"Sir." Peabody slid a glance toward Roarke. He'd yet to take his eyes off Eve, she noted. And those eyes looked more than a little dangerous. "If you'll excuse me, I believe you have more pressing matters here. I can handle this. You still have a number of guests in the house, including the press. I'm sure you'd prefer this matter remain quiet until its disposition."

"All right. I'll contact Central from here, make the necessary arrangements. Prepare for second phase interview tomorrow, nine hundred hours."

"I'm looking forward to it." Peabody glanced over at Jess, lifted a brow. "He must have hit his head pretty hard. Still looks dazed, skin's clammy." She offered Roarke a wide smile. "I know just how that feels."

Roarke laughed, feeling more of the tension drain away. "No, Peabody. In this case, I don't believe you do."

He got up, walked to her and, framing her square face with his elegant hands, kissed her. "You're beautiful," he murmured before turning to Eve. "I'll see to the rest of our guests. Take your time."

As he walked out, Peabody touched her fingertips to her lips. Pleasure had radiated down to her toes and out through the reinforced tips of her boots. "Oh wow. I'm beautiful, Dallas."

"I owe you, Peabody."

"I think I just got paid." She stepped back to the door. "Here come the MTs. We'll get our boy out of here. Tell Mavis she was absolutely ultra."

"Mavis." Eve pressed her fingers to her eyes. How was she going to tell Mavis?

"If I were you, Dallas, I'd give her tonight to glow. You can tell her about this later. She'll be fine. In here," she called, gesturing. "We got us what looks like a mild concussion."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Getting a warrant for search and seizure at two in the morning was a tricky business. She lacked the straightforward data to cop an automatic clearance and needed a judge. Judges tended to be cranky about calls in the middle of the night. And trying to explain why she needed clearance for a sweep and scan of a music console currently on her own premises was a dicey job.

This being the case, Eve tolerated the clipped, angry lecture from her judge of choice.

"I understand that, Your Honor. But this can't wait until a decent hour in the morning. I have a strong suspicion that the console in question is linked to the deaths of four people. Its designer and operator is currently being detained, and I cannot expect his immediate cooperation."

"You're telling me music kills, Lieutenant?" The judge snorted. "I could have told you that. The crap they're pumping out these days could murder an elephant. In my day, we had music. Springsteen, Live, Cult Killers. That was music."

"Yes, sir." She rolled her eyes. She'd had to pick a classic music buff. "I really need that warrant, Your Honor. Captain Feeney is available to begin the initial scan. The operator had admitted to using the console illegally, on the record. I need more to tie it to the cases in question."

"You ask me, those music consoles should be banned and burned. This is piddly shit here, Lieutenant."

"Not if the evidence bears out my belief that this console and its operator are linked to the death of Senator Pearly and others."

There was a pause, a wheeze. "That's a big leap. No pun intended."

"Yes, sir. I need the warrant to bridge the gap."

"I'll send it through, but you better have something, Lieutenant. And it better be solid."

"Thank you. Sorry to have disturbed -- " The 'link clicked in her ear, forcefully. "Your sleep," she finished, then picked up her communicator and tagged Feeney.

"Hey, Dallas." His face was flushed with fun, wide with a grin. "Where ya been, kid? Party's just breaking up. You missed Mavis doing a set with a hologram of the Rolling Stones. You know how I feel about Jagger."

"Yeah, he's like a father to you. Don't take off, Feeney. I've got a job for you."

"Job? It's two a.m., and my wife's feeling, you know -- " He winked sloppily. "Interested."

"Sorry, put the glands on hold. Roarke will arrange to have your wife taken home. I'll be up in ten. Take a dose of Sober-Up if you need it. It could be a long night."

"Sober-Up?" His face fell into its usual morose lines. "I've been working all night to get drunk. What's this about?"

"Ten minutes," she repeated and cut him off.

She took the time to change out of the party dress, and discovered bruises she hadn't been aware of throbbing fresh. She took a quick moment to slap a coat of numbing cream where she could reach and winced her way into a shirt and trousers.

Still, she was true to her word and walked onto the roof terrace ten minutes later.

Roarke had been at work here, she noted, and had cleared out lingering guests. If there were any stragglers, he was dealing with them elsewhere, giving her a clear stage.

Feeney sat alone on a chair beside a decimated buffet spread, glumly eating pate. "You sure know how to put me out of a party mood, Dallas. The wife was so dazzled to get a limo ride home, she forgot she was going to jump me. And Mavis was looking all over for you. I think she was a little hurt you didn't hang around to congratulate her."

"I'll make it up to her." Her porta-link hummed, signaling an incoming transmission. She read the display, hit print out. "Here's our warrant."

"Warrant?" He reached for a truffle and popped it in his mouth. "For what?"

Eve shifted, gestured toward the console. "For that. Ready to work your magic?"

Feeney swallowed the truffle, looked toward the console. The light some would have called love gleamed in his eyes. "You want me to play with that? Hot damn."

He was up, almost bounding toward the equipment and running reverent hands over it. She heard him mumbling something about TX-42, high velocity sound trips, and mirror merging capabilities. '"The warrant clears me to override his lock off code?"

"It does. Feeney, it's serious."

"You're telling me." He lifted his hands, rubbing fingertips together like an old-world safe cracker about to hit the big time. "This baby is one serious mother. The design's inspired, the payload's off the scale. It's -- "

"Very likely responsible for four deaths," Eve interrupted. She walked over to join him. "Let me bring you up to date."

Within twenty minutes, using the portable kit out of his car, Feeney was at work. Eve couldn't understand what he was muttering about, and he didn't take it kindly when she leaned over his shoulder.

That gave her time to pace, then to call in for a report on Jess's status. She had just finished ordering Peabody to turn duty over to a uniform guard and go home to get some sleep when Roarke came in.

"I gave your regrets to our guests," he told her and helped himself to another brandy. "I explained that you'd been called to duty suddenly. I had much sympathy on living with a cop."

"I tried to tell you it was a bad deal."

He only smiled, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "It placated Mavis. She's hoping you'll get in touch tomorrow."

"I will. I'll need to explain things. Did she ask about Barrow?"

"I told her he was ... indisposed. Rather abruptly." He didn't touch her. He wanted to, but he wasn't quite ready. "You're hurting, Eve. I can see it."

"You pinch my nose again, and I'll flatten you. Feeney and I have a lot of work here, and I have to be sharp. I'm not fragile, Roarke." The message was in her eyes, asking him to put it aside. "Get used to it."

"Not yet." He put down his brandy, slipped his hands into his pockets. "I could help there," he said, inclining his head toward Feeney.

"It's police business. You're not authorized to touch that unit."

When he only shifted his eyes back to hers with some of the old humor in them, she let out a huge sigh. "It's up to Feeney," she snapped. "He outranks me, and if he wants your fingers in his pie, it's his deal. I don't want to know about it. I've got reports to put together."

She started out, irritation in every body line. "Eve." When she stopped and scowled over her shoulder at him, he shook his head. "Nothing." He lifted his shoulders, feeling helpless. "Nothing," he said again.

"Put it to bed, goddamn it. You're pissing me off." She stalked out, nearly making him smile.

"I love you, too," he murmured, then wandered toward Feeney. "What have we here?"

"Brings tears to my eyes, I swear it. It's beautiful, brilliant. I tell you the guy's a genius. Certified. Come here and take a look at this image board. Just look at it."

Roarke slipped off his jacket, hunkered down, and went to work.

-=O=-***-=O=-

She never went to bed. For once, Eve buried her prejudice and took her sanctioned dose of uppers. The Alert All cleared the drag of fatigue and most of the cobwebs from her brain. She used the shower off her office, broke down and wrapped an ice bandage over her sore knee, and told herself she'd deal with the bruises later.

It was six a.m. when she went back to the roof terrace. The console had been methodically taken apart. Wires, boards, chips, discs, drives, panels were arranged over the gleaming floor in what she could only assume were organized piles.

In his elegant silk shirt and tailored slacks, Roarke sat cross-legged among them, diligently entering data in a logbook. He'd tied his hair back, she noted, to keep it from falling over his face. And that face was intense, focused, the dark blue eyes ridiculously alert for the hour.

"I've got that," he muttered to Feeney. "Running the components now. I've seen something like this before. Something close. It's calibrating." He held the logbook out and under the kick panel of the console. "Have a look."

A hand shot out, grabbed the logbook. "Yeah, this could do it. It could fucking do it. Suck my dick."

"Irishmen have such a way with words."

At Eve's dry tone, Feeney's head popped up. His hair stuck straight up, as if he'd shocked himself while fiddling with the electronics. His eyes were bright and wild. "Hey, Dallas. I think we just nailed it."

"What took you so long?"

"What a kidder." Feeney's head disappeared again.

Eve exchanged a long, sober study with Roarke. "Good morning, Lieutenant."

"You're not here," she said as she walked past him. "I don't see you here. What have you got, Feeney?"

"Got a lot of options on this baby," he began, and popped up again to settle in the molded chair of the console. "Lotsa doodads, and they are impressive. But the one we had to dig deep to find, under layers of some pretty hunky security, is the honey."

He ran his hands over the console again, stroking fingers over the smooth surface that now topped empty guts. "The designer would have made a hell of an E-detective. Most of the guys under me can't do what he can. Creativity, see." He wagged a finger at her. "It's not just formulas and boards. Creativity turns the corner into an open field. This guy's walked that field. He fucking owns it. And this is what he'd call his crowning glory."

He offered the logbook, knowing she'd scowl over the codes and components. "So?"

"It took some art to get down to that. He had it locked under his private pass, his voice pattern, his palm print. Some layers of fail safe, too. Nearly blew ourselves up about an hour ago, right, Roarke?"

Roarke rose and tucked his hands in his pockets. "I never doubted you for an instant, Captain."

"Like hell." In tune with his man, Feeney grinned. "If you weren't saying your prayers, boyo, I was saying mine. Still, I can't think of many others I'd be pleased to be blown to hell with."

"The feeling's nearly mutual."

"If you two have finished your little male bonding dance, would you care to explain what the hell I'm supposed to be looking at here?"

"It's a scanner. The most intricate I've seen outside of Testing."

"Testing?"

It was a procedure every cop dreaded, and one every cop faced whenever they were forced to set their weapon on maximum for termination.

"Even though every member of NYPSD's brain pattern is on record, a scan's taken during Testing. Search for damage, flaws, any abnormalities that might have contributed to the use of maximum force. That scan's compared with the last taken, then the subject is taken on a couple of VR rides that use the data downloaded from the scan. Nasty business."

Feeney had only faced it once and hoped never to go through the process again.

"And he's managed to duplicate or simulate that process?" Eve asked.

"I'd say he's improved on it on a couple of levels." Feeney gestured toward the stack of discs. "That's a lot of brain wave patterns. Shouldn't be too difficult to compare them with the victims' and identify."

Her pattern would be on one, she thought. Her mind, on disc. "Tidy," she said half to herself.

"Brilliant, really. And potentially deadly. Our boy's got some spiffy twists on mood sets. They're all tied into musical patterns, you know, notes and chords. He picks the tune, see, then enhances what you'd call the tone of it, to pump along the target's reaction, their state of mind say, their unconscious impulses."

"So he uses it to get into their head, deep. The subconscious."

"Got a lot of medical technology I'm not real familiar with, but I'd say that's about it. Heavy into sexual urges," Feeney added. "That's our boy's specialty. I've got a little more breakdown to do, but I'd say he could program the brain pattern, set the mood enhance, and give the target mind a nice hefty push."

"Off a ledge?" she demanded.

"That's tricky, Dallas. Where I'm at here is enhancement, suggestive shit. Sure, if somebody was leaning toward the ledge, thinking about going over, this might give them that last nudge. But to coerce a mind to act in a manner completely adverse, completely out of character, I'd have to back off on that for now."

"They jumped, choked, and bled to death," she reminded him impatiently. "Maybe we've all got suicidal urges buried in the subconscious. And this just brings them to the surface."

"You need Mira for that, not me. I'll keep digging." He smiled hopefully. "After breakfast?"

She forced down impatience. "After breakfast. I appreciate the long night, Feeney, and the quick work. But I needed the best."

"And you got it. The guy you decided to link yourself up with isn't half bad, either, as a tech. I'd make a decent E-man out of him if he'd give up the drudgery of his lifestyle."

"My first offer of the day." Roarke smiled. "You know where the kitchen is, Feeney. You're welcome to the AutoChef, or you can ask Summerset to arrange for the meal of your choice."

"Around here, that means real eggs." He stretched kinks out, popped joints. "You want me to tell him breakfast for three?"

"You get started," Roarke suggested. "We'll be down shortly." He waited until Feeney had sauntered out, whistling at the thought of eggs Benedict and blueberry pancakes. "You haven't much time, I know."

"I have enough, if you have something to say."

"I do." It was rare for him to feel awkward. He'd almost forgotten the sensation until it swamped him. "What Feeney just pointed out to you, about his opinion on the capabilities here. The fact that it's unlikely for the subject to be influenced to act out of character, to do something abhorrent."

She saw immediately where he was going and wanted to curse. "Roarke -- "

"I'll finish this. I've been the man who took you last night. I've lived in that skin, and it hasn't been so long ago that I've forgotten him. I turned him into something else because I wanted to. And I could. Money helped, and a certain need for... polish. But he's still there. He's still part of me. I was reminded of that rather violently last night."

"Do you want me to hate you for it, to blame you for it?"

"No, I want you to understand it, and me. I came from the kind of man who hurt you last night."

"So did I."

That stopped him, had emotion swimming back into his eyes. "Christ, Eve."

"And it scares me. It wakes me up in the middle of the night, the wondering just what's inside me. I live with it every single day. I knew where you came from when I took you on, and I don't care. I know you've done things, broken laws, lived outside them. But I'm here."

She huffed out a breath, shifted her feet. "I love you, okay? That's it. Now, I'm hungry, and I've got a full day ahead of me, so I'm going down before Feeney cleans us out of eggs."

He stepped in front of her before she could storm out. "One more minute." He framed her face with his hands, lowered his mouth to hers, and turned her scowl into a sigh with a kiss so tender it made her throat ache and her toes curl.

"Well," she managed when he eased back. "That's better, I guess."

"Much better." He linked his fingers with hers. And because he had used it when he'd hurt her, he balanced that out by using it now. "A ghra."

"Huh?" A line appeared between her brows. "Is that Gaelic again?"

"Yes." He brought their joined fingers to his lips. "Love. My love."

"It's got a nice ring."

"It does, yes." He sighed a little. It had been a long time since he'd let himself hear the music of it.

"It shouldn't make you sad," she murmured.

"It doesn't. Just thoughtful." He gave her hand a friendly squeeze. "I'd love to buy you breakfast, Lieutenant."

"Talked me into it." Comfortable, she tightened her grip. "We got any crepes?"

The trouble with chemicals, Eve thought as she set up for the next interview with Jess Barrow, was that no matter how safe, mild, and helpful they claimed to be, they always made her feel false. She knew she wasn't naturally alert, that underneath that surging, induced energy, her body was a mass of desperate fatigue.

She kept imagining her system wearing a huge clown's mask of enthusiasm over a gray, exhausted face.

"Back in the saddle, Peabody?" Eve asked as her aide walked into the white-walled, uncluttered room.

"Yes, sir. I briefed myself via your reports, dropped by your office on the way here. You have a message from the commander on hold, and two from Nadine Furst. I think she smells a story."

"She'll have to wait. I'll relay to the commander during our first break here. Know anything about baseball, Peabody?"

"I played short for two years at the Academy. Golden Glove."

"Well, warm up. When I toss you a ball, you field it, zing it back. We're going Tinker to Evers to Chance here, with Feeney coming in before the end of the inning."

Peabody's eyes lit. "Hey, didn't know you were a historian."

"I have many hidden facets. Just field the ball, Peabody. I want to dust this son of a bitch at the plate. You've read the report, you know the drill." She signaled for the suspect to be brought in. "Let's cook him. If he lawyers up, we'll have to juggle. But I'm banking on him being too arrogant to go that route initially."

"Mostly, I like cocky men. I guess I'll have to make an exception here."

"And he's got such a pretty face," Eve added, then moved aside as a uniform delivered her man. "How's it going, Jess? Feeling better today?"

He'd had time to regroup and time to stew. "I could hang you on undue force. But I'm going to let it pass because before this is done, you'll be the top joke of your idiot department."

"Yep, he's feeling better. Have a seat." She stepped to the small table, engaged the recording unit. "Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, with Peabody, Officer Delia, as aide. The time is oh nine hundred, September 8, 2058. Interview subject Barrow, Jess, file number S-one nine three oh five. Would you please state your name for the record?"

"Jess Barrow. You got that much right."

"I have, during our previous interview, given you your rights and options under the law, is that correct?"

"You gave me the drill, sure." For all the good it had done him, he thought, and shifted carefully in his seat. His cock ached like a rotted tooth.

"And you understand those rights and options as stated?"

"I got them then; I get them now."

"Do you wish, at this time, to make use of your right to an attorney or representative?"

"I don't need anybody but myself."

"All right then." Eve sat, linked her fingers, smiled. "Let's get started. In your previous statement, you admitted to the design and use of equipment built for tampering with personal brain patterns and behavior."

"I didn't admit to shit."

She kept smiling. "That's a matter of interpretation. Do you now deny that during a social gathering at my home last evening, you utilized a program you have designed to make certain suggestions, subliminally, to the subject Roarke?"

"Hey, if your husband took you off and tossed your skirts over your head, it's your business."

Her smile never faltered. "It certainly is." She needed to hang him here, on this one point, to hang him on the rest. "Peabody, perhaps Jess is unaware of the penalty for giving false statement to a police official during Interview."

"That penalty," Peabody said smoothly, "carries a maximum term of five years in full lockup. Shall I replay the pertinent data from the initial interview, Lieutenant? The subject's memory might be faulty due to the injury received while assaulting an officer."

"Assault, my ass." He snarled at Peabody. "You think you can double-team me this way? She struck me without provocation, then let that bastard she married come in and..."

He trailed off, remembering the warning Roarke had issued in a soft, silky voice directly in his ear. While the pain, almost sweet in its intensity, had radiated through his system.

"You wish to make an official complaint?" Eve asked.

"No." Even now, a light line of sweat beaded on his upper lip and made Eve wonder just what Roarke had done to him. "I was upset last night. Things got out of hand." He took a steadying breath. "Listen, I'm a musician. I take a lot of pride in my work, in the art of it. I like to think what I do influences people, touches them. My pride in that might have given you the wrong impression as to the scope of my work. Basically, I don't know what all the fuss is about."

He smiled again, with a good deal of his usual charm, and spread his handsome hands. "Those people you talked about last night. I don't know them. I've heard of some of them, sure, but I didn't know them personally or have anything to do with their decision to self-terminate. I'm against it, myself. In my opinion, life's too short as it is. This is all a misunderstanding, and I'm willing to forget it."

Eve leaned back in her chair, sent a look toward her aide. "Peabody, he's willing to forget it."

"That's generous of him, Lieutenant, and not surprising, under the circumstances. A stretch for breaking the statute on personal privacy through electronics is stringent. And, of course, there's the added charge of designing and implementing equipment designed for individual subliminals. Right there, with the multiple counts, you're looking at a ten-year minimum in the cages."

"You can't begin to prove any of it. Any of it. You've got no case here."

"I'm giving you a chance to roll over here, Jess. They go easier on you when you roll. And as to the civil case that my husband and I are entitled to bring against you, I will state here, for the record, that I will waive that right, contingent on your admission of guilt on the criminal charges -- if that admission comes in the next thirty seconds. Think about it."

"I don't have to think about anything, because you've got nothing." He leaned forward. "You're not the only one with people behind you. What do you think will happen to your big, bad career if I go to the press with this?"

She said nothing, just watched him, then glanced at the time count on the recorder. "Offer is rescinded." Eve nodded at the monitoring camera. "Peabody, please uncode the door for Captain Feeney."

When Feeney walked in, he was beaming. He set a disc and file on the table and stuck out his hand to Jess. "I've got to tell you, your work's the best I've ever seen. It's a real pleasure to meet you."

"Thanks." Jess shifted to audience mode, shook hands warmly. "I love my work."

"Oh, it shows." Feeney sat down, made himself comfortable. "I haven't enjoyed anything for years as much as I did taking that console apart."

Another time, another place, it might have been comic, the way Jess's face underwent the transformation from obliging star to blank shock to ripe fury. "You fucked with my equipment? Took it apart? You had no right laying a hand on it! You're meat! You're dead! You're destroyed!"

"Let the record show the subject is overwrought," Peabody recited blandly. "His threats against the person of Captain Feeney are accepted as emotional rather than literal."

"Well, the first time, anyway," Feeney said cheerfully. "You want to watch your step there, friend. Put too much of that on record, and we tend to get pissy. Now." He leaned forward on his elbows. "Let's talk shop. You had some great security, admirable. Took me a while to bypass. But then, I've been in the game as long as you've been breathing. Designing that personal brain scanner was some accomplishment. So compact, so delicate to the touch. I gauged its range at two yards. Now, that's damn good for that small and portable a unit."

"You didn't get into my equipment." Jess's voice wavered. "You're bluffing. You couldn't get down to the core."

"Well, the three fail safes were tricky," Feeney admitted. "I spent nearly an hour on the second one, but the last was really just padding. I guess you never figured you'd need anything at that level."

"Did you run the discs, Feeney?" Eve asked him.

"Started on them. You're on there, Dallas. We don't have Roarke's on file. Civilian, you know. But I found yours and Peabody's."

Peabody blinked. "Mine?"

"I'm running comparison checks on the names you requested, Dallas." He smiled broadly at Jess again. "You've been busy, collecting specimens. That's a fine storage option you designed, terrific data compression capabilities. It's going to break my heart to destroy that equipment."

"You can't!" It was sincere pain and distress now. His eyes swam with it. "I've put everything I've got into that. Not just money, but time and thought and energy. Three years of my life, almost straight through without a break. I stepped back from my career to design it. Do you have any idea what I can accomplish with it?"

Eve picked up the ball. "Why don't you tell us, Jess? In your own words. We'd love to hear it."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Jess Barrow started slowly, in fits and starts, speaking of his experiments and research, his fascination with the influence of outside stimuli on the human brain; the senses, and the enhancement of the senses through technology.

"What we can do for pleasure, for punishment -- we haven't even tapped the surface. That's what I wanted to do," he explained. "Tap the surface and go under it. Dreams, Dallas. Needs, fears, fantasies. All my life, music's been what's moved me to... everything: hunger, passion, misery, joy. How much more intense would all that be if you could just get inside, really use the mind to exploit and explore?"

"So you worked on it," she prompted. "Devoted yourself to it."

"Three years. More really, but three solid on the design, experimentation, perfecting. Every penny I had went into it. I've got next to nothing left now. That's why I needed backing. Why I needed you."

"And Mavis was your link to me, and from me to Roarke."

"Look." He lifted his hands, rubbed them over his face, dropped them onto the table. "I like Mavis, and she's got a real spark. Yeah, I'd have used her if she was bland as a droid, but she's not. I didn't do her any harm. If anything, I gave her a boost up. Her ego level was ditch low when we hooked up. Oh, she was masking it pretty good, but she'd lost confidence in herself from what happened before. I gave her confidence a jolt."

"How?"

He hesitated, decided he'd take a bigger fall by evading. "Okay, I gave her some subliminal nudges in the right direction. She should be grateful," he insisted. "And I worked with her, straight stuff, getting her shined up without taking away her natural edge. You heard her yourself. She's better than she ever was."

"You experimented on her," Eve said, and wanted to hang him for that alone, "without her knowledge or consent."

"It wasn't like she was some droid rat. Christ, I'd perfected the system." He jabbed a finger at Feeney. "You know it's prime."

"It's beautiful," Feeney agreed. "Doesn't make it legal."

"Shit, genetic engineering was illegal, in vitro work, prostitution. What did that get us? We've come a long way, but we're still in the dark ages, man. This is a benefit, this is a way to push the mind forward into dreams and make what we dream real."

"Not all of us want our dreams to be reality. What gives you the right to make that choice for someone else?"

"Okay." He held up a hand. "Maybe I got over-enthusiastic a few times. You get caught up. But all I did with you was expand on what was there. So I enhanced the lust bars that night in the studio. What did it hurt? Another time I gave your memory a little push, jiggled a few locks. I wanted to be able to prove what could be done, so when the time was right, I could approach you and Roarke with a business proposition. And last night..."

He trailed off, knowing he'd miscalculated badly there. "Okay, last night I went too far, the tone was too dark. I got carried away with it. Performing before a real audience again, it's like a drug. It hypes you. Maybe I punched the power a little hard on him. An honest mistake." He tried that smile again. "Look, I've used it on myself, dozens of times. There's no harm, nothing permanent. Just temporary mood enhancement."

"And you pick the mood?"

"That's part of it. With standard equipment, you don't have as much control, not nearly the depth of field. With what I've developed, you can turn it on and off like a light. Sexual need or satisfaction, euphoria, melancholy, energy, relaxation. Name it, you got it."

"A death wish?"

"No." He shook his head quickly. "I don't play those games."

"But it's all a game to you, isn't it? You push the buttons, and the people dance. You're the electronic god."

"You're missing the big picture," he insisted. "Do you know what people would pay for this kind of capability? You can feel anything you want."

Eve opened the file Feeney had brought in. She tossed photos out, faceup. "What did they feel, Jess?" She pushed the morgue shots of four deaths at him. "What was the last thing you made them feel so that they killed themselves with smiles on their faces?"

He went white as death itself, eyes glazing before he managed to shut them. "No. No way. No." Doubling over, he retched out his health center breakfast.

"Let the record show the suspect is momentarily indisposed," Peabody said dryly. "Should I call for maintenance and a health aide, Lieutenant?"

"Christ, yes," Eve muttered as Jess continued to heave. "We'll break this interview at oh ten fifteen. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, record off."

"Great brain, weak stomach." Feeney went to the dispenser in the corner and poured a cup of water. "Here, boy, see if you can choke some of this down."

Jess's eyes watered. His stomach muscles were raw. Water sloshed in the cup so that Feeney had to guide it to his mouth. "You can't hang that on me," he managed. "You can't."

"We'll see about that." Eve stepped aside so that the incoming aide could cart him off to the infirmary. "I need some air," she muttered and walked out.

"Hold on, Dallas." Feeney hurried after her, leaving Peabody to direct maintenance and gather up the file. "We need to talk."

"My office is closer." She swore lightly as her knee throbbed. The ice bandage was wearing off and needed to be replaced. Her hip was murderous.

"Took a beating with that CEC hit yesterday, didn't you?" Feeney clucked sympathetically as she hobbled. "Been looked over yet?"

"Later. I've been pressed for time. Let's give the creep an hour to get his stomach back in place, then hit him again. He hasn't cried lawyer yet, but it's coming. Won't matter a damn once we match those brain patterns to the victims."

"That's the problem. Sit down," he advised when they stepped into her office. "Take a load off that leg."

"It's the knee, and sitting's making it stiffen up. What's the problem?" she asked and headed for the coffee.

"Nothing matches." He studied her mournfully when she turned. "Not one match in the whole lot. Plenty as yet unidentified, but I've got the prints on all victims, no autopsy scan on Devane, but I got the one from her last physical. There's no match, Dallas."

So she did sit, heavily. There was no need to ask if he was sure. Feeney was as thorough as a domestic droid searching for dust in corners. "Okay, he's got them someplace else. Did we get the warrant for his studio and quarters?"

"A team's going through it right now. I haven't gotten a report."

"He could have a lock box, some safe hole." She shut her eyes. "Shit, Feeney, why would he keep them when he was done with them? He's probably destroyed them. He's arrogant, but he's not stupid. They'd hang him and he'd know it."

"The possibility's high there. Then again, he could have kept them as souvenirs. It never fails to surprise me what people keep. That guy last year that cut up his wife? Kept her eyes, remember. In a damn music box."

"Yeah, I remember." Where had this headache come from? she wondered and rubbed uselessly at her temples to erase it. "So, maybe we'll get lucky. If we don't, we've got plenty now. And a good shot of breaking him."

"Here's the thing, Dallas." He sat on the edge of her desk, reached into his pocket for his bag of candied almonds. "It doesn't feel right."

"What do you mean, it doesn't feel right? We've got him cold."

"We've got him cold, all right. But not on murder." Thoughtfully, Feeney chewed a coated nut. "I can't resolve myself to it. The guy who designed that equipment is brilliant, twisted some sure, self-absorbed. The guy we just shook down is all of those things, and you can add childish. It is a game to him, one he wants to make a big profit on. But murder..."

"You're just in love with his console."

"That I am," he admitted without shame. "He's weak, Dallas, and not just his stomach. How's he going to make himself rich by killing people off?"

She arched a brow. "I guess you've never heard of murder for hire."

"That boy doesn't have the guts for it, or the steel." He ate another nut. "And where's the motive? Did he pick those people out of a hat? And there's this. What he's got requires proximity to tap the subconscious. You can't place him at any of the scenes."

"He said something about remote capabilities."

"Yeah, it had a fine one, but it wouldn't command this option. Not that I can figure."

She sat back, deflated. "You're not making my day here, Feeney."

"Just food for thought. If he's got a hand in it, he's got help. Or a more personal, portable unit."

"Could it be adjusted into VR goggles?"

The idea intrigued him, made his hangdog eyes gleam. "Can't say for sure. It'll take some time to work that out."

"I hope you've got the time. He's all I've got, Feeney. If I can't crack him, he's going to walk on the murders. Tucking him away for ten to twenty on what we've got doesn't do it for me." She huffed out a breath. "He'll go for a psych evaluation. He'll go for anything he thinks will buy him a shot. Maybe Mira can pin him."

"Send him over after the break," Feeney suggested. "Let her take him for a few hours, and do yourself a favor. Go home and get some sleep. You run on empty long enough, you drop."

"Maybe I will. I'll set it up, deal with Whitney. A couple hours off might clear my head. I must be missing something."

-=O=-***-=O=-

For once, Summerset wasn't hovering. Eve snuck in the house like a thief, limped her way upstairs. She left a trail of clothes on her way to the bed, and she sighed greedily when she fell on it.

Ten minutes later, she was on her back, staring at the ceiling. The aches were bad enough, she thought grumpily. But the stimulator she'd taken hours before hadn't worn off. It was passing, leaving her light-headed with fatigue, while her system still bubbled like a brew.

Sleep was not going to happen.

She found herself picking apart the pieces of the case, putting them back together. Each time the puzzle formed differently until it was a blurred jumble of facts and theories.

At this rate, she wouldn't be close to coherent when she met with Mira.

She considered indulging in a long, hot bath in lieu of sleep. Then, inspired, she popped up and grabbed a robe. She took the elevator, with the purpose of avoiding Summerset, and stepped up on the lower level into the garden path of the solarium. A session in the lagoon pool, she decided, was just the ticket.

She dumped the robe, padded naked to the dark water walled in genuine stone and framed with fragrant blooms. When she dipped a toe, she found it blissfully warm. She sat on the first step and set the control panel for jets and bubbles. As the water began to churn, she started to program music. With a quick grimace, she decided she wasn't in the mood for tunes.

She simply floated at first, grateful there was no one around to hear her whimpering as the pulsing water worked on her aches. She let herself breathe. Floral perfume. She let herself drift. Simple pleasures.

The conflict of fatigue and stimulation balanced out into relaxation. Drugs, she decided, were highly overrated. Water worked wonders. Turning over lazily, she began to swim, slowly at first while her muscles warmed and limbered. Then she put some kick into it, hoping to work off the excess of the stimulant and revive herself with natural exercise.

When the timer clicked and the water calmed, she continued with long, steady strokes, skimmed down to the glossy black bottom until she felt like an embryo in the womb, then broke the surface with a loud, satisfied groan.

"You swim like a fish."

Instinct had Eve reaching for her side arm only to encounter her own naked ribs. Quickly, she blinked the water out of her eyes and focused on Reeanna.

"It's a cliche." She walked to the edge of the pool. "But accurate." She set her shoes aside, sat, and slid her legs into the water. "Do you mind?"

"Help yourself." Eve didn't consider herself fanatically modest, but she dipped a little lower. She hated being caught naked. "Were you looking for Roarke?"

"No, actually, I've just left him. He and William are still at it upstairs in his office. I was just leaving for a salon appointment." She tugged at her gorgeous, glossy red curls. "I've got to do something about this mop. Summerset mentioned you were down here, so I thought I'd just drop in on you."

Summerset. Eve smiled grimly. He'd spotted her after all. "I had a couple of hours personal time. Thought I'd take advantage of it."

"And what a lovely spot to take it. Roarke's got such amazing class, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, you could say so."

"I really just wanted to stop for a moment to tell you how much I enjoyed last evening. I barely got to speak to you -- such a crowd. And then you were called away."

"Cops are lousy socializers," Eve commented and wondered how to get out and to her robe without feeling like an idiot.

Reeanna reached down, cupped water, and let it pour out of her hand. "I hope it wasn't anything ... dreadful."

"Nobody died, if that's what you mean." Then Eve made herself smile. She was lousy at socializing, and she told herself to make a better effort. "Actually, I got a break in the case I've been working on. We took a suspect into custody."

"That's good." Reeanna tilted her head, her eyes intrigued. "Would that be the suicide matter we discussed before?"

"I'm not really free to say one way or the other at this time."

Reeanna smiled. "Cop talk. Well, one way or the other, I've been giving it quite a bit of thought. Your case, or whatever you'd call it, would make a fascinating paper. I've been so busy with tech, I haven't done any writing in some time. I hope, when you resolve the matter and it's public record, I can discuss it with you in some detail."

"I can probably do that. If and when." She bent a little. The woman was an expert, after all, and could be of some help. "As it happens, the suspect is being evaluated by Dr. Mira right about now. Do you ever do behavioral and personality evaluations?"

"I have, certainly. From a different angle than Mira. You'd have to say we're two sides of one coin. Our final diagnosis would often be the same, but we'd use a different process and a different viewpoint."

"I might need two viewpoints before this one's over," Eve mused, measuring Reeanna. "You don't happen to have security clearance, do you?"

"As it happens, I do." She continued to swing her legs lazily, but her eyes were alert, interested. "Level Four, Class B."

"That just skims by. If it comes up, how would you feel about working for the city as a temporary consultant? I can guarantee long hours, lousy conditions, and low pay."

"Who could resist that kind of offer?" Reeanna laughed, tossed back her hair. "Actually, I'd love the opportunity for some hands on again. Too long in labs, working with machines. William adores that, you know, but I need people."

"I might just give you a call." Deciding it was more foolish to huddle in the water than to climb casually out, Eve stood.

"You know where to reach me -- Dear God, Eve, what happened to you?" Instantly, Reeanna was swinging her legs back, rising. "You're black and blue."

"Hazards of the job." She managed to snag one of the body towels stacked near the edge and started to wind it around her when Reeanna tugged it away.

"Let me have a look at you. You haven't been treated." Her fingers probed at Eve's hip.

"Hey, do you mind?"

"I certainly do." Impatient, Reeanna lifted her eyes. "Oh, be still. Not only am I female and have personal knowledge of the female body, but I've got a medical degree. What have you done for that knee? It's looks nasty."

"Ice bandage. It's better."

"Then I'd hate to have seen it when it wasn't. Why haven't you been to a health center, or at least an MT stop?"

"Because I hate them. And I haven't had time."

"Well, you've got time now. I want you to lie down on that massage table. I'll get my emergency kit out of the car and deal with this."

"Look, I appreciate it." She had to raise her voice as Reeanna was already striding away. "But they're just bruises."

"You'll be lucky if you didn't chip a bone in that hip." With this dark promise, Reeanna stepped into the elevator, and the doors snapped shut.

"Oh, thanks, I feel heaps better now." Resigned, Eve toweled off, put on her robe, then reluctantly went to the padded table beneath an arbor of wildly blooming wisteria. She'd no more than settled when Reeanna was back, stalking over the tiles with a neat leather case in her hand.

The woman could move, Eve mused. "I thought you had a salon date."

"I called, switched times. Lie back, we'll deal with that knee first."

"You charge extra for house calls?"

Reeanna smiled a little as she opened her case. Eve took one glance inside, turned her head away. Christ but she hated medicine.

"This one's free. We can consider it practice. I haven't worked on a human in nearly two years."

"That inspires confidence." Eve closed her eyes as Reeanna took out a miniscanner and examined her knee. "Why haven't you?"

"Hmm. Well, it's not broken, so that's something. Badly wrenched and inflamed. Why?" She dug into her case again. "Roarke's part of the reason. He made William and me an offer impossible to refuse. The money was seductive, and Roarke knows which buttons to push."

Eve hissed as something stingingly cold was pressed to her knee. "You're telling me."

"He was aware I had a long, personal interest in behavioral patterns and effects of stimulation. The opportunity to create new technology, working with virtually unlimited funds, was too tempting to miss. Vanity couldn't resist the chance to be a part of something new, and with Roarke behind it, undoubtedly successful."

Closing her eyes had been a mistake, Eve realized. She was starting to float. The throbbing in her hip slowed. She felt Reeanna's gentle fingers smoothing something cool and slick over it. Her shoulder received the same treatment. The absence of pain was like a tranq and tugged her deeper.

"He never seems to miss."

"No. Not since I've known him."

"I've got a meeting in a couple hours," Eve said thickly.

"Rest first." Reeanna removed the poultice from Eve's knee and was pleased to see the swelling had already gone down. "I'm going to put another deep healing poultice on this, then an ice bandage to finish it off. It's still likely to be a bit stiff after prolonged use. I'd advise you to baby it for the next couple of days."

"Sure. Baby it."

"Did you get all this last night, rounding up your suspect?"

"No, before. He didn't give me any trouble. Little bastard." Her brows knit, digging a line between them. "Can't nail him though. Just can't nail it down."

"I'm sure you will." Reeanna's voice was soothing as she continued the treatment. "You're thorough and involved. I saw you on one of the news channels. Going out on the ledge with Cerise Devane. Risking your life."

"Lost her."

"Yes, I know." Efficiently, Reeanna coated the treated bruises with numbing cream. "It was horrible. Visually shocking. More so for you, I'd imagine. You'd have seen her face, her eyes, up close, as she went off."

"She was smiling."

"Yes, I could see that."

"She wanted to die."

"Did she?"

"She said it was beautiful. The ultimate experience."

Satisfied she'd done all she could, Reeanna picked up another towel, spread it over Eve. "There are some who believe that. Death as the ultimate human experience. No matter how advanced medicine and technology, none of us escape it. Since we're destined for it in any case, why not see it as a goal rather than an obstacle?"

"It's meant to be fought. Every bloody inch of the way."

"Not everyone has the energy or the need to fight. Some go gently." She picked up Eve's limp hand, automatically checking the pulse. "Some go resistantly. But all go."

"Somebody sent her. That makes it murder. That makes it mine."

Reeanna tucked Eve's arm under the towel. "Yes, I suppose it does. Get some sleep. I'll tell Summerset to wake you in time to make your meeting."

"Thanks. Really."

"It's nothing." She touched Eve's shoulder. "Between friends."

She studied Eve a moment longer, then glanced at her diamond-studded watch. She was going to have to push to make her rescheduled salon date, but there was just one minor detail to see to yet.

She repacked her kit, left a tube of numbing cream on the table for Eve, and hurried out.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Eve paced the soft, pretty carpet in Dr. Mira's office, hands jammed in her pockets, head lowered like a bull preparing for the charge.

"I don't get it. How can his profile not fit? I've got him cold on the lesser charges. The little prick's been playing with people's brains, reveling in it."

"It isn't a matter of fitting, Eve. It's a matter of probabilities."

Patient, calm, Mira sat in her comfy, body-molding chair and sipped jasmine tea. She needed it, she mused. The air was foaming with Eve's frustration and energy.

"You have his confession and the evidence that he has been experimenting with individualized brain pattern influence. And I quite agree he has a lot to answer for. But as to coercion to self-termination, I can't, in any decisive manner, corroborate your suspicions through my evaluation."

"Well, that's just great." She spun on her heel. Reeanna's treatment and the hour's nap had restored her. If anything, her color was high, her eyes overbright. "Without your corroboration, Whitney's not going to buy the package, which means the PA won't buy it."

"I can't adjust my report to suit you, Eve."

"Who's asking you to?" Eve threw up her hands, then dug them into her pockets. "What doesn't fit, for Christ's sake? The man's got a God complex any idiot before vision reconstruction surgery could spot."

"I agree that his personality pattern leans toward an excess of ego and his temperament has a high caliber of the artiste under siege." Mira sighed. "I wish you'd sit down. You're making me tired."

Eve dropped into a chair, scowled. "There, I'm sitting. Explain."

Mira had to smile. The sheer drive and unrelenting focus was admirable. "Do you know, Eve, I can never understand why impatience is so attractive on you. And how, with such a high volume of it, you still manage to be thorough in your work."

"I'm not here for analysis, Doctor."

"I know. I only wish I could convince you to agree to regular sessions. But that's another subject, for another time. You have my report, but to summarize my findings, the subject is egocentric, self-congratulatory, and one who habitually rationalizes his antisocial behavior as art. He's also brilliant."

Dr. Mira signed a little, shook her head. "A truly fine mind. He was nearly off the scale in the standard Trislow and Secour tests."

"Good for him," Eve muttered. "Let's put his brain on disc and give him a few suggestions."

"Your reaction is understandable," Mira said mildly. "Human nature is resistant to any sort of mind control. Addicts rationalize by deluding themselves that they're in control." She rolled her shoulders. "In any case, the subject has an admirable, even astonishing skill for visualization and logic. He's also fully aware, and smug if you will, about those skills. Under the surface charm, he is -- to use your unscientific term -- a prick. But I cannot, in good conscience, label him a murderer."

"I'm not worried about your conscience." Eve set her teeth. "He's able to design and operate equipment that is capable of influencing behavior in targeted individuals. I have four dead bodies whose minds I believe -- no, I know -- were influenced to self-termination."

"And logically, there should be a connection." Mira sat back, reached over, and programmed tea for Eve. "But you don't have a sociopath in holding, Eve." She passed Eve a fragrant, steaming cup they both knew she didn't want. "As there is, of yet, no clear motive for these deaths, and if they were indeed coerced, it's my considered opinion that it's a sociopath who is responsible."

"So what separates him?"

"He likes people," Mira said simply, "and wants, quite desperately, to be liked and admired by them. Manipulative, yes, but he believes he's created a great boon to humankind. One he'll make a profit on, certainly."

"So, maybe he just got carried away." Isn't that what he called his use of Roarke the night before? Eve thought. He'd just gotten carried away. "And maybe he isn't as much in control of his equipment as he thinks."

"That's possible. From another angle, Jess enjoys his work; he needs to be a party to the results of it. His ego requires that he see, experience at least a part of what he's caused."

He wasn't in the damn closet with us, Eve thought, but was afraid she understood Mira's meaning: the way Jess had looked for her, at her when they'd come back to the party, the way he'd smiled. "This isn't what I want to hear."

"I know that. Listen to me." Mira set her cup aside. "This man is a child, an emotionally stunted savant. His vision and his music are more real to him, certainly more important than people, but he doesn't discount people. Overall, I simply find no evidence that he would risk his freedom and his freedom of expression to kill."

Eve sipped tea out of reflex rather than desire. "If he had a partner?" she speculated, thinking of Feeney's theory.

"It's possible. He wouldn't be a man who would happily share his accomplishments. Still, he has a great need for both adulation and financial success. It might be possible, if he found himself in need of assistance on some level of his design, he entered into a partnership."

"Then why didn't he roll over?" Eve shook her head. "He's a coward; he'd have rolled. No way he'd take the heat for this alone." She sipped again, letting her thoughts play out. "What if he were genetically imprinted toward sociopathic behavior? He's intelligent, canny enough to mask it, but it's simply part of his makeup."

"Branded at conception?" Mira nearly sniffed. "I don't subscribe to that school. Upbringing, environment, education, choices both moral and immoral form us into what we are. We are not born monsters or saints."

"But there are experts in the field who believe we are." And she had one, Eve mused, at her disposal.

Mira read her easily enough and couldn't prevent the prick to her pride. "If you wish to consult with Dr. Ott on this matter, it's your privilege. I'm sure she'd be thrilled."

Eve wasn't sure whether to wince or smile. Mira very rarely sounded testy. "That wasn't meant as an insult to your skills, Doctor. I need a hammer here; you can't provide it."

"Let me tell you what I think about the branding at birth issue, Lieutenant. It's a cop-out, plain and simple. It's a crutch. I couldn't help setting fire to that building and burning hundreds of people alive. I was born an arsonist. I couldn't stop myself from battering that old woman to death for her handful of credits. My mother was a thief."

It quite simply infuriated her to think of that ploy being used to blot out responsibility -- and on the other side to scar those who were defenseless against the monsters who bore them.

"It excuses us from humanity," she continued, "from morality, from right and wrong. We can say we were marked in the womb and never had a chance." She angled her head. "You of all people should know better."

"This isn't about me." Eve set her cup down with a snap. "It isn't about where I came from or what I made myself. It's about four people, that I'm aware of, who weren't given a choice. And someone has to answer for that."

"One thing," Mira added as Eve rose. "Are you focused on this man because of personal insults to you and those you love, or because of the dead you represent?"

"Maybe it's both," Eve admitted after a moment.

-=O=-***-=O=-

She didn't contact Reeanna, not yet. She wanted a little time to let it stew in her mind. And she was delayed by finding Nadine Furst in her office.

"How'd you get past desk security?" Eve demanded.

"Oh, I have my ways." Nadine swung her leg, beamed a friendly smile. "And most of the cops around here know you and I have a history."

"What do you want?"

"I wouldn't say no to a cup of coffee."

Grudgingly, Eve turned to the AutoChef, pumped up two cups. "Make it fast, Nadine. Crime is rampant in our city."

"And that keeps us both in business. What did you get called out on last night, Dallas?"

"Excuse me?"

"Come on. I was at the party. Mavis was terrific, by the way. First you and Roarke take off." She sipped delicately. "It didn't take a sharp reporter like me to get an inkling of what that was about." She wiggled her brows, chuckling when Eve simply stared. "But your sex life isn't news -- at least on my beat."

"We were running out of shrimp patties. We ran down to the kitchen and made some up. It would have been so embarrassing."

"Yeah, yeah." Nadine waved that away and concentrated on her coffee. Even in the upper echelons of Channel 75 they rarely had access to such potent brew. "Then I notice, being the keen observer that I am, that you sweep Jess Barrow off and out at the end of the set. Never came back. Either of you."

"We're having a mad, illicit affair," Eve said dryly. "You may want to turn that over to the gossip desk."

"And I'm boinking a one-armed sex droid."

"You always were an explorer."

"Actually, there was this unit once ... but I digress. Roarke, in his usual charming fashion, manages to move the lingering guests along, herds the hangers-on into the recreation center -- great hologram deck, by the way -- and gives your regrets. Duty calls?" Nadine angled her head. "Funny. Nothing shows on my cop scanner that would have pulled our ace homicide detective out at that time of night."

"Not everything goes out on the scanner, Nadine. And I'm just a soldier. I go when and where I'm told."

"Sell it to someone else. I know how tight you are with Mavis. Nothing but top level would have pulled you away at her big moment." She leaned forward. "Where's Jess Barrow, Dallas? And what the hell has he done?"

"I don't have anything to give you, Nadine."

"Come on, Dallas, you know me. I'll hold it down until I get the go-ahead. Who'd he kill?"

"Switch the channel," Eve advised, then pulled out her communicator when it beeped. "Display only, no audio."

Quickly, she scanned the transmission from Peabody, manually requested a meeting, including Feeney, in twenty minutes. She set the communicator on the desk, turned back to the AutoChef to see if there were any soy chips available. She needed something to sop up the caffeine.

"I've got work, Nadine," Eve continued, when she discovered she had nothing but an irradiated egg sandwich in stock. "And nothing to bump up your ratings."

"You're holding out on me. I know you've got Jess in custody. I've got sources in Holding."

Annoyed, Eve turned back. Holding was innately ripe with leaks. "I can't help you."

"Are you charging him?"

"The charges are not for broadcast at this time."

"Damn it, Dallas."

"I'm on the edge here," Eve snapped. "And it could go either way. Don't push me. If and when I'm free to speak to the media on the matter, you'll be the first. You'll have to be satisfied with that."

"You mean I have to be satisfied with nothing." Nadine rose. "You're got something big, or you wouldn't be so snotty about it. I'm only asking for a -- "

She broke off as Mavis burst in. "Jesus, Dallas, Jesus. How could you arrest Jess? What are you doing?"

"Mavis, damn it." She could visualize Nadine's reporter's ears growing longer and sharper. "Sit," she demanded, stabbing a finger at a chair, then at Nadine. "You, out."

"Have a heart, Dallas." Nadine attached herself to Mavis. "Can't you see how upset she is? Let me get you some coffee, Mavis."

"I said out, and I mean it." At her wit's end, Eve rubbed her hands over her face. "Take off, Nadine, or I'll put you on the blackout list."

As a threat, it had punch. The blackout list meant there wouldn't be a cop in the homicide division who'd give Nadine the right time, much less a story lead. "Okay, fine. But I'm not dropping this." There were other ways to dig, she thought, and other tools to dig with. She snatched up her bag, gave Eve one last bitter look, then flounced out.

"How could you?" Mavis demanded. "Dallas, how could you do this?"

To insure some level of privacy, Eve shut the door. Her headache had come full circle and was now gleefully throbbing behind her eyes. "Mavis, this is my job here."

"Your job?" Her eyes were laser blue today, and red-rimmed from weeping. It was touching the way they matched the cobalt streaks in her scarlet hair. "What about my career? I finally get the break I've been waiting for, working for, and you toss my partner into a cage. And for what?" Her voice hitched. "Because he came on to you and pissed Roarke off."

"What?" Her mouth fell open, worked silently before she could get her tongue around words. "Where the hell did you get that?"

"I just got off the 'link with Jess. He's devastated. I can't believe you'd play this way, Dallas." Her eyes began to leak again. "I know Roarke's premiere with you, but we've got history."

At that moment, with Mavis noisily weeping into her hands, Eve could have cheerfully strangled Jess Barrow. "Yeah, we've got history, and you should know I don't play that way. I don't toss someone in a cage because I find them a personal annoyance. Would you sit down?"

"I don't need to sit." She wailed it, made Eve wince as the sound acted as the dull point of an edgy knife on her brain.

"Well, I do." She dropped into a chair. How much could she safely tell a civilian without crossing the line? And how far over the line was she willing to go? She looked at Mavis again, sighed. As far as it took. "Jess is the prime suspect in four deaths."

"What? What bend did you go around since last night? Jess wouldn't -- "

"Be quiet," Eve snapped. "I haven't got him solid on that yet, but I'm working on it. I do, however, have him on other charges. Serious charges. Now, if you'd stop blubbering and sit the hell down, I'll tell you what I can."

"You didn't even stay and watch my whole act." Mavis managed to fall into a chair, but she didn't manage to stop blubbering.

"Oh, Mavis, I'm, sorry." Eve dragged a hand through her hair. She was lousy with weepers. "I couldn't -- there was nothing I could do. Mavis, Jess is into mind control."

"Huh?" It was such a wild statement coming from the most grounded person she knew that Mavis stopped crying long enough to sniffle and gape. "Huh?"

"He's developed a program that accesses brain wave patterns and influences behavior. And he's used it on me, on Roarke, and on you."

"On me? No, he didn't. Get genuine here, Dallas, this is too Frankenstein. Jess isn't a mad scientist. He's a musician."

"He's an engineer, a musicologist, and a prick." Eve took a deep breath, then related as much as she felt was necessary. As she spoke, Mavis's tears dried up, hardening her eyes. Her bottom lip quivered once, then thinned.

"He used me to get to you, to get to Roarke. I was just a spring. Then once I'd bounced him to you, he fucked with your mind."

"This is not your fault. Stop it," Eve ordered when Mavis's eyes started to shimmer again. "I mean it. I'm tired, I'm pressed, and my head is about to explode. I don't need this soggy routine from you right now. It's not your fault. You were used, and so was I. He was hoping for Roarke's backing on his project. It doesn't make me less of a cop or you less of a performer. You're good, and you got better. He knew you could, and that's why he used you. He's too damn arrogant about his talent to have linked himself up with a dud. He wanted somebody who could shine. And you did."

Mavis swiped a hand under her nose. "Really?"

It was that one word delivered with such shaky hope that made Eve realize how far Mavis's ego had sunk. "Yeah, really. You were great, Mavis. That's solid."

"Okay." She wiped at her eyes. "I guess my feelings got hurt when you didn't hang for the act. Leonardo said I was being silly. You wouldn't have split if you hadn't had to split." She took a long breath that lifted her thin shoulders, then dropped them again. "Then Jess, when he called, he laid all this stuff on me. I shouldn't have bought into it."

"It doesn't matter. We'll smooth out the rest later. I'm pressed here, Mavis. I don't have much time to wrap this up."

"You think he killed people?"

"I have to find out." She looked over at the knock on her door. Peabody stepped in, hesitated.

"Sorry, Lieutenant. Should I wait outside?"

"No, I'm going." Mavis sniffled, rose, sent Eve a watery smile. "Sorry about the flood and everything."

"We'll mop it up. I'll talk to you when I can. Don't worry about this."

Mavis nodded, and her lowered lashes concealed the quick flare in her eyes. She intended to do more than worry.

"Everything all right here, Lieutenant?" Peabody asked when Mavis left them alone.

"Actually, Peabody, everything's fucked." Eve sat, tried to drill holes in her temples with her fingers to release the pressure. "Mira doesn't think our boy has the personality profile for murder. I've insulted her because I'm going for another consultant. Nadine Furst is sniffing too close to the center, and I've just broken Mavis's heart and shattered her ego.

Peabody waited a beat. "Well, other than that, how are things?"

"Cute." But it did prod a reluctant smile. "Damn, give me a nice clear murder any day over this physiological crap."

"Those were the good old days, all right." Peabody shifted to make room as Feeney stepped in. "Well, the gang's all here."

"Let's get to work. Status?" Eve asked Feeney.

"Sweepers found more discs at the suspect's studio. So far, no matches on victims. He kept a log of his work." Uncomfortable, Feeney shifted. Jess had been very explicit in his speculations on results, including the sexual nudge he'd given Eve and Roarke. "He names names, times, ah, suggestions. There's no mention of any of the four dead. I've been through his communications system. No transmissions to or from any of the victims."

"Well, that's dandy."

Feeney shifted his feet again, and his color fluctuated into a blush. "I've sealed the work log for your eyes only."

Her brows knit. "Why?"

"He, ah, talks about you a lot. On a personal level." He focused his eyes an inch over Eve's head. "Again, he's very explicit in his speculations."

"Yeah, he made it clear he was overly interested in my head."

"He isn't just interested in that part of your anatomy." Feeney puffed out his cheeks, blew the air out. "He considered it would be an entertaining experiment to attempt to ah..."

"What?"

"Influence your behavior toward him ... in a sexual manner."

Eve let out a snort. It wasn't just the words, but Feeney's stiffly formal delivery. "He figured he could use his toy to get me into the sack? Great. We can lay another charge on him. Intent to sexually molest."

"Did he say anything about me?" Peabody wanted to know and received a glare from Eve.

"That's sick, Officer."

"Just wondering."

"We're adding to his cage time," Eve continued, "but we're not pinning him on the big one. And Mira's profile is going to work against us."

"Lieutenant." Peabody sucked in her breath and took the chance. "Have you considered that she's right? That's he's not responsible?"

"Yeah, I have. And that scares the hell out of me. If she's right, there's someone else out there with a brain toy, and we're not even close. So we all better hope we've got our man safely locked away."

"Speaking of our man," Feeney broke in. "You better know he's lawyered himself."

"I figured he would. Anybody we know?"

"Leanore Bastwick."

"Well, hell. Small world."

"She wants to make points off of you, Dallas." Feeney took out his bag of nuts, offered them to Peabody. "She's raring to go. Wants to set up a media conference. Word is she took him on pro bono, just for the shot at you, and the media coverage this will get once it hits."

"She can take her shot. We can block the press conference for twenty-four hours. We'd better solidify before then."

"I pulled a thread loose," Peabody told her. "It might unravel more with some tugging. Mathias did indeed attend MIT for two semesters. Unfortunately, his term there was three years after Jess did his at-home degree, but Jess used his alumni status to access data from their files. He also taught an E-class elective on musicology, which the university uploaded into their library curriculum. Mathias took the course during his last semester."

Eve felt a quick power surge. "That's something to tug on. Good work. It connects, finally. And maybe we've been looking in the wrong place. Pearly was the first known victim. What if he's the one who was connected with the others? It could be as simple as their common interest in electronic games."

"We looked there already."

"So look again," she told Peabody. "And look deeper. Not all the clubs and loops are above ground. If Mathias was used to help develop the system, he might have bragged about it. Those hobby hackers use all kinds of compu-names. Can you find his?"

"Eventually," Feeney agreed.

"You can contact Jack Carter. He was his roommate on Olympus. Maybe he can give you a boost on them. Peabody, contact Devane's son, see what you can shake out of him on this angle. I'll work on the Fitzhugh angle." She glanced at her watch. "I'll make a stop first. Maybe I can cut through some of the layers." She felt she was back to square one, looking for the connection. There had to be one, and she was going to have to involve Roarke to find it. She called him from her car 'link.

"Well, hello, Lieutenant. How was your nap?"

"Too short and too long ago. How long are you going to be in midtown?"

"Another few hours at any rate. Why?"

"I'm coming by. Now. Can you squeeze me in?"

He smiled. "Always."

"It's business," she said, and cut him off before she could smile back. Daring her auto-drive, she programmed destination, then used her 'link again. "Nadine."

Nadine angled her head, shot Eve a cold look. "Lieutenant."

"Nine a.m., my office."

"Should I bring a lawyer?"

"Bring your recorder. I'll give you a jump on tomorrow's press conference re Jess Barrow."

"What press conference?" The image and voice quality sharpened as Nadine went immediately to private, dragging headphones over her hair. "There's nothing on schedule."

"There will be. You want that jump, and you want the official report from the primary, be there at nine."

"What's the catch?"

"Senator Pearly. Get me everything. Not the official data, the quiet stuff. His hobbies, playgrounds. His underground connections."

"Pearly was clean as a church choir."

"You don't have to be dirty to play underground, you just have to be curious."

"And what makes you think I can get private data on a government official?"

"Because you're you, Nadine. Feed the data to my home unit, and I'll see you at nine hundred hours. You'll beat the pack by two hours easy. Think of those ratings."

"I'm thinking. Deal," she snapped and signed off.

When Eve was able to glide smoothly into the parking facility at Roarke's midtown office, she began to think more kindly toward vehicle maintenance. Her VIP space was waiting, locking its security shield the moment she shut down.

The elevator accepted her palm print and zoomed her up to the top floor in a quiet, dignified ride.

She'd never get used to it.

Roarke's personal assistant beamed at her, welcomed her home, welcomed her in, and escorted her through the plush outer offices, down the streamlined corridor, and into the elegant efficiency of Roarke's private office.

But he wasn't alone.

"Sorry." She struggled not to frown at Reeanna and William. "I'm interrupting."

"Not at all." Roarke walked over, kissed her lightly. "We're just finishing up."

"Your husband's quite the slave driver." William held out a hand to shake Eve's warmly. "If you hadn't come along, Reeanna and I would have to do without our dinner."

"That's William." Reeanna laughed. "He's either thinking of electronics or his stomach."

"Or you. Can you join us?" he asked Eve. "I thought we'd try the French place on the skyline level."

"Cops never eat." Eve tried to adjust herself to the easy social tone. "But thanks."

"You need regular fuel to help the healing process." Reeanna narrowed her eyes for a quick, professional survey. "Any pain?"

"Not much. I appreciate the personal service. And I wonder if I could speak to you for a few minutes on an official matter -- if you have time after your meal."

"Of course." Curiosity flitted over her face. "Could I ask what it's about?"

"The possibility of doing a consult on a case I'm working on. If you're agreeable, I'd need to do it tomorrow, early."

"A consult on an actual human being? I'm there."

"Reeanna's weary of machines," William put in. "She's been making noises for weeks about going back into private practice."

"VR, holograms, autotronics." She rolled her beautiful eyes. "I long for flesh and blood. Roarke has us set up on the thirty-second level, west wing. I should be able to nudge William through a meal in an hour. Just meet me there."

"Thanks."

"Oh, and Roarke," Reeanna continued as she and William started toward the door. "We'd love to have that personal take on the new unit as soon as you can manage it."

"And she calls me a slave driver. Tonight, before I leave."

"Wonderful. Later, Eve."

"Food, Reeanna. I'm dreaming of coquille St. Jacques." William was laughing as he pulled her out of the door.

"I didn't mean to break up your meeting," Eve began.

"You didn't. And you've given me a breather before I have to dig into a mountain of status reports. I've had all the data on that VR unit you're concerned about transmitted. I've skimmed the surface, but I've found nothing out of line so far."

"That's something." She'd rest easier once she could eliminate that angle.

"William would be able to spot any problem quicker," he added. "But as he and Ree were in on the development, I didn't think you'd care to pass it by him."

"No. Let's keep it close."

"Reeanna was concerned about you. So am I."

"She gave me a going-over. She's good."

"Yes, she is." Still, he tipped Eve's face back with a fingertip. "You've got a headache."

"What's the point of illegal brain scans when you can already see into my head?" She closed her hand over his wrist before he could drop his arm. "I can't see into yours. It's annoying."

"I know." His lips curved as he pressed them to her brow. "I love you. Ridiculously."

"I didn't come here for this," she murmured when his arms wound around her.

"Take a minute anyway. I need it." He could feel the outline of the diamond around her neck, one she had worn first reluctantly, and now habitually. "That'll do it." He eased her back, pleased that she'd held on another moment. She so rarely held on. "What's on your mind, Lieutenant?"

"Peabody dug up a thin connection between Barrow and Mathias. I want to see if I can tighten it. How much trouble would it be to access underground transmissions, using MIT's on-line services as a starting point?"

His eyes lighted. "I love a challenge." He moved around the desk, engaged his unit, then slid open a hidden panel under it, flicked a switch manually.

"What's that?" Her teeth went on edge. "Is that a block system? Did you just tune out Compuguard?"

"That would be illegal, wouldn't it?" he said cheerfully. He reached over his shoulder to pat her hand. "Don't ask the question, Lieutenant, if you don't want to hear the answer. Now, what time period are you interested in, particularly?"

Scowling, she dug out her log, read off the dates of Mathias's attendance at MIT. "I'm looking for Mathias specifically. I don't know what line names he used yet. Feeney's getting them."

"Oh, I think I can find them for you. Why don't you see about ordering us a meal? No reason to go hungry."

"Coquille St. Jacques?" she said dryly.

"Steak. Rare." He slid out a keyboard and began to work manually.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Eve ate standing up, breathing down Roarke's neck. When he'd had enough of that, he simply reached around and pinched her.

"Back off."

"I'm just trying to see." But she backed off. "You've been at it a half hour."

He imagined, with the equipment available at Cop Central, even Feeney would have taken twice as long to get to that same point. "Darling Eve," he said, then sighed when she only frowned at him. "There are layers here, Lieutenant. Layers over layers. That's why they call it underground. I've located two of the coded names our young, doomed autotonics ace used. There'll be more. Still, it takes some doing to unscramble transmissions."

He turned the machine on auto so he could enjoy his own dinner.

"It's all just games, isn't it?" Eve shifted so she could see the screen run with figures and odd symbols as it worked. "Just grown-up kids playing games. Secret societies. Hell, they're just high-tech clubhouses."

"More or less. Most of us enjoy diversions, Eve. Games, fantasies, the anonymity of a computer mask so we can pretend we're someone else for a time."

Games, she thought again. Maybe it all boiled down to games, and she just hadn't looked closely enough at the rules and players. "What's wrong with being who you are?"

"It's not enough for everyone. And this sort of thing attracts the lonely and the egocentric."

"And fanatics."

"Certainly. E-services, particularly underground ones, provide the fanatic with an open forum." He cocked a brow, cut neatly into his steak. "They also provide a service -- educational for that matter -- informative, intellectual. And can be perfectly harmless entertainment. They're legal," he reminded her. "Even the underground ones aren't closely regulated. And that stems mainly from the fact that it's nearly impossible to do so. And cost prohibitive."

"EDD keeps a line on them."

"To some extent. Look here." He swung back, tapped out a few keys, and had a display sliding onto one of the wall screens. "See that? It's nothing more than a somewhat amusing diatribe about a new version of Camelot. A multiuser role playing program, hologram optional," he explained. "Everyone wants to be king. And there." He gestured to another screen. "A very straightforward advertisement for a partner in Erotica, a sexual fantasy VR program, dual remote controls mandatory." He grinned at her knitted brow. "One of my companies manufactures it. It's quite popular."

"I bet." She didn't ask if he'd tried it out himself. Some data she didn't need. "I don't get it. You can rent a licensed companion, probably cheaper than the cost of that program. You get sex in the flesh. Why do you need this?"

"Fantasy, darling. Having control or abdicating it. And you can run the program over and over, with nearly unlimited variations. It's mood again, and mind. All fantasies are mood and mind."

"Even the fatal ones," she said slowly. "Isn't that what this is all about? Having control. Ultimate control over someone else's mood and mind. They don't even know they're playing the game. That's the big kick. You'd need a huge ego and no conscience. Mira says Jess doesn't fit."

"Ah. That's a problem, isn't it?"

She flicked a look down at him. "You don't sound surprised."

"He's what, in my alley days in Dublin, we would have called a fug -- cross between a fuck and a pug. Lots of mouth and no balls. I never met a fug who could draw blood without whining."

She cleaned the steak off her plate and set it aside. "It seems to me that killing in this manner is bloodless. Cowardly. Fuglike."

He grinned at that. "Well put, but fugs don't kill, they just talk."

She hated that she was beginning to agree and had muscled her way down what looked like a dead end with Jess Barrow. "I've got to have more. How much longer do you figure?"

"Until I'm through. You can keep yourself occupied with the data on the VR unit."

"I'll come back to it. I'm going to go down to Reeanna's office. I can just leave her a memo about Jess if she's not back from dinner."

"Fine." He didn't try to dissuade her. She had to move, he knew. To take some action. "Will you come back up when you're done, or will I meet you at home?"

"I don't know." He looked perfect there, she thought, sitting in his snazzy office, manipulating controls. Maybe everyone wanted to be king, she mused, but Roarke was content being Roarke.

His gaze shifted to hers, held. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"You're exactly what you want to be. That's a pretty good deal."

"Most of the time. And so are you what you want to be."

"Most of the time," she murmured. "I'll check in with Feeney and Peabody after I meet with Reeanna. See if anything's come loose. Thanks for dinner -- and the compu-time."

"You can pay me back." He took her hand, rose. "I want, very much, to make love with you tonight."

"You don't have to ask." Flustered, she moved her shoulders. "We got married and everything."

"Let's say asking is part of the fantasy." He moved in, just a little; touched his lips to hers, just a whisper. "Let me woo you tonight, darling Eve. Let me surprise you. Let me ... seduce you." He laid a hand on her heart, felt the hard, thick beat of it. "There," he murmured. "I've already started."

Her knees were quivering. "Thanks. That's just what I need to keep my mind focused on my work."

"Two hours." This time he lingered over the kiss. "Then let's take something for ourselves."

"I'll try." She stepped back while she was sure she still could, walked quickly toward the door. Then she turned back, just looked at him. "Two hours," she told him. "Then you can finish what you started."

She heard him laugh as she closed the door and hurried toward the elevator. "Thirty-nine, west," she ordered, then found herself smiling.

Yes, they'd take something for themselves, she decided. Something Jess and his nasty little toy had tried to steal from them.

Then she stopped, and her smile faded. Was that the problem here? she wondered. Was she so focused on that -- on a kind of personal retribution -- that she was missing something bigger? Or smaller?

If Mira was right, and Roarke with his fug theory was on the mark, then she was off. It was time, she admitted, to pull back a bit. Refocus.

It was a tech crime, she mused. But tech crimes still require the human element: motive, emotion, greed, hate, jealousy, and power. Which of those -- or which combination of those -- was at the core of this? She could see both greed and a hunger for power in Jess. But would he kill for them?

Steely minded, she replayed his reaction to the morgue shots in her mind. Would a man who had caused that to happen, had directed it to happen, react with such violent distress when faced with the results?

Not impossible, she decided. But it didn't fit her image of the hand on the button.

He enjoyed seeing the results of his work, she remembered. He liked to snicker over them and note them down in his log. Did he have another log, one the sweepers missed? She'd have to take a trip through his studio herself.

Deep in thought, she stepped out on thirty-nine, scanned the shielded glass walls of a lab. It was quiet here, security in full swing as indicated by the cameras in full view, the warning red beep of motion detectors. If there were any drones still at work, they were behind closed doors.

She placed her palm on a plate, received verification, answered the request for voice print by giving her name, then requested the location of Reeanna's office.

You are cleared for top level, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. Proceed left through breezeway, then right at termination. Dr. Ott's office is five meters beyond this point. It will not be necessary to repeat this procedure to gain entry. You are cleared.

She wondered if Roarke or Reeanna had cleared her through and followed the directions. The breezeway impressed her, offering a full view of the city on all sides. She could look between her own feet and see the life bustling on the street below. The music piped in was energetic, and made her think sourly of some musicologist's idea of fueling drones with enthusiasm for their work. Wasn't that just one more kind of mind control?

She passed a door bearing an imprint that identified it as William's. A game master, she thought. It might be helpful to get his input, pick his brain, jiggle a few hypotheses out of him. She knocked, watched his recorder light beep red for locked.

I'm sorry, William Shaffer is not currently in his office. Please leave your name and any message. He will respond as soon as possible.

"It's Dallas. Look, William, if you've got a couple minutes when you finish dinner, I've got something I'd like to run by you. I'm going to drop by Reeanna's office now. I'll leave a memo if she's not there. I'll be in the building or at home later if you've got time to talk to me."

As she turned away, she glanced at her watch. How long did it take to eat, for God's sake? You picked up food, put it in your mouth, chewed, and swallowed.

She found Reeanna's office, knocked. She hesitated for less than five seconds when the recorder light beeped green, then slid the door open. If Reeanna didn't want her inside, she'd have kept it locked, Eve decided, and indulged herself in a thorough study.

It looked like Reeanna, she decided. Polished to a bright sheen, underlying sexual tones in the slashes of fiery red in the laser art against cool white walls.

The desk faced the window to provide Reeanna with a constant view of the busy sky traffic.

The sitting area was plush with a deeply cushioned body-form lounger that still held the imprint of its last occupant. Reeanna's curves were impressive, even in silhouette. The clear Plasticide table was hard as stone and was intricately carved with diamond patterns that caught and refracted the light from an arched-neck lamp with a rose-toned shade.

Eve picked up the VR goggles laid on it, saw they were indeed Roarke's latest model, and set them down again. They still made her uncomfortable.

Turning away, she studied the workstation across the room. Nothing soft or feminine about that area, she noted. It was all business. Slick white counter, muscle flexing equipment even now hard at work. She heard the low hum of a computer on auto, frowned at the symbols flickering on the monitor. They looked similar to what she'd tried to decipher from Roarke's screen.

But then, computer codes all looked the same to her.

Curious, she walked over to the desk, but nothing interesting had been left out to examine. A silver pen, a pair of pretty gold earrings, a hologram of William wearing a flight suit and grinning youthfully. A short printout, again in that baffling computer code.

Eve sat on the edge of the desk. She didn't want to fit her wiry build into the imprint left by Reeanna's. Pulling out her communicator, she tagged Peabody.

"Anything?"

"Devane's son is willing to cooperate. He's aware of the interest she had in games, particularly role playing. It wasn't an interest he shared, but he claims he knows one of her usual partners. He dated her for a short time. I've got her name. She lives right here in New York. I have the data. Should I transmit?"

"I think you can handle an interview solo. Arrange a meet, bring her in only if she refuses to cooperate. Report back."

"Yes, sir." Peabody's voice remained sober, but her eyes lighted with the assignment. "I'm on my way."

Satisfied, Eve tried for Feeney, hit his frequency occupied recording. She had to settle for leaving a request for contact.

The door opened. Reeanna stopped her rush inside when she spotted Eve at her desk. "Oh, Eve. I didn't expect you quite yet."

"Time's part of my problem."

"I see." She smiled, let the door shut. "I suppose Roarke cleared you in."

"I guess he did. Problem?"

"No, no." Reeanna waved her hand. "I'm distracted, I suppose. William went on endlessly about some glitches he's concerned about. I left him brooding over his creme brulee." She flicked a glance toward her humming computer. "The work never stops around here. R and D's a twenty-four/seven proposition." She smiled. "Like police work, I imagine. Well, I didn't take time for brandy. Would you like some?"

"No, thanks. On duty."

"Coffee then." Reeanna moved over to a counter, requested a snifter of brandy, a cup of black coffee. "You'll have to excuse my lack of focus. We're a little behind schedule today. Roarke needed data on the new VR model, and he wanted it from conception to implementation."

"That was yours. I didn't realize that until he mentioned it just now."

"Oh, William's mostly. Though I had a small part. Now." She handed Eve the coffee, then took her brandy around the desk to sit. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm hoping you'll agree to that consult. The subject is currently in custody, now lawyered, but I don't think we'll be blocked there. I need a profile, angling from your particular area of expertise."

"Genetic branding." Reeanna tapped her fingers. "Interesting. What are the charges?"

"I'm not free to discuss that until I have your agreement and clear the session with my commander. Once that's done, I'd like the testing scheduled for seven hundred."

"Seven a.m.?" Reeanna winced. "Ouch. And here I'm a night owl rather than a lark. You want me up and running at that hour, give me some incentive." She smiled a little. "I can assume you've already had Mira test your subject -- and the results weren't to your liking."

"Second opinions aren't unusual." It was a defensive answer. She felt defensive. And, Eve realized, she felt guilty.

"No, but Dr. Mira's reports are sterling, and they're very rarely questioned. You want him badly."

"I want the truth badly. To find it, I have to separate theory and lies and deceptions." She pushed off the desk. "Look, I thought you were interested in doing this sort of thing."

"I am, very. But I like to know what I'm dealing with. I'd need the subject's brain scan."

"I've got it. In evidence."

"Really?" Her eyes gleamed, catlike. "It's also important to have all available data on his biological parents. Are they known?"

"We accessed that data for Dr. Mira's test. It'll be available to you."

Reeanna leaned back, swirling her brandy. "It must be murder." Her lips twitched at Eve's expression. "After all, that's your field. The study of the taking of lives."

"You could put it that way."

"How do you put it?"

"The investigation of the takers."

"Yes, yes, but in order to do so, you study the dead -- and death itself. How it happened, what caused it, what transpired in those last moments between the taker and the victim. Fascinating. What kind of personality is required to study death routinely, day after day, year after year, as a vocation? Does it scar you, Eve, or harden you?"

"It pisses you off," she said shortly. "And I don't have time to philosophize."

"Sorry, bad habit." Reeanna let out a sigh. "William tells me I analyze everything to death." She smiled. "Not that it's a crime -- that sort of murder. And I am interested in assisting you. Call your commander," she invited. "I'll wait and see if clearance is forthcoming. Then we can go over details."

"I appreciate it." Eve removed her communicator, turned away, and requested display only. It took longer and was, she felt, less effective. The coding through of information and request. How could you add your instincts, your determination to a display?

But she did her best and waited.

What the hell are you trying to do, Dallas, override Mira?

I want another opinion, Commander. It's well within procedure. I'm pursuing all angles. If I'm unable to convince the PA to charge Jess with coercion to self-terminate, I don't want the lesser charges to slide. I need verification of intent to harm.

It was pushing it, and she knew it. Eve waited with a knotted stomach while Whitney mulled over his decision.

Just give me the opening, she thought. He needs his ears pinned back. He needs to pay.

You're cleared to proceed on my authorization, Lieutenant. This better not be a waste of budget. We both know Mira's report will weigh heavily.

Understood and appreciated. Dr. Ott's report will give Barrow's lawyer a headache, if nothing else. I'm currently working on detailing connection between suspect and victims. Results will be available by nine hundred hours.

Be damn sure of it. My butt is now swinging with yours. Whitney out.

Eve let out a long, quiet breath. She'd bought a little more time, and that was all, she admitted to herself, she was after. With time, she could dig deeper. If Roarke and Feeney couldn't pull out data, there was no one, off or on planet, who could.

Jess would pay, but murder would go unavenged. She closed her eyes a moment. And that was where she stood. Avenging the dead.

She opened her eyes again, wanting to align herself before she relayed the details to Reeanna.

That's when she saw it, in black and white there on the computer monitor.

Mathias, Drew logged as AutoPhile. Mathias, Drew logged as Banger. Mathias, Drew logged as HoloDick.

Her heartbeat jerked, but her hand was steady as a rock as she switched her communicator from off to open, signaling to Peabody and Feeney on code one. Backup required. Respond immediately to transmission source.

She pocketed the card, turned. "The commander okayed the consult. Reluctantly. I'm going to need results, Reeanna."

"You'll get them." Reeanna sipped her brandy, then shifted her gaze to the sleek little unit on her desk. "Your heart rate just spiked, Eve, and your adrenaline level rose dramatically." She angled her head. "Oh dear," she murmured, and lifted her sparkling hand. It held an official NYPSD stunner. "That's a problem."

Several floors above, Roarke scanned the new data on Mathias, hummed over it. Now we 're getting somewhere, he thought. He switched back to auto and tuned in to the data on the new VR unit. Wasn't it odd, he thought, and interesting, that some of the components on Jess Barrow's magic console so closely mirrored the components of his new unit?

Then he swore softly when his interoffice 'link buzzed.

"I don't want interruptions."

"I'm sorry, sir. There's a Mavis Freestone here. She claims you'll see her."

He switched the second computer to auto, blocked both audio and video. "Let her in, Caro. And you can log out for the day. I won't need you anymore."

"Thank you. I'll bring her back directly."

Roarke frowned to himself, idly picked up the VR unit Reeanna had left him to try out. A few adjustments, he mused. Improved for the next release. It was loaded with subliminal options, and could explain the coincidence of similarity. Still, he didn't care for it. He began to consider a possible leak in his R and D division.

He wondered just what William had come up with as alterations for the second manufacturing run and tucked a disc into his alternate unit. It wouldn't hurt to run the data while he saw just what Mavis had on her mind.

His machine beeped acceptance, began to upload as his door opened. Mavis whirled in like a freak storm.

"It's my fault, all my fault, and I don't know what to do."

Roarke came around the desk, took Mavis's hands, and sent an understanding look at his baffled assistant. "Go on home. I'll deal with this. Oh, and leave the security open for my wife, please. Sit down, Mavis." He steered her to a chair. "Take a breath." Reading her accurately, he patted her head. "And don't cry. What's all your fault?"

"Jess. He used me to get to you. Dallas said it wasn't my fault, but I've thought about it, and it is." She gave one long, heroic sniffle. "I've got this." She held up a disc.

"And this is?"

"I don't know. Maybe evidence. You take it."

"Okay." He nipped the disc out of her hand as she waved wildly. "Why haven't you given it to Eve?"

"I would -- I was going to. I thought she was here. I don't think I'm supposed to have it. I didn't even tell Leonardo about it. I'm a terrible person," she finished.

Hysterical women had come his way before. Roarke slipped the disc into his pocket, walked over, and ordered a tall soother of the milder variety. "Here, drink this. What sort of evidence do you think this is, Mavis?"

"I dunno. You don't hate me, do you?"

"Darling, I adore you. Drink it down."

"Really?" She gulped obediently. "I really like you, Roarke, and not just because you're rolling in credits or anything. It's good that you are, 'cause poor sucks, right?"

"It does indeed."

"But either way, you make her so happy. She doesn't even know how happy because she's never been. You know?"

"Yes. Three slow quiet breaths now. Ready? One."

"Okay." She took them, very seriously, her eyes on his. "You're good at this. Calming people down. I bet she doesn't let you do it for her much."

"No, she doesn't. Or she doesn't know it when I do." He smiled. "We know her, don't we, Mavis?"

"We love her. I'm so sorry." Tears came, but they were soothing and soft. "I figured it out after I ran the disc I gave you. At least I figured out some of it. It's a copy of the lay down from my video. I ran it off on the sly. I wanted it for posterity, you know? But there's a memo after it."

She looked down at her hands. "This is the first time I played it, the first time I heard it all. He gave a copy to Dallas, but he made notes after this version, about..." She broke off, lifted suddenly dry eyes. "I want you to hurt him for this. I want you to hurt him really bad. Play it, from where I've cued it."

Roarke said nothing, but he rose and slid the disc into his entertainment unit. The screen filled with light, with music, then the volume and intensity lowered as a background for Jess's voice.

"I'm not sure what the results will be. One day I'll find the key to tapping in at the source. For now, I can only speculate. The suggestion is to the memory. The reenactment of trauma. Something's at the core of those shadows on Dallas's mind. Something fascinating. What will she dream tonight after playing the disc? How long will it be before I can seduce her to share it all with me? What secrets does she hide? It's such fun to wonder. I'm just waiting for the chance to tap into Roarke's darker side. Oh, he has one, so close to the surface you can almost see it. Thinking of them together, with just the animal in control, gives me such a rush. I can't think of two more fascinating subjects for this project. God bless Mavis for opening the door. Within six months I'll know these two so well, anticipate their reactions so clearly, I'll be able to lead them right where I want them. Then there's no limit. Fame, fortune, adulation. I'll be the goddamn father of virtual pleasure."

Roarke remained silent as the disc ran out. He didn't remove it, certain his fingers would crush it like powder.

"I've already hurt him," he said at length. "But not enough. Not nearly enough." He turned to Mavis. She'd risen and stood, small as a fairy, her slip-shouldered dress of pink gauze somehow valiant. "You aren't responsible for this," Roarke told her.

"Maybe that's true. I have to work that out. But I know he wouldn't have gotten that close to her, or you, without me. Will that help keep him in a cage?"

"I think he'll hear the lock turn and wait a long time before he hears it open again. You'll leave it with me?"

"Yeah. I'll get out of your hair now."

"You're always welcome here."

Her mouth quirked. "If it wasn't for Dallas, you'd have run like hell in the opposite direction the first time you saw me."

He came to her, kissed her firmly on that crooked mouth. "That would have been my mistake -- and my loss. I'll call a car for you."

"You don't have to -- "

"A car will be waiting for you at the front entrance."

She rubbed a hand under her nose. "One of those mag limos?"

"Absolutely."

He walked her to the door, closed it thoughtfully behind her. The disc would be enough, he hoped, to drive another nail in Jess. But it still didn't point to murder. He went back, ordered both of his machines to display on screen.

Sitting behind his desk, he picked up the VR goggles and studied the data.

-=O=-***-=O=-

Eve lowered her gaze to the stunner. From her angle, she couldn't be sure which setting was clicked. A sudden move, she knew, could result in anything from mild discomfort and partial paralysis to death.

"It's illegal for a civilian to own or operate that weapon," she said coolly.

"I don't believe that's particularly relevant, under the circumstances. Take yours out, Eve, slowly, and by the fingertips. Then set it on the desk. I don't want to hurt you," Reeanna added when Eve made no move to obey. "I never have. Not really. But I'll do whatever's necessary."

Keeping her eyes on Reeanna's, Eve reached slowly for her side arm.

"And don't think about trying to use it. I don't have this on max, but it is on a very high setting. You won't have use of your extremities for days, and though the possible brain damage isn't necessarily permanent, it is very inconvenient."

Eve knew very well what the stunner could do, and she took out her weapon carefully, laid it on the corner of the desk. "You'll have to kill me, Reeanna. But you'll have to do it face to face, in person. It won't be like the others."

"I'm going to try to avoid that. A short, painless, even enjoyable session on VR, and we can adjust your memory and direct your target. You're well aimed at Jess, Eve. Why don't we just keep it that way?"

"Why did you kill those four people, Reeanna?"

"They killed themselves, Eve. You were right there when Cerise Devane jumped off that building. One has to believe what one sees with one's own eyes." She sighed. "Or most do. You're not most, are you?"

"Why did you kill them?"

"I merely encouraged them to end their lives in a certain manner at a certain time. And why?" Reeanna shrugged her lovely shoulders. "Why, because I could."

She smiled beautifully and gave her bell tinkle of a laugh.

CHAPTER TWENTY

It wouldn't take long, Eve calculated, for Peabody or Feeney to home in on her signal. She just needed time. And she had a feeling Reeanna would provide it. Some egos, like some people, fed on regular admiration. Reeanna fit on both levels.

"Did you work with Jess?"

"That amateur." Reeanna tossed her hair at the idea. "He's a piano player. Not that he doesn't have a certain talent for basic engineering, but he lacks vision -- and guts," she added with a slow, feline smile. "Women are so much more courageous and more vicious than men, all in all. Don't you agree?"

"No. I think courage and viciousness have no gender."

"Well." Disappointed, Reeanna pursed her lips briefly. "In any case, I corresponded with him briefly a couple of years ago. We exchanged ideas, theories. The anonymity of underground E-services are handy. I enjoyed his pontificating and was able to flatter him into sharing some of his technical progress. But I was well ahead of him. Frankly, I never thought he'd get as far as he apparently has. Simple mood expanding, I imagine, with some direct suggestion." She cocked her head. "Close enough?"

"You went farther."

"Oh, leagues. Why don't you sit down, Eve? We'd both be more comfortable."

"I'm comfortable on my feet."

"As you like. But a few steps back, if you don't mind." She gestured with the stunner. "I wouldn't want you to try for your weapon. I'd have to use this, and I'd hate to lose such a good audience."

Eve took a step back. She thought of Roarke, several floors above. He wouldn't come down to seek her out. At least she didn't have that concern. If anything, he'd call down if he locked onto something. So he was safe, and she could stall.

"You're a medical doctor," Eve pointed out. "A psychiatrist. You've spent years studying to help the human condition. Why take lives, Reeanna, when you're trained to save them?"

"Branded at conception perhaps." She smiled. "Oh, you don't like that theory. You'd have used it to push your case, but you don't like it. You don't know where you came from, or from what." She saw Eve's eyes flicker and nodded, pleased. "I've studied all available data on Eve Dallas as soon as I learned Roarke was involved with you. I'm very attached to Roarke, once toyed with the idea of making our all-too-brief liaison into something more permanent."

"He dumped you?"

The smile froze as the insult hit target. "That's beneath you, such a petty female hit. No, he didn't. We simply drifted in opposite directions. I had intended to drift back, let's say, eventually. So I was intrigued when he took such an avid interest in a cop, of all things. Not his usual taste, certainly not his usual style. But you are... interesting. More so after I accessed data on you."

She made herself comfortable on the arm of the relaxation chair. The weapon stayed aimed and steady. "The young, abused child found in a Dallas alley. Broken, battered, confused. No memory of how she'd gotten there, who'd beat her, raped her, abandoned her. A blank. I found that fascinating. No past, no parents, no hint of what made her. I'm going to enjoy studying you."

"You won't get your hands in my head."

"Oh, but I will. You'll even suggest it yourself, once you take a trip or two on the unit I've made just for you. I really hate that I'm going to have to see to it that you forget everything we discuss here. You have such a keen mind, such a strong energy. But it will give us a chance to work together. As fond as I am of William, he's so ... short-sighted."

"How involved is he?"

"He has no idea. The first test I ran on the doctored unit was on William. Quite a success, and it made things so much easier. I could direct him to adjust each unit I wanted. He's quicker, more adept electronically than I. He actually helped me refine the design and personalize the one I sent to Senator Pearly."

"Why?"

"Another test. He was very vocal about the misuse of subliminals. He enjoyed games, as I'm sure you've discovered, but he continually pushed for regulations. Censorship, if you ask me. He stuck his nose into pornography, consenting adult dual controls, commercial advertising and its use of suggestion, all manner of things. I thought of him as my sacrificial lamb."

"How did you gain access to his brain pattern?"

"William. He's very clever. It took him several weeks of intense work, but he managed to hack through security." She angled her head, enjoying the moment. "At the top level of NYPSD as well. He injected a virus there. Just to keep your EDD men occupied."

"And that's where you accessed my pattern."

"Indeed it is. He has a soft heart, my William, it would pain him horribly to know he had a vital part in coercion."

"But you used him, you made him part of it. And it doesn't pain you at all."

"No, it doesn't. William made it all possible. And if not him, there would have been another."

"He loves you. You can see it."

"Oh please." It made her laugh. "He's a puppy. All men are when it comes to an attractive female form. They simply sit up and beg. That's amusing, occasionally irritating, and always useful." Intrigued, she touched her tongue to her top lip. "Don't tell me you haven't used your basic female advantage on Roarke."

"We don't use each other."

"You're missing a simple advantage." But Reeanna flicked it away. "The esteemed Dr. Mira would label me a sociopath with violent tendencies and a driving need for control. A pathological liar with an unhealthy, even dangerous fascination with death."

Eve waited a beat. "And would you agree with that analysis, Dr. Ott?"

"Yes, indeed. My mother self-terminated when I was six. My father never got over it. He turned me over to my grandparents and wandered off to heal. I don't believe he ever did. But I saw my mother's face after she'd taken the lethal handful of pills. She looked quite beautiful and very happy. So why shouldn't death, taken, be an enjoyable experience."

"Try it," Eve suggested, "and see." Then she smiled. "I'll help you."

"One day, perhaps. After I've completed my study."

"We're laboratory rats then; not toys, not games, but experiments. Droids for dissecting."

"Yes. Young Drew. I regretted that because he was young and had potential. I'd consulted with him, rashly I see now, when William and I were working on the Olympus Resort. He fell in love with me. So young. I was flattered, and William's very tolerant of outside distractions."

"He just knew too much, so you sent him a modified unit and told him to hang himself."

"Basically. It wouldn't have been necessary, but he didn't want to let the relationship die. It meant he had to, before he lost that glaze infatuation puts over a man's eyes, and looked too closely."

"You stripped your victims," Eve added. "The final humiliation?"

"No." Reeanna appeared shocked and insulted by the idea. "Not at all. Basic symbolism. We're born naked, and naked we die. We complete the circle. Drew died happy. They all did. No suffering, no pain at all. Joy, in fact. I'm not a monster, Eve. I'm a scientist."

"No, you're a monster, Reeanna. And these days, society puts their monsters in a cage and keeps them there. You won't be happy in a cage."

"It won't happen. Jess will pay. You'll fight to put him there after my report tomorrow. And if you can't make the coercion charges stick, you'll always believe he was responsible. And when there are others, I'll be very select, very careful, and I'll see to it that each subject self-terminates well out of your range. You won't be bothered by it again."

"You arranged for two in my range." A sickness churned in her stomach. "To get my attention."

"In part. I did want to watch you at work. Watch you closely, step by step. Just to see if you were as good as reported. You detested Fitzhugh, and I thought why not do my new friend Eve a little favor? He was a pompous ass, an irritant to society, and a very poor game player. I wanted his death to be bloody. He preferred blood games, you know. I never met him in person, but matched with him in cyberspace now and again. A poor loser."

"He had family," Eve managed. "Like Pearly, Mathias, and Cerise Devane."

"Oh, life goes on." She waved a dismissing hand. "All will adjust. That's human nature. And as for Cerise, she was no more maternal than an alley cat. It was all ambition with her. She bored me senseless. The most entertainment she ever provided was dying on camera. What a smile. They all smiled. That was my little joke -- and my gift to them. The final suggestion. Die, it's so beautiful, it's amusing, and so joyful. Die and experience the pleasure. They died experiencing the pleasure."

"They died with a frozen smile and a burn on the brain."

Reeanna's brows drew together. "What do you mean, a burn?"

Where the hell was her backup? How much longer could she stall? "You didn't know about that? Your little experiment has a slight defect, Reeanna. It burns a hole in the frontal lobe, leaves what we could call a shadow. Or a fingerprint. Your fingerprint."

"That's nothing." But she worried her lip as she considered it. "The intensity of the subliminal could cause that, I suppose. It has to get in, firmly, to bypass the instinctive resistance, the knee-jerk survival instinct. We'll have to work on that, see what can be adjusted." Annoyance shadowed her eyes. "William will have to do better. I don't like flaws."

"Your experiment's full of them. You have to control William to continue. How many times have you used the system on him, Reeanna? Would continued use expand that burn? I wonder what kind of damage it could cause."

"It can be fixed." She tapped the fingers of her free hand on her thigh, distracted. "He'll fix it. I'll do a new scan on him, study the flaw -- if he has one. Repair it."

"Oh, he'll have one." Eve stepped closer, judging the distance, the risk. "They all had one. And if you can't repair William's, you'll probably have to terminate him. You couldn't risk that flaw becoming larger, causing uncontrolled behavior. Could you?"

"No. No. I'll look into this immediately. Tonight."

"It may already be too late."

Reeanna's eyes snapped back. "Adjustments can be made. Will be made. I haven't come this far, accomplished this much, to accept any sort of failure."

"And yet to succeed fully, you'll have to control me, and I won't make it easy."

"I already have your brain pattern," Reeanna reminded her. "I've already implemented your program. It's going to be very easy."

"I'll surprise you," Eve promised. "And Roarke. You can't manufacture without him, and he'll find out. Do you expect to control him as well?"

"That will be a particular pleasure. I did have to adjust the time schedule. I'd hoped to enjoy him first. A little trip, you might say, down memory lane. Roarke's so creative in bed. We haven't taken time to compare those notes, but I'm sure you'll agree."

It put Eve's teeth on edge, but she spoke coolly. "Using your toy for sexual gratification, Dr. Ott? How unscientific."

"And what fun. I'm not the master William is, but I do enjoy a good, creative game."

"And that's how you met all your victims."

"So far. Through the loops and the underground. Games can be relaxing and entertaining. And both William and I agreed that processing input from players would help us develop more creative options for the new VR." She fluffed at her hair. "Not that anyone had in mind what I was creating."

Her gaze shifted to the monitor, frowned over the data being transmitted from Roarke's office. He was processing the VR specs now, she noted. "But you've already got Roarke digging. Not just on young Drew, but on the unit itself. I wasn't happy about that, but there are always ways around inconveniences." Her smile tilted up at the comers. "Roarke isn't as necessary as you believe. Who do you suppose will own all of this if something happened to him?"

She laughed again, pure delight, as Eve stared blankly.

"Why, you will, darling. It will all be yours, in your control, and therefore mine. Don't worry, I won't let you stay a widow long. We'll find someone for you. I'll choose him personally."

Terror froze her blood, iced her muscles, closed frigidly around her heart. "You made a unit for him."

"Just completed this afternoon. I wonder if he's tested it yet? Roarke is so efficient, and so personally interested in all of his holdings."

She shot a stream at Eve's feet, anticipating her. "Don't. I'll just stun you, and this will take longer."

"I'll kill you with my own hands." Eve forced air in and out of her lungs, ordered herself to think. "I swear it."

-=O=-***-=O=-

In his office, Roarke frowned over the data he'd converted. Missing something, he thought. What am I missing?

He rubbed the strain out of his eyes, sat back. He needed a break, he decided. Clear the mind, rest the eyes. Picking up the VR unit on his desk, he turned it over in his hands.

-=O=-***-=O=-

"You won't chance it. If you do, and I stun you, you'll never get to him in time. There's always the hope you can stop it, save him." Her smile spread again, derisively. "You see, I understand you, Eve, perfectly."

"Do you?" Eve asked, and instead of lunging forward, leaped back. "Lights out," she shouted, snatching for her weapon as the room pitched into darkness. She felt the slight sting as Reeanna's aim wavered, skimmed her shoulder.

Then she was down, blocked by the desk, and gritting her teeth against the pain. She'd rolled fast, but not well, and had come down hard on her bad knee.

"I'm better at this than you," Eve said calmly. But the fingers in her right hand tingled and shook, forcing her to switch the weapon to her left. "You're the amateur here. Ditch the weapon, and I might not kill you."

"Kill me?" Reeanna's voice was a hiss. "You've got too much cop programmed into you. Maximum force only when all other methods fail."

Near the door, Eve told herself, holding her breath, training her ears. To the right of it. "There's no one here but you and me. Who's to know?"

"Too much conscience. Don't forget, I know you. I've been in your head. You wouldn't be able to live with it."

Moving closer to the door. That's it, keep going. Just a little more. Try to get out, you bitch, and I'll drop you like a piece of spoiled meat.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I'll just cripple you." Weapon gripped, Eve bellied around the desk.

The door opened, but instead of Reeanna rushing out, William started in. "Reeanna, what are you doing in the dark?"

Even as Eve leaped to her feet, Reeanna's finger twitched on the weapon, sending William's nervous system jittering.

"Oh, William, for God's sake." It was disgust rather than distress. As he started to topple, Reeanna ducked under him and threw herself at Eve. Her nails scraped viciously across Eve's breasts as both women crashed to the floor.

She knew where to aim. She'd tended every bump and bruise on Eve's body and now battered at them, twisted, jabbed. A knee rammed against that tender hip, a balled fist slammed into the wrenched knee.

Blind with pain, Eve shot out an elbow, heard the satisfactory crunch of cartilage as it connected with Reeanna's nose. Reeanna screamed, a high, female sound, and dug in with her teeth.

"Bitch." Sinking to the same level, Eve grabbed a handful of hair and yanked. Then, slightly ashamed of the lapse, she jammed her weapon under Reeanna's chin. "Breathe too hard, and I'll put you out. Lights on."

She was panting, bloody, her body singing with pain. She hoped there would be satisfaction later at seeing her opponent's beautiful face bruised, smeared with blood that continued to stream out of her broken nose. But for now there was too much fear.

"I'm putting you out anyway."

"No, you won't." Reeanna's voice was steely calm, and her lips curved into a wide, brilliant smile. "I will," she said, and twisted the wrist of the weapon hand Eve pinned until the point rested against the side of her neck. "I hate cages." And smiling, she fired.

"Jesus, Jesus Christ." She scrambled up while Reeanna's body still shuddered, shoved William over, snatched out his pocket 'link. He was breathing, but she didn't much give a damn.

She started to run.

"Answer me, you answer me!" she shouted at the 'link as she fumbled it on. "Roarke," she ordered, "main office. Answer me, goddamn it." Then she bit back a scream as the transmission refused to go through.

Line currently in use. Please wait or retry momentarily.

"Bypass, you son of a bitch. How do you bypass with this thing?" She increased her pace to a limping gallop, not even aware she was weeping.

Footsteps pounded toward her in the breezeway, but she didn't even pause.

"Dallas, holy God."

"Back there." She raced past Feeney, barely heard his frantic questions through the roaring sea of terror in her head. "Back there. Peabody, with me. Hurry."

She hit the elevator, pounded on the call control. "Hurry, hurry."

"Dallas, what's happened?" Peabody touched her shoulder, was jerked off. "You're bleeding. Lieutenant, what's the status?"

"Roarke, oh God, oh God, please." Tears were streaming, scalding her, blinding her. Panic sweat flooded out of her pores, soaking her skin. "She's killing him. She's going to kill him."

In reaction, Peabody pulled her weapon as they rushed through the opening doors of the elevator. "Top floor, east wing," Eve shouted. "Now, now, now!" She all but threw the 'link at Peabody. "Get this fucker to bypass."

"It's damaged. It's been dropped or something. Who's got Roarke?"

"Reeanna. She's dead. Dead as Moses, but she's killing him." She couldn't breathe, couldn't. Her lungs wouldn't hold air. "We'll stop him. Whatever she told him to do to himself, we'll stop him." She turned wild eyes on Peabody. "She's not taking him."

"We'll stop him." Peabody was through the doors with her before they fully opened.

Eve was still faster, even injured, she gained speed through terror. She wrenched at the door, cursed security, and slammed her hand down on the palm plate.

She all but ran over him as he stepped to the threshold.

"Roarke." She burrowed into him, would have climbed inside him if she could. "Oh God. You're all right. You're alive."

"What's happened to you?" He tightened his grip on her as she shuddered.

But she was jerking back, grabbing his face in her hands, staring into his eyes. "Look at me. Did you use it? Did you test the VR unit?"

"No. Eve -- "

"Peabody, drop if he moves wrong. Call the MTs. We're taking him in for a brain scan."

"The hell you are, but go ahead and call them, Peabody. She's going to the health center this time, if I have to knock her unconscious."

Eve stepped back, fighting for breath as she carefully measured him. She couldn't feel her legs, wondered why she could still stand upright. "You didn't use it."

"I said I didn't." He pushed a hand through his hair. "It's aimed at me this time, is it? I should have seen it." He turned away, glanced over his shoulder as Eve lifted her weapon. "Oh, put that damn thing down. I'm not suicidal. I'm pissed. She slipped it right by me. It just started to click five minutes ago. Mindoc. Mind doctor," he elaborated. "That's the name she used in her game playing. She's still using it, still playing. Mathias had dozens of transmissions to her in the year before he died. And I took a close look at the data report on the unit. The one they just gave me, and the stats from the files. They hadn't buried those deeply enough."

"She knew you'd find it. That's why she -- " Eve broke off, sucked in air that she could hear whistle eerily in her swimming head. "That's why she personalized a unit for you."

"I might have gotten around to testing it if I hadn't been interrupted." He thought of Mavis, nearly smiled. "I doubt Ree put much effort into altering data. She knew I trusted her and William."

"It wasn't William -- not voluntarily."

He only nodded, looked at her ruined shirt, the bright red splashes. "Did she bloody you?"

"It's mostly hers." She hoped. "She didn't want to be taken in." Eve blew out a breath. "She's dead, Roarke. Self-terminated. I couldn't stop her. Maybe I didn't want to. She told me -- the unit, your unit." Her breath was wheezing again, hitching, skipping. "I thought -- I didn't think I'd be in time. I couldn't make the 'link work, and I couldn't get here."

She didn't hear Peabody close the door to give her privacy. She didn't care about privacy. She only continued to stare, blind now, and shudder. "I couldn't," she said again. "I stalled her, all that time I was stalling her, building my case, and you could have been -- "

"Eve." He came to her, gathered her close. "I'm not. And you did get here. I won't leave you." He pressed his lips to her hair when she buried her face against his shoulder. "It's over now."

She knew she'd replay that endless run, the panic and the helpless grief, a thousand times in her dreams. "It's not. There'll be a full investigation, not just of Reeanna, but of your company, the people who worked with her on the project."

"I can stand it." He tipped her head back. "The company's clean. I promise. I won't cause you any official embarrassment, Lieutenant, by being arrested."

She took the handkerchief he pressed into her hand, blew her nose. "Be hell for my career, being married to a con."

"Be easy on that account. Why did she do it?"

"Because she could. That's what she said. She enjoyed the power, the control." Briskly, she rubbed her cheeks dry with the heels of her hands, hands that were nearly steady now. "She had big plans for me." The shudder was hard but brief. "Kind of a pet, I imagine. Like William. Her little trained dog. And with you dead, she figured I'd inherit all your goodies. You're not going to do that to me, are you?"

"What, die?"

"Leave me all this stuff."

He laughed, kissed her. "Only you would be annoyed by that." He brushed her hair back from her face. "She had a unit for you."

"Yeah, we didn't get around to testing it out. Feeney's down there now. I'd better let him know what happened."

"We'll have to go down. She disengaged the 'link, which is why I was on my way to you when you jumped me. I was worried when I couldn't get through."

"It's tough." She touched his face. "Caring."

"I can live with it. You'll want to go into the station, I imagine, to clean this up tonight."

"It's procedure. I've got a corpse -- and four deaths to close."

"I'll take you, after you've been to the health center."

"I'm not going to the health center."

"Yes, you are."

Peabody rapped on the door, opened it. "Excuse me, the MTs are here. They need to be cleared through security."

"I'll take care of it. Have them meet us in Dr. Ott's office, would you, Peabody? They can examine Eve there before I take her in for full treatment."

"I said I'm not going in for a treatment."

"I heard you." He pressed a control on his desk. "Clear the medics through, please. Peabody, are you carrying restraints?"

"They're standard issue."

"I wonder if you might loan them to me so I can restrain your lieutenant until I deliver her to the nearest medical facility."

"Just try it, pal, and see who needs a doctor."

Peabody gnawed manfully on the inside of her cheek. A smirk at the moment wouldn't please her lieutenant. "I sympathize with your problem, Roarke, but am unable to comply. I need the job."

"Never mind, Peabody." He scooped an arm around Eve's waist, taking her weight as she limped toward the door. "I'm sure I can find a substitute."

"I've got a report to file, work to finish. I've got a dead body to transport." Eve scowled at him as he called for the elevator. "I don't have time for an exam."

"I heard you," he repeated and simply picked her up bodily and carried her into the elevator. "Peabody, tell those MTs to come armed. She's liable to make a run for it."

"Put me down, you idiot. I'm not going." She was laughing as the doors closed on them.