losing the game."
"You're dismissing multiple personalities?"
"Even if its MPS, we're dealing with two. But I'm more inclined toward the simple route. Two styles, two killers. I wonder if anybody on the project list had two sons. Brothers maybe. It would make sense if… or childhood friends." She shifted her attention back to Roarke. "Guys who grew up together. That's like brotherhood, isn't it?"