“Why don’t I meet you?”

  “There’s no need for that.”

  “It’s a lovely day for a walk. I’d enjoy one.”

  And he had a cop’s sense with people. Plus, he should have had that lovely walk on a Saturday afternoon.

  “All right. Traffic’s not too bad. I’m heading up the East Side to avoid the blockades for the street fair, but so are a lot of other people.”

  “I’ll stroll. See you shortly.”

  It would help to have him, she couldn’t deny it. A second pair of ears and eyes. More, she’d hit an emotional storm at Barrister House, and he had an innate knack for soothing emotional storms.

  Though thick, traffic moved smoothly enough, and still gave her time to note the crowds taking advantage of the damn near perfect weather.

  Fashionably dressed women carried bags from high-end shops, and others took a break from that to nibble on a salad and sip wine at a sidewalk table. Tourists craned their heads up to gawk at airtrams, skyscrapers. Alternately they gawked at the display windows of those fashionable shops and carried their own bags holding their tangible memories of a trip to the city.

  Kids screamed in a playground as if they were charging into battle. Parents and nannies watched with such complacency she wondered what they’d spiked their go-cups with.

  She watched a delivery woman with the goofy Zip logo on her uniform cart packages to a building.

  A man had made a fortune on that service, she thought. A man whose greed or obsession to hoard what wasn’t his had led to the death of his only son.

  For paintings of rocks and trees, for shiny stones, for sleek statues.

  Was it just the having—and by nefarious means? Was it a kind of twisted love and admiration for the precious?

  Maybe both.

  Every indication led her to believe the son hadn’t shared his father’s need, that obsession. Henry Barrister must have known that, seen that. Even on his deathbed he hadn’t told his family about the vault, the contents.

  Clearly, he’d created a detailed will, arranged for his property, his company, his money. But not the vault.

  Why?

  “Because it was still his. Just his. He took it with him. No one else could have it.”

  That fit for now. But she decided she’d run it all by Mira, for a shrink and profiler’s analysis.

  It would matter in the way everything mattered.

  As she pulled up to the gates, Roarke did actually stroll over to her car. He’d added a jacket—thin, soft black leather—and a pair of sunshades.

  She wondered how many people along the lovely walk had had to wipe a little drool off after a glance at him.

  He slid into the car, leaned over, kissed her.

  “Not-quite-autumn in New York puts on a hell of a show.”

  She had to agree. “I saw a woman wearing see-through pants as wide as the East River sashaying up First Avenue. She beat the indecency law by a skinny pink thong.”

  “As I said, a hell of a show.”

  Eve held up her badge for the scanner. “Lieutenant Dallas and consultant Roarke.”

  As the gates opened, her ’link signaled. She answered on her wrist unit. “Dallas.”

  “Lieutenant,” Whitney began. “An armored police vehicle and security team will arrive at Barrister House in about twenty. The items will be secured in a vault at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I’ll send you the particulars.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m just pulling up to that location now. I can help coordinate the transfer.”

  “Do that. Detective Willowby has contacted Feeney, and will be at your disposal.”

  “Thank you, Commander. I’ll have an updated report for you by this evening.”

  “I’ll be looking for it.”

  When she pulled up, she turned to Roarke. “How secure is the Met?”

  “As good as they come.” When she continued to study him, he smiled. “Once or twice.”

  “Once or twice,” she muttered, and got out of the car.

  John Tyler opened the door. The butler looked like a man who hadn’t slept in days.

  “Thank you both for coming. The family is in the lounge.”

  “Mr. Tyler.” She turned to the uniform who stepped up behind him. “Officer. An armored police vehicle and security escort will arrive shortly to transfer the contents of the vault to a secure location. Please verify their identification and give them entry.”

  “Of course.”

  “Officer, anything to report?”

  “No, sir. Officers Upton, Harvet, and I have patrolled the grounds while one of us remains posted outside the crime scene door.”

  “Continue that. When the transfer is complete, you’re all relieved.”

  From there, she followed the butler, and paused again at the office door. The uniform rose from his chair to stand.

  She looked past him, examined the door. Seal intact, locks engaged.

  “Stand by, Officer. You’ll be relieved shortly.”

  The family spread out in the big space. Anya, the younger daughter, blond-streaked brown hair as straight as her sister’s was curly, stood in the kitchen. The cook’s arms wrapped around her as Divine swayed and murmured.

  The widow sat on the sofa with her older daughter, their hands clasped. Joy Barrister paced.

  “We could hire our own investigators.”

  “You’re certainly free to do that, Ms. Barrister,” Eve said as she came in.

  Pressing a hand to her face, Joy stopped pacing. “I don’t mean to disparage you, it’s just … We need answers. And—and we need to make a statement. Soon. The media—it won’t stay contained much longer.”

  “We’re going to ask for privacy.” Chloe spoke up and shifted yet closer to her mother. “We’re going to keep it brief.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m struggling with this. I want to do what’s best for everyone.”

  “Lieutenant, can I get you a chair?”

  Eve shook her head at Tyler. “No, this one’s fine.”

  She took one of the oversized chairs angled between the sofa and the screen as Roarke did the same. Today, she thought, she could give the widow a little space.

  “Ms. Carville.”

  Aileen looked up. “He doesn’t belong in that place. Nate doesn’t belong there. It’s so cold.”

  “It won’t be for long. Ms. Carville, we’re arranging to have the contents of the vault transported to a secure location.”

  “All right. We don’t care. We don’t care about those things. Without those things, Nate would still be here.” Her voice rose. “I don’t want those things in our house.”

  “Mom.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, baby.” She pressed her lips together as Anya rushed over, all but threw herself into her mother’s arms. “We’ll be all right.” She kissed Anya’s hair. “I need to find my strength. It just keeps slipping away.”

  “I’ll be strong for you.” Chloe looked directly at Eve. “We need some answers.”

  “While the investigation is in its early stages, there is movement. The NYPSD is coordinating with Interpol.”

  “Interpol.” Joy dropped down on the end of the sofa.

  “Many of the items in the vault were stolen from museums and private collections throughout Europe. It’s possible whoever broke in here last night has a connection to one or more of those previous thefts.”

  “My grandfather stole those things—paid to have them stolen.”

  “Oh, Chloe.” Anya pressed her face to her mother’s shoulder.

  “We can’t pretend, Anya. We have to face it.”

  “People will think Dad helped.”

  “They won’t. They won’t because we won’t let them. Because he didn’t.” Once again, Chloe looked at Eve. “He didn’t and he wouldn’t.”

  “There’s no evidence that your father conspired in those original thefts. And all indications are that he learned of the existence of the vault and its contents after his own father’s death.

  “Mr. Tyler, where is Ms. Acker?”

  “Seeing to some household tasks. Do you want her?”

  “It would be helpful, yes.”

  As Tyler took out his ’link, Divine carried over a tray.

  “Now, you’ll have some tea, and some of these little sandwiches. You need your strength. You won’t find it, missus, if you don’t eat. Your girls need to eat.”

  She looked at Eve, smiled at Roarke, then back to Eve. “You both help yourself here. You look tired to the bone, Lieutenant.”

  “I’m fine. Ms. Carville, I know this is very difficult, but details can be missed. I’d like to go over exactly what you remember from last night. Your husband wasn’t feeling well.”

  “He wasn’t. He came home early.”

  “From work?”

  “What? Oh, yes, he came home around three, I think. I was working, but I stopped when I could to see why he’d come home early. He was in his office, and I could see right away he wasn’t feeling his best. He said he was feeling a little off, that’s all, so he’d work from home, take it easy.

  “I thought it might be the start of that cold he tends to get this time of year. I mentioned it to Divine, and she made chicken soup. When I finished work—a little after five, I think—he was wheezy, and he said his throat was sore. I said I could call the doctor, or we could just run to the neighborhood clinic, but he didn’t want to.”

  Crossing her arms, she squeezed her daughters’ hands. “You know how Dad is about doctors.”

  “A big baby,” Anya said, struggling to smile as tears rolled.

  “A great big baby. I took his temperature, and he was running a little hot. I said he should go up, lie down. I’d bring him the soup and some tea in bed, but he told me not to fuss. Just one of his stupid colds. He’d sleep in the guest room.”

  Eve saw Uma come in, walk over to stand by Tyler and Divine.

  “I put my foot down on that. He sleeps better in his own bed, so I’d take the guest room, and if he wasn’t better in the morning, I was calling the doctor and staying home. He agreed to the doctor but insisted I go on my weekend trip. I decided to wait until morning, see how he was, then cancel if that was best.”

  She shifted to look back at Divine. “He ate well. I felt better about that. He ate a full bowl, and said your soup was a miracle. A tasty miracle.”

  “He did. Then you talked about your girls, if you don’t mind me saying, and that you wondered how they were settling in back at college. And if Chloe was serious about the boy she’s been seeing. Mister worried a little she was, but you said she wasn’t, not very much as yet.”

  “That’s right.” She sighed, opened her other arm so Chloe moved into it. “And I reminded him we’d met in college, and that worked out just fine. He seemed a little bit better, but so tired. And the cough hurt his throat. I could see it. He went up, and I took him the tea you’d made to help him sleep. Oh, I forgot, Joy came home.”

  “About six,” Joy agreed. “I got in on the soup, and it was wonderful. I’d gone by after work to check on the progress at my condo. Nate looked lousy, a little worse than when I saw him right before he left the office. He always seemed to get that same respiratory deal this time of year. And resisted the doctor, as Aileen said. I went up not long after both of you did.”

  “Yes, that’s right. I spoke to you after I tucked him in—gave him cold meds, the tea. You said you’d help me in the morning, pushing him to the doctor, if I needed it.”

  Aileen smiled a little. “You told me to take my getaway, you’d be here to look after your baby brother. We laughed a little, said good night. I read for a while, watched a show I’d wanted to see, read a little more. I checked on him intermittently, and he seemed to be sleeping well. Then I realized I was falling asleep over my book. I think I had dozed off for a while. I went to check on him one last time, but he wasn’t there. He wasn’t there.”

  “Do you remember the time?”

  “Not exactly. I know after midnight. I did glance at the time, a few minutes after midnight, and thought I could sleep in a little, so one more chapter. That’s when I think I dozed off for a bit. I know I felt a little groggy when I got up, the way you do when you’ve dozed off. But he wasn’t there.”

  “You went downstairs.”

  “Yes. I looked for him first. He wasn’t in the bathroom, or in the little den upstairs where he liked to sit sometimes. I thought he might have gone down to the kitchen, for more tea, or more soup.”

  “Were the lights on downstairs?”

  “No, not in the foyer. We keep a light on there if someone’s coming home late, but everyone was home. I called—not loud—the way you do when everyone’s sleeping. And I walked back to the kitchen.”

  “Which way? You have central stairs. Did you go right or left?”

  “Oh, I must’ve gone left. That’s habit. My office is on the left. He wasn’t in the kitchen. We keep a low light on in there at night, but he wasn’t in there. I heard something. Like something fell. A kind of thud? Then another thud.”

  “Two thuds?”

  “Yes. Ah, yes.” She closed her eyes. “One, then the other, and I thought Nate had knocked something over, or tripped in the dark. So I called out again, louder, I think, and walked down to his office.”

  “Was the light on?”

  She shook her head. “No, no. Moonlight. I saw him in the moonlight, and the security lights. I saw him on the floor. Nate. I didn’t think. I thought he fell, and I ran to him, and dropped down.”

  “Ms. Carville, can you tell me: Was he on his back?”

  “On his back? No. No. I … I turned him over, and the blood. All over my hands. His blood. I started screaming, and couldn’t stop.”

  “Isn’t that enough?” Chloe murmured when Aileen began to tremble. “Isn’t it? Drink some of this, Mom. Drink it for me. Please.”

  Eve shifted to Joy.

  “Run your evening through for me.”

  “After I went up, spoke with Aileen, I checked on some work, watched part of a vid. It had been a long day. I was asleep by ten or so. I thought I heard someone walking down the hall. I sleep light. And it’s not my home, so probably lighter yet. But I’d drifted back to sleep when Aileen’s screams woke me. I ran out, and I ran downstairs. I heard her screaming from Nate’s office, and I saw Nate. I saw Aileen trying to hold him. I turned on the lights, and I ran over to them first to try to see if I … Then I called nine-one-one.”

  “You had your ’link with you?”

  “She was screaming. Yes, I grabbed it on the run. I got down on the floor with her, tried to see if Nate … Uma came rushing in, then John and Divine at some point. It’s mixed up a bit. The MTs got here, then the police.”

  “You know all of this,” Chloe said. “Why make them relive it?”

  “I know more now,” Eve said simply.

  One of the uniforms came in. “Excuse me, Lieutenant. The transport and security team are here.”

  “I’ll be right there. You need to excuse me for now.”

  “Just get those goddamn things out of our house.” Aileen laid her head back, closed her eyes. “Get them out of my husband’s house.”

  Chapter Seven

  When Eve stepped out, Roarke turned his attention to Aileen.

  “Ms. Carville, is there anything I can do for you? Is there anyone I can contact for you?”

  “I—no. We tried to reach Nate’s mother, but…”

  “She’s on one of her retreats,” Joy supplied. “Don’t worry, Aileen. I’ll track her down. We’re going to take a little time before we let anyone else outside the household know.”

  “I know who you are.”

  Roarke shifted his gaze to Chloe’s. “I’m here to assist the lieutenant and the NYPSD, and your family, in any way I can.”

  “Why?”

  “Chloe.”

  “It’s a reasonable question,” he said to Aileen. “A few years ago, I would have heard about your father’s death through business associates or the media. I would have been sorry, but unless we had had a personal relationship, I would have moved on. But I’ve come to see the intimacies and cruelties of the willful taking of a life, what it does to those left in its wake. I’ve certainly seen that finding those responsible for the taking of a life isn’t simply a job for Lieutenant Dallas or those she works with. It’s a calling.

  “She won’t stop,” he added, and with such quiet surety it rang in the room. “I hope it’s some small comfort to you at this horrible time to know she won’t stop until she finds the person who took your father from you.”

  “It won’t bring Nate back,” Aileen murmured.

  “No, she can’t do that. But she’ll do everything she can do, and more if more’s needed, to find who took him away. Why am I here?” He looked back at Chloe. “I have a great need to help her.”

  * * *

  Outside, Eve waited for the armored truck and its escort. Just a few billion being transported across Manhattan, she thought. No big deal.

  Then her shoulders relaxed. She saw SWAT commander Lieutenant Lowenbaum get out of an escort vehicle.

  “Good to see you, Lieutenant. Sorry about the weekend duty.”

  He shrugged, a good-looking fair-haired man with an easy attitude and nerves of steel. “Happens. Doesn’t much happen we guard a shitload of art and so on. We’ve got museum security tagging on.”

  He gestured to another group wearing Kevlar and sidearms with their dark suits.

  “More meeting us at the drop-off. You sure pull some interesting jobs, Dallas.”

  “Yeah, I’m lucky that way. Let me take you in.”

  “Let me introduce you to Morbelli. Head of Met security. She thinks she’s in charge.”

  “Doesn’t hurt to let her think it.”

  She walked over with him to a group of six where a Black woman of about fifty with a tough build, hard eyes, and dark hair cropped close to her skull stepped forward.

  “Security head Morbelli, Lieutenant Dallas.”

  “Dallas.”

  “Morbelli.”

  “Museum security will take charge of the property.” Like her hair, her voice was clipped tight. “Each item will be recorded, cataloged, security packed, and labeled prior to transport. On the other end, each item will again be recorded, cross-checked, unpacked for authentication. You will receive a copy of the recording and ensuing report, as will the agents and inspectors in charge at Interpol, as will the proper authorities connected to each item secured by us.”