Free In Death Collection: Books 30-32 by J.D. Robb Page B

it.”
    â€œI’ll be the soul. If this guy was banging three marks, how’d he have time for anything else?”
    â€œApparently, it’s just a matter of good time management.”
    â€œI wonder what supplements he takes, or if he has a special diet.”
    â€œI’ll be sure to ask next time we speak. Out.”
    Eve sat to begin runs on both DuVaugne and the company, and while the data began to screen, followed a hunch.
    Once again Roarke answered directly. “Lieutenant.”
    â€œAre you in the house?”
    â€œI am, yes. In EDD.”
    â€œWhat can you tell me, off the top, about a Lane DuVaugne and Synch Entertainment.”
    â€œI’ll come down.”
    â€œYou don’t have to—” she began, but she was talking to empty air.
    â€œOkay then.”
    She started with DuVaugne. The fifty-nine-year-old vice president was on wife two, who—no surprise—clocked in at twenty-eight years younger. They based their three-year marriage on the Upper East Side, with additional housing in Belize and the Italian Riviera. The current wife was a former lingerie model.
    Men were so simple, really.
    He’d held his position at Synch for sixteen years, and pulled in a hefty twenty-two million, before bonuses, annually.
    He had no criminal record.
    â€œWe’re about to change that.”
    What change do you wish to implement? the computer asked.
    â€œNothing. None. A person can’t even talk to herself around here.”
    She did a quick scan on the company. It had been around nearly as long as DuVaugne had been alive, developing, manufacturing, and distributing games and game systems. Offices and plants worldwide. She frowned as she read the cities, backtracked through company history, tried to wade her way through the official financial and employment data.
    She hated to admit it, but she felt some relief when Roarke walked in. Then he shut the door.
    â€œUh-oh.”
    â€œI simply prefer not to broadcast my business.”
    â€œYour business crosses with Synch?”
    â€œNot at the moment. Where’s your candy?”
    â€œWhat candy?”
    He gave her a look. “I know very well you hide candy in here. I need a boost. Give it over.”
    Her frown deepened, and she tracked her gaze toward the door. “Don’t let anybody come in. It’s a damn good hiding place.”
    â€œYou know, you could easily rig a cam in here, and catch whoever’s lifting your stash in the act.”
    â€œOne day I’ll catch the candy thief, but it’ll be by guile and wit, not technology. It’s a matter of pride and principle now.”
    She took a tool from her desk, then squatted in front of her recycler. After a few twists, she removed the facing and pulled an evidence bag from the back.
    â€œYour guile and wit contest causes you to keep candy in the recycler, with the trash?”
    â€œIt’s sealed.” She broke the seal with a little pop and whoosh to prove it, then took out one of three chocolate bars. She tossed it to him, then bagged the remaining two with a fresh seal before hiding them again. She glanced back to see him studying the candy.
    â€œIf you’re going to be so dainty give it back.”
    â€œThere was a time I rooted through alley garbage for food, without a thought. Things change.” He unwrapped the candy, took a bite. “But apparently not that much.”
    She replaced the tool, then stood, hands on hips, studying the recycler for any signs of tampering. “Okay. Still good.”
    â€œAnd a demonstration of true love if I ever saw one.” He brushed a hand over her tousled cap of brown hair, then tapped a finger on the dent of her chin before touching his lips to hers. “Better than chocolate.”
    The shadows had lifted, she noted. Work could do that—focus and channel grief and regret. “Synch Entertainment.”
    â€œYes. About a year ago I looked into acquiring