Free The In Death Collection 06-10 by J. D. Robb

I need the time you last saw Shawn, and where he went.”
    “It was about four this morning, and he said he was going to bed. He was to meet the man himself today and needed to look presentable.”
     
    “He’s playing with me.” Eve slammed into her vehicle, rapped a fist against the wheel. “That’s what the bastard’s doing, playing with me. Throwing Roarke’s name into the mix. Goddamn it.”
    She held up a hand before Peabody could speak, then simply stood staring out the window. She knew what shehad to do. There was no choice for any of them. She snatched up the car ’link and called home.
    “Roarke residence,” Summerset said in smooth tones, then his face went stony. “Lieutenant.”
    “Put him on,” she demanded.
    “Roarke is engaged on another call at the moment.”
    “Put him on, you skinny, frog-faced son of a bitch. Now.”
    The screen switched to the pale blue holding mode. Twenty seconds later, Roarke was on. “Eve.” Though his mouth curved, the smile didn’t touch his eyes. “Problem?”
    “Do you know a Shawn Conroy?” She saw it in his face before he answered, just a flicker in those dark blue eyes.
    “I did, years ago in Dublin. Why?”
    “Have you had any contact with him here in New York?”
    “No. I haven’t seen or spoken to him in about eight years.”
    Eve took a calming breath. “Tell me you don’t own a bar called the Green Shamrock.”
    “All right. I don’t own a bar called the Green Shamrock.” Now he did smile. “Really, Eve, would I own something quite so clichéd?”
    Relief had the weight dropping out of her stomach. “Guess not. Ever been there?”
    “Not that I recall.”
    “Planning any parties?”
    He angled his head. “Not at the moment. Eve, is Shawn dead?”
    “I don’t know. I need a list of your New York properties.”
    He blinked. “All?”
    “Shit.” She pinched her nose, struggling to think clearly. “Start with the private residences, currently, unoccupied.”
    “That should be simple enough. Five minutes,” Roarke promised and ended transmission.
    “Why private residences?” Peabody wanted to know.
    “Because he wants me to find it. He wants me there. He’s moved quickly on this one. Why hassle with a lot of security, cameras, people. You get a private home, empty. You get in, do your work, get out.”
    She flipped her ’link to transmit when it beeped.
    “Only three unoccupied at the moment,” Roarke told her. “The first is on Greenpeace Park Drive. Number eighty-two. I’ll meet you there.”
    “Just stay where you are.”
    “I’ll meet you there,” he repeated, and broke transmission.
    Eve didn’t bother swearing at him, but swung the car away from the curb. She beat him there by thirty seconds, not quite enough time for her to bypass the locks with her master code.
    The long black coat he wore against the bite of wind flowed like water, snapped like a whip. He laid a hand on her shoulder, and despite her scowl kissed her lightly. “I have the code,” he said and plugged it in.
    The house was tall and narrow to fit the skinny lot. The ceiling soared. The windows were treated to ensure privacy and block UV rays. At the moment, security bars covered them so that the sunlight shot individual cells onto the polished tile floors.
    Eve drew her weapon, gestured Peabody to the left. “You’re with me,” she told Roarke, and started up the curving flow of the staircase. “We’re going to talk about this later.”
    “Of course we are.” And he wouldn’t mention, now or then, the illegal nine-millimeter automatic he had in his pocket. Why distress the woman you loved with minor details?
    But he kept a hand in that pocket, firm over the grip as he watched her search each room, watched those cool eyes scan corner to corner.
    “Why is a place like this empty?” she wanted to know after she’d assured herself it was indeed empty.
    “It won’t be next week. We’re renting it, furnished, primarily on the short term to