Naked in Death by J. D. Robb Read Free Book Online

own. “That’s why I like nothing better than to break them. You didn’t answer the question, Rockman.”
    “I was in East Washington on the night Sharon was murdered. The senator and I worked quite late refining a bill he intends to present next month.”
    “It’s a quick trip from EW to New York,” she commented.
    “It is. However, I didn’t make it on that particular night. We worked until nearly midnight, then I retired to the senator’s guest room. We had breakfast together at seven the next morning. As Sharon, according to your own reports, was killed at two, it gives me a very narrow window of opportunity.”
    “Narrow windows still provide access.” But she said it only to irritate him as she turned away. She’d held back the information on the doctored security discs from the file she’d given DeBlass. The murderer had been in the Gorham by midnight. Rockman would hardly use the victim’s grandfather for an alibi unless it was solid. Rockman’s working in East Washington at midnight slammed even that narrow window closed.
    She saw Roarke again, and watched with interest as Elizabeth Barrister clung to him, as he bent his head and murmured to her. Not the usual offer and acceptance of sympathy from strangers, Eve mused.
    Her brow lifted as Roarke laid a hand on Elizabeth’s right cheek, kissed her left before stepping back to speak quietly to Richard DeBlass.
    He crossed to the senator, but there was no contact between them, and the conversation was brief. Alone, as Eve had suspected, Roarke began to walk across the winter grass, between the cold monuments the living raised for the dead.
    “Roarke.”
    He stopped, and as he had at the service, turned and met her eyes. She thought she caught a flash of something in them: anger, sorrow, impatience. Then it was gone and they were simply cool, blue, and unfathomable.
    She didn’t hurry as she walked to him. Something told her he was a man too used to people — women certainly — rushing toward him. So she took her time, her long, slow strides flapping her borrowed coat around her chilly legs.
    “I’d like to speak with you,” she said when she faced him. She took out her badge, watched him give it a brief glance before lifting his eyes back to hers. “I’m investigating Sharon DeBlass’s murder.”
    “Do you make a habit of attending the funerals of murder victims, Lieutenant Dallas?”
    His voice was smooth, with a whisper of the charm of Ireland over it, like rich cream over warmed whiskey. “Do you make a habit of attending the funerals of women you barely know, Roarke?”
    “I’m a friend of the family,” he said simply. “You’re freezing, lieutenant.”
    She plunged her icy fingers into the pockets of the coat. “How well do you know the victim’s family?”
    “Well enough.” He tilted his head. In a minute, he thought, her teeth would chatter. The nasty little wind was blowing her poorly cut hair around a very interesting face. Intelligent, stubborn, sexy. Three very good reasons in his mind to take a second look at a woman. “Wouldn’t it be more convenient to talk someplace warmer?”
    “I’ve been unable to reach you,” she began.
    “I’ve been traveling. You’ve reached me now. I assume you’re returning to New York. Today?”
    “Yes. I have a few minutes before I have to leave for the shuttle. So…”
    “So we’ll go back together. That should give you time enough to grill me.”
    “Question you,” she said between her teeth, annoyed that he turned and walked away from her. She lengthened her stride to catch up. “A few simple answers now, Roarke, and we can arrange a more formal interview in New York.”
    “I hate to waste time,” he said easily. “You strike me as someone who feels the same. Did you rent a car?”
    “Yes.”
    “I’ll arrange to have it returned.” He held out a hand, waiting for the key card.
    “That isn’t necessary.”
    “It’s simpler. I appreciate complications, lieutenant,