The In Death Collection 06-10 Read Free

the old sod in the lap of luxury, atop his silver tower where the river runs dark below and water falls from a great height. He begged for his life, and then for his death. Neverrepenting his great sin, he is already damned.”
    “Why did you kill him?”
    “Because this is the task I was born for,”
    “God told you that you were born to kill?” Eve pushed for trace again, fought with frustration. “How’d He let you know? Did He call you up on your ’link, send a fax? Maybe He met you in a bar?”
    “You won’t doubt me.” The sound of breathing grew louder, strained, shaky. “You think because you’re a woman in a position of authority that I’m less? You won’t doubt me for much longer. I contacted you, Lieutenant. Remember this is in my charge. Woman may guide and comfort man, but man was created to protect, defend, to avenge.”
    “God tell you that too? I guess that proves He’s a man after all. Mostly ego.”
    “You’ll tremble before Him, before me.”
    “Yeah, right.” Hoping his video was clear, Eve examined her nails. “I’m already shaking.”
    “My work is holy. It is terrible and divine. From Proverbs, Lieutenant, twenty-eight seventeen: ‘If a man is burdened with the blood of another, let him be a fugitive until death; let no one help him.’ This one’s days as a fugitive are done—and no one helped him.”
    “If you killed him, what does that make you?”
    “The wrath of God. You have twenty-four hours to prove you’re worthy. Don’t disappoint me.”
    “I won’t disappoint you, asshole,” Eve muttered as the transmission ended. “Anything, Peabody?”
    “Nothing. He jammed the tracers good and proper. They can’t give us so much as on or off planet.”
    “He’s on planet,” she muttered and sat. “He wants to be close enough to watch.”
    “Could be a crank.”
    “I don’t think so. A fanatic, but not a crank. Computer,run buildings, residential and commercial with the word luxury, in New York City, with view of the East River or the Hudson.” She tapped her fingers. “I hate puzzle games.”
    “I kind of like them.” Brows knit, Peabody leaned over Eve’s shoulder as the computer went to work.
     
    Luxury Arms
Sterling Luxury
Luxury Place
Luxury Towers
     
    Eve pounced. “Access visual of Luxury Towers, on screen.”
     
    Working . . .
     
    The image popped, a towering spear of silver with a glint of sunlight off the steel and shimmering on the Hudson at its base. On the far west wide, a stylish waterfall tumbled down a complex arrangement of tubes and channels.
    “Gotcha.”
    “Can’t be that easy,” Peabody objected.
    “He wanted it easy.” Because, Eve thought, someone was already dead. “He wants to play and he wants to preen. Can’t do either until we’re in it. Computer, access name of residents on the top floor of the Luxury Towers.”
     
    Working . . . Penthouse is owned by The Brennen Group and is New York base for Thomas X. Brennen of Dublin, Ireland, age forty-two, married, three children, president and CEO of The Brennen Group, an entertainment and communications agency.
     
    “Let’s check it out, Peabody. We’ll notify Dispatch on the way.”
    “Request backup?”
    “We’ll get the lay of the land first.” Eve adjusted the strap on her weapon harness and shrugged into her jacket.
     
    The traffic was just as bad as she’d suspected, bumping and grinding over wet streets, buzzing overhead like disoriented bees. Glide-carts huddled under wide umbrellas and did no business she could see. Steam rolled up out of their grills, obscuring vision and stinking up the air.
    “Get the operator to access Brennen’s home number, Peabody. If it’s a hoax and he’s alive, it’d be nice to keep it that way.”
    “On it,” Peabody said and pulled out her ’link.
    Annoyed with the traffic delays, Eve sounded her siren. She’d have had the same response if she’d leaned out the window and shouted. Cars remained packed together