Brotherhood in Death by J. D. Robb Read Free Book Online Page B

get a solid handle. Instinct says we’ll find the body, but that’s maybe knee-jerk.”
    â€œHis wife doesn’t love him.”
    The cop she’d been would have reached that conclusion, but the cop she’d become, the one who knew love, was certain of it. “Not even in the general vicinity of love. But she’s territorial, protective of their status. I don’t see her setting this up. Maybe I find something that swings it that way. Mira said he played around, but the wife didn’t care. Maybe she started to care for some reason—threat of divorce and loss of status.”
    She brought plates with generous portions to the table in the sitting area of the bedroom. Now the fire crackled, and Roarke poured deep red wine into glasses.
    And the cat watched avidly.
    â€œSummerset would’ve fed him, right?” Eve said.
    â€œOh, of course.”
    â€œCrap.” She went back to the AutoChef, programmed a small dish of salmon. “He’ll give us the beady eye while we eat otherwise,” she claimed when Roarke lifted an eyebrow.
    When Galahad pounced like a starving thing on the fish, she went back to sit, picked up the wine.
    â€œThis was supposed to happen hours ago.” She took a deep drink.
    â€œAnd still, here we are. It’s a nice thing, however delayed, to share a meal in front of the fire on an ugly winter’s night.”
    She twirled spaghetti around her fork, sampled. “It seriously doesn’t suck. The Realtor.” She twirled up another bite. “I need the Realtor. Either he—or she—is in on it, or got called off. In on it is most probable.”
    She forked off a bite of meatball. “It’s not about selling the house.”She shook her head. “Mr. Mira’s the wedge there. Maybe it’s politics, maybe it’s personal. Maybe he owes somebody a bunch of money. But they got him into that house—meaning they knew about that house—where they assumed they’d have plenty of time and privacy. Mr. Mira screwed that up.”
    â€œSo while Dennis is unconscious, they spirit Edward Mira away. And that requires a vehicle.”
    â€œYeah, so it’s most likely, having that handy, he/she/they planned to haul him off all along. Tune him up some first. Goes back to why it sounds personal. Or it’s about money, which is pretty personal to a lot of people. Still . . .”
    â€œIf it were money, he’s pushing to sell a valuable property, which would cover all but the most insane of debts.”
    â€œExactly. So again, if it’s money, the sensible thing is to go after the obstacle, and that’s Mr. Mira. But they don’t. Odds are on personal.”
    â€œSomeone he judged, sentenced,” Roarke suggested. “A relation or loved one of someone he sentenced. Someone he twisted the wrong way while in Congress, or someone he passed over for a position.” Roarke lifted a shoulder. “A man who’s had those careers makes enemies.”
    â€œA man who cats around makes them, too. A woman he dumped, the husband or lover of someone he had an affair with. A lot of ground on personal.”
    Nodding, Roarke twirled some pasta of his own. “Why not just finish him where he sat?”
    â€œYeah, yeah, yeah.” She continued to eat while it stewed around in her brain. “That’s why I figured kidnapping at first. But it’s been hours, and no ransom demand. So . . . Wanted more time to play with him—which again leans toward getting information or just making him suffer more.”
    â€œThe attack came at Dennis from behind.”
    She nodded, sampled the wine again. “Took some care he didn’t see the attacker. Now, cold-blooded? Why not give him another whack or two, take him out, and use the violence to scare the piss out of Edward. But, no. He wasn’t on the agenda.”
    â€œWhich tells you there
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