J.D. Robb - Dark in Death

Published by Piatkus

ISBN: 978-0-349-41784-4

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 2018 Nora Roberts

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

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.

The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

Piatkus

Little, Brown Book Group

Carmelite House

50 Victoria Embankment

London EC4Y 0DZ

www.littlebrown.co.uk

www.hachette.co.uk

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 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

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

Judgment 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

Delusion in Death

Calculated in Death

Thankless in Death

Concealed in Death

Festive in Death

Obsession in Death

Devoted in Death

Brotherhood in Death

Apprentice in Death

Echoes in Death

Secrets in Death

Finish, good lady; the bright day is done, And we are for the dark.

W ILLIAM S HAKESPEARE

The great art of writing is the art of making people real to themselves with words.

L OGAN P EARSALL S MITH

O n the mega screen bloody murder played out in classic black and white for an audience of one hundred and seven. With the sharp screech of violins, violas, and cellos that number dropped by one.

Unlike the character of Marion Crane, Chanel Rylan didnt scream or flail at the shock of violent death. In row twenty-seven in theater three of Vid Galaxy in New York Citys Times Square, she let out little more than a mouse squeak as the ice pick plunged into the back of her neck.

Her body gave one quick jerk; her hands batted at the air and up-ended the mini bucket of popcorn in her lap. Her last breath escaped like a long sigh.

She died in the dark as blood circled black down the drain on the screen.

No one noticed. With all eyes, all attention riveted to the screen, no one noticed the killer slip into the aisle and walk away from dark deeds.

When Lola Kawaski hurried back in, dropping into her aisle seat, she cursed in a whisper, Damn it, I cant believe I missed the big, classic scene. And Im going to have to miss the rest. Im kicking myself for agreeing to be on call tonight, but weve got an emergency coming in, so

In apology, she patted Chanels arm. The movement caused her dead friends body to shift, slumping against Lola. Lolas initial amusementleave it to an actor to go all dramaticflipped to alarm.

Then the screaming started.

L ieutenant Eve Dallas stood over the body. Someone had dragged said body into the aisle in a useless attempt at firstor more accurately lastaid. Now the scene was totally fucked.

So was her evening at home. Shed actually walked in the door on time for once, out of the claw swipe of late February wind and into the warmth of a Summerset-free house, as Roarkes majordomo was off on his winter vacation.

Shed even beaten Roarke home and experienced the odd and rare sensation of having the big-ass fancy house all to herself. And the cat.

Shed considered squeezing in a workoutcontemplated just jogging from room to room; if she managed to hit them all that would equal a pretty damn serious workout.

Instead, she wandered into the big front parlor with its art, antiques, and rich colors. She decided she deserved a big red circle around the day on the 2061 calendar, and she put on the fire, poured a glass of wine, sat in one of the butt-cuddling chairs.

The cat sat at her feet, eyed her suspiciously.

I know, weird, right? Im just sitting here. Kicking out her legs, she crossed her booted feet at the ankles. Maybe I could get used to it, she said, lifting the wine for the first sip.

Her communicator signaled.

Or maybe not.

Two minutes later, she grabbed her coat from the newel post where shed tossed it. And Roarke walked in.

The wind followed him, tossing his black-as-midnight hair around that remarkable warrior-poet face. His perfectly sculpted mouth curved, those wild blue eyes smiled at her.

Then he noted she shot her arms into the coat rather than stripping it off.

He said, Uh-oh.

Sorry. Five damn minutes home, and I caught one. DB at a vid palace in Times Square.

An unhappy ending for the DB. Ireland cruised through his voice. And as she wrapped her scarf around her neck, he left the door open to the cold. Opening scene for my cop.

He caught her face in his hands, kissed hertaking his time with it, despite the cold wind and the call of duty.

Ill see you later, she told him. Maybe even sooner. Theres a glass of wine in the parlor. Id just poured it.

He gave her another, briefer kiss. Ill think of you when I drink it.

Less than ten minutes after shed walked in, she started out. Dont forget to feed the cat.

As if hed let me.

Now Eve imagined Galahads belly was full, and Roarke had enjoyed her wine while she studied a woman identified as Chanel Rylan by her vid-watching friend.

Eve stood alone in the theater, having already taken the report of the first officer on scene. She studied the blood on the back of the chairfirst in from the aisleand the smeared drops helpful civilians had stepped in when moving the body.

Eve opened her field kit and, with her hands and boots sealed, crouched down to do her job.

She pressed the victims right thumb to her Identi-pad.

Victim is identified as Chanel Rylan, mixed-race female, age thirty-two. No marriages, no offspring, no current cohab.

She took out her gauges for time of death.

TOD eighteen-thirty-one. No defensive wounds visible. ME to confirm.

Prepared to turn the body, Eve looked up and over at the familiar clomp, and watched her partner start down the slanted aisle.

Pink, fuzzy-topped boots, pink magic coat, and todays scarf a long snake of variegated blues. Peabody wore a matching cap over a flip of dark hair.

So much for the night off. Peabody studied the victim. Then again, shes got nothing but nights off now.

Seal up. I want to turn her. First on scene reports the wounds at the base of her neck.

Peabody stripped off her outdoor gear, sealed up. Id just ordered a bowl of minestrone. McNab offered to come with, but I told him to eat, and take mine to go. I figured if you wanted EDD, wed just tag him.