Delusion in Death
Authors: J. D. Robb
Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #General, #In Death
Nora Roberts
published her first novel using the pseudonym
J.D. Robb
in 1995, introducing to readers the tough as nails but emotionally damaged homicide cop
Eve Dallas
and billionaire Irish rogue
Roarke
.
With the
In Death
series, Robb has become one of the biggest thriller writers on the earth, with each new novel reaching number one on bestseller charts the world over.
For more information,
visit
www.jd-robb.co.uk
Become a fan on Facebook at
Nora Roberts and J. D. Robb
ALSO BY NORA ROBERTS WRITING AS J.D. ROBB
Naked in Death
Glory in Death
Immortal in Death
Rapture in Death
Ceremony in Death
Vengeance in Death
Holiday in Death
Conspiracy in Death
Loyalty in Death
Witness in Death
Judgement in Death
Betrayal in Death
Seduction in Death
Reunion in Death
Purity in Death
Portrait in Death
Imitation in Death
Divided in Death
Visions in Death
Survivor in Death
Origin in Death
Memory in Death
Born in Death
Innocent in Death
Creation in Death
Strangers in Death
Salvation in Death
Promises in Death
Kindred in Death
Fantasy in Death
Indulgence in Death
Treachery in Death
New York to Dallas
Celebrity in Death
Published by Hachette Digital
ISBN: 9780748125876
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Nora Roberts
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.
Hachette Digital
Little, Brown Book Group
100, Victoria Embankment
London, EC4Y 0DY
And I looked, and behold a pale horse:
and his name that sat on him was Death,
And Hell followed with him.
THE BIBLE
Cry “Havoc!” and let slip the dogs of war.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
Contents
Also by Nora Roberts Writing as J.D. Robb
After a killer day at the office, nothing smoothed those raw edges like happy hour. On the Rocks on Manhattan’s Lower West Side catered to white-collar working stiffs who wanted half-price drinks and some cheesy rice balls while they bitched about their bosses or hit on a coworker.
Or the execs who wanted a couple of quick belts close to the office before their commute to the ’burbs.
From four-thirty to six, the long bar, the high-tops and low-tops bulged with lower-rung execs, admins, assistants, and secretaries who flooded out of the cubes, pools, and tiny offices. Some washed up like shipwreck survivors. Others waded ashore ready to bask in the buzz. A few wanted nothing more than to huddle alone on their small square of claimed territory and drink the day away.
By five, the bar hummed like a hive while bartenders and wait-staff rushed and scurried to serve those whose workday was behind
them. The second of those half-price drinks tended to improve moods so the laughter, amiable chatter, and premating rituals punctuated the hum.
Files, accounts, slights, unanswered messages were forgotten in the warm gold light, the clink of glasses and complimentary beer nuts.
Now and again the door opened to welcome another survivor of New York’s vicious business day. Cool fall air whisked in along with a blast of street noise. Then it was warm again, gold again, a humming hive again.
Midway through that happiest of hours (ninety minutes in bar time), some headed back out. Responsibilities, families, a hot date pulled them out the door to subways, airtrams, maxibuses, cabs. Those who remained settled back for one more, a little more time with friends and coworkers, a little more of that warm gold light before the bright or the dark.
Macie Snyder crowded at a plate-sized high-top with her boyfriend of three months and twelve days, Travis, her best work pal, CiCi, and Travis’s friend Bren. Macie had wheedled and finagled for weeks to set CiCi up with Bren with the long view to double dates and shared boy talk. They made a happy, chattering group, with Macie perhaps the happiest of all.
CiCi and Bren had definitely
connected
—she could see it in the body language, the eye contact—and since CiCi texted her a couple times under the table, she had it verified.
By the time they ordered the second round, plans began to evolve to extend the evening with dinner.
After a quick signal to CiCi, Macie grabbed her purse. “We’ll be right back.”
She wound her way through tables, muttered when someone at the bar stood up and shoulder bumped her. “Make a hole,” she
called out cheerfully, and took CiCi’s hand as they scurried down the narrow steps and queued up for the thankfully short line in the restroom.
“Told ya!”
“I know, I know. You said he was adorable, and you showed me his picture, but he’s
so
much cuter in person. And so funny! Blind dates are usually so lame, but this is just mag.”
“Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll talk them into going to Nino’s. That way, after dinner, we’ll go one way, and you’ll have to go the other to get home. It’ll give Bren a chance to walk you home and you can ask him up.”
“I don’t know.” Always second-guessing with dates—which was why she didn’t have a boyfriend of three months and twelve days— CiCi chewed at her bottom lip. “I don’t want to rush it.”
“You don’t have to sleep with him.” Macie rolled her round blue eyes. “Just offer him coffee, or, you know, a nightcap. Maybe fool around a little.”
She dashed into the next open stall. She
really
had to pee. “Then text me after he leaves and tell me
everything
. Full deets.”
Making a beeline for the adjoining stall, CiCi peed in solidarity. “Maybe. Let’s see how dinner goes. Maybe he won’t want to walk me home.”
“He will. He’s a total sweetie. I wouldn’t hook you up with a jerkhead, CiCi.” She walked to the sink, sniffed at the peachy-scented foam soap, then beamed a grin at her friend when CiCi joined her. “If it works out, it’ll be so much fun. We can double date.”
“I really like him. I get a little nervous when I really like a guy.”
“He really likes you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Abso-poso,” Macie assured her, brushing her short curve of sunny
blond hair while CiCi added some shine to her lip dye. Jesus, she thought, suddenly annoyed. Did she have to stroke and soothe all damn night?
“You’re pretty and smart and fun.”
I don’t hang with jerkheads
, Macie thought. “Why wouldn’t he like you? God, CiCi, loosen up and stop whining. Stop playing the nervous freaking virgin.”
“I’m not—”
“You want to get laid or not?” Macie snapped and had CiCi gaping. “I went to a lot of trouble to set this up, now you’re going to blow it.”
“I just—”
“Shit.” Macie rubbed at her temple. “Now I’m getting a headache.”
A bad one, CiCi assumed. Macie never said mean things. And, well, maybe she was playing the nervous virgin. A little. “Bren’s got the nicest smile.” CiCi’s eyes, a luminous green against her caramel skin, met Macie’s in the narrow mirror. “If he walks me home, I’ll ask him up.”
“Now you’re talking.”
They walked back. It seemed louder than it had, Macie thought. All the voices, the clattering dishes, the scraping chairs ground against her headache.
She told herself, with some bitterness, to ease off the next drink.
Someone blocked her path, just for a moment, as they passed the bar. Annoyed, she rounded, shoved at him, but he was already murmuring an apology and moving toward the door.
“Asshole,” she muttered, and at least had the chance to snarl as he glanced back, smiled at her before he stepped outside.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing—just a jerkhead.”
“Are you okay? I probably have a blocker if your head really hurts. I’ve got a little headache, too.”
“Always about you,” Macie mumbled, then tried to take a calming breath. Good friends, she reminded herself. Good times.
As she sat again, Travis took her hand the way he did, gave her a wink.
“We want to go to Nino’s,” she announced.
“We were just talking about going to Tortilla Flats. We’d need a reservation at Nino’s,” Travis reminded her.
“We don’t want Mexican crap. We want to go somewhere nice. Jesus, we’ll split the bill if the tab’s a BFD.”
Travis’s eyebrows drew together, digging a thin line between them, the way they did when she said something stupid. She
hated
when he did that.
“Nino’s is twelve blocks away. The Mexican place is practically around the corner.”
So angry her hands began to shake, she shoved her face toward his. “Are you in a fucking hurry? Why can’t we do something
I
want for a change?”
“We’re doing something you wanted right now.”
Their voices rose to shouts, clanging with the sharp voices all around them. As her head began to throb, CiCi glanced toward Bren.
He sat, teeth bared in a snarl, staring into his glass, muttering, muttering.
He wasn’t adorable. He was horrible, just like Travis. Ugly, ugly. He only wanted to fuck her. He’d rape her if she said no. He’d beat her, rape her, first chance. Macie knew. She
knew
and she’d laugh about it.
“Screw both of you,” CiCi said under her breath. “Screw all of you.”
“Stop looking at me like that,” Macie shouted. “You freak.”
Travis slammed his fist on the table. “Shut your fucking mouth.”
“I said stop!” Grabbing a fork from the table, Macie peeled off a scream. And stabbed the prongs through Travis’s eye.
He howled, the sound tearing through CiCi’s brain as he leaped up, fell on her friend.
And the bloodbath began.
Lieutenant Eve Dallas stood in the carnage. Always something new, she thought. Always something just a little more terrible than even a cop could imagine.
Even for a veteran murder cop swimming in the bubbling stew of New York in the last quarter of the year 2060, there was always something worse.
Bodies floated on a sea of blood, booze, and vomit. Some draped like rag dolls over the long bar or curled like grisly cats under broken tables. Jagged hunks of glass littered the floor, sparkled like deadly diamonds on what was left of tables and chairs—or jabbed, thick with gore, out of bodies.
The stench clogged the air and made her think of old photos she’d seen of battlefields where no side could claim clear victory.
Gouged eyes, torn faces, slit throats, heads bashed in so violently she saw pieces of skull and gray matter only added to the impression of war waged and lost. A few victims were naked, or nearly, the exposed flesh painted with blood like ancient warriors.
She stood, waiting for the first wave of shock to pass. She’d forgotten she could be shocked. She turned, tall and lean, brown eyes flat, to the beat cop, and first on scene.
“What do you know?”
She heard him breathing between his teeth, gave him time.
“My partner and I were on our break, in the diner across the street. As I came out, I observed a female, late twenties, backing away from the door of the location. She was screaming. She was still screaming when I reached her.”