J. Robb - Ritual in Death

Eve Dallas and husband Roarke #33

Her feet were killing her. And made her imagine traveling back in time, hunting down whoever had invented stiletto heels, and beating the crap out of him.

What was the point of them other than throwing a woman off balance, making it next to impossible to run, and inducing foot cramps?

The question occupied Eves mind as she tuned out the bulk of the party conversation buzzing around her like a hive of drunk hornets. What if one of the guests at this shindig went off and stabbed somebody in the eye with a shrimp fork, for instance? How was she supposed to take him down dressed like this? And a foot pursuit in these stilts? Forget about it.

It was a hell of a getup for a cop, to her way of thinking. The flimsy excuse for a dress left most of her exposed. And she glittered. You couldnt have diamonds hanging all over you and blend.

Of course, you couldnt go to any sort of snazzy function with Roarke and blend.

The only advantage to the ridiculous damn shoes that she could see was the fact that they boosted her up so that she and Roarke were eye-to-eye.

They were stupendous eyes, bold and brilliantly blue. A look from them could give her a tingle in the belly-even after nearly two years of marriage. The rest of him didnt suck either, she reflected. The black silk fall of hair framed a billion-dollar jackpot of a face. Even now, as he glanced at her that sculpted, delicious mouth curved up in a slow, secret smile.

All she had to do, Eve reminded herself, was tolerate the goddamn shoes a couple more hours, then shed have that mouth-and the rest of the package-to herself. Screaming arches were probably a small price to pay.

Darling. Roarke took a glass of champagne from the waiter passing them, and handed it to her. Since the glass hed traded it for had still been half full, she interpreted it as a signal to tune back in.

Okay, okay, she thought. She was here as Roarkes spouse. It wasnt as if he demanded she gear up like this and attend excruciatingly boring parties every day of the week. He was smooth about it-and as the man had more money than God and nearly as much power and position-the least she could do was play the part when they were doing the public couple thing.

Their hostess, one Maxia Carlyle, glided over in some kind of floaty number. The wealthy socialite was-by her own words-kicking into New York for a few days to catch up with friends. All of whom, Eve supposed, were wandering around Maxias expansive tri-level hotel suite gorging on canaps and sloshing down champagne.

I havent had a minute to talk to you. Maxia put her hand on Roarkes arm, tipped her face to his.

They looked, Eve decided, like an ad for the rich and the gorgeous.

And howve you been, Maxi?

Oh, you know how it goes. She laughed, shrugging one perfect bare shoulder. Its been about four years, hasnt it, since weve seen each other. Never seem to land in the same place at the same time, so Im especially glad you could make it tonight. And you, she added with a sparkling smile for Eve. I was hoping Id get the chance to meet you. Roarkes cop.

Mostly the NYPSD considers me theirs.

I cant even imagine it. What it must be like. Your work must be so fascinating and exciting. Investigating murders and murderers.

It has its moments.

More than moments, Im sure. Ive seen you on screen from time to time. The Icove case in particular.

And wasnt that one going to dog her forever? Eve mused.

I have to say you dont look anything like a police-woman. Maxias perfect eyebrows arched as she gave Eves dress a quick scan. Leonardo dresses you, doesnt he?

No, I usually do it myself.

Roarke gave her a little elbow poke. Eves oldest friend is married to Leonardo. Eve often wears him.

Mavis Freestone is your oldest friend? Now, in addition to interest and curiosity, considerable warmth infused Maxias face. I love her music, but my niece is a slathering fan. I took her to one of Maviss concerts, in London, and arranged for a backstage pass. She was so sweet with my niece, and Ive been the undisputed champion of aunts ever since.

She laughed, touched Eves arm. You do have a fascinating life. Married to Roarke, friends with Mavis and Leonardo, and chasing killers. I suppose its mostly head work, isnt it? Studying evidence, looking for clues. People like me glamorize it, think about policework the way it is on screen and at the vids. All danger and action, chasing madmen down dark alleys and firing off your weapon, when in reality its brain and paperwork.

Yeah. Eve controlled the urge to smirk. Thats about it.

Being married to Roarkes action enough. Are you still dangerous? Maxia asked him.

Domesticated. He lifted Eves hand, kissed it. Entirely.

I dont believe that for a minute. Oh, theres Anton. I need to snatch him away and bring him over to meet you.

Eve took a long, long drink of champagne.

Well meet this Anton, mingle another twenty, Roarke said, the faint hint of Ireland in his voice, and slip out and away.

Eve felt a tingle of joy, right down to her numbed toes. Seriously?

I never intended to stay above an hour or so. And certainly owe you for the points Im making by bringing a Homicide cop to the party.

Its all paperwork, Eve said dryly.

He skimmed a finger down her arm, where a knife had slashed only days before. Yes, your work is nothing but tedium. But I have to agree with Maxi. You dont look very coplike tonight.

Good thing I dont have to chase down any psycho killers. Id fall off these stupid shoes and embarrass myself. She curled her toes in them-or attempted to while she flicked a hand at the short, choppy crop of brown hair shed recently taken the scissors to herself. Old priceless diamonds dripped from her ears. I dont get parties like this. People standing around. Talk, talk, talk. Why do they have to get all dressed up to do that?

To show off.

She thought about that over another sip of wine. I guess thats it. At least I dont have to gear up like this for the shower deal for Louise. Still, another party. More talk, talk, talk.

Its a ritual, after all. When a friends about to marry, her friends gather together, with gifts, and well, I have no idea what happens then.

If its anything like mine, some of them drink till they puke, and others strip it off and dance.

Sorry Ill miss it.

Liar. But she grinned at him.

Here we are! Maxia came back, towing a portly, mustachioed man somewhere on the shady side of sixty. On his arm like a whippy vine twined a woman well shy of thirty with full, pouty lips, a bored expression, and a short red dress that covered very little of her expansive breasts.

You simply must meet Anton and his lovely companion. Its Satin, isnt it?

Silk, the bored blonde corrected.

Of course it is.

Eve caught the quick glint in Maxias eyes and understood shed mistaken the name deliberately. And liked her better for it.

Actually we met a few years ago. Anton stuck out a wide, pudgy hand. At Wimbledon.

Its nice to see you again. My wife, Eve.

Yes, the American cop. A pleasure, Detective.

Lieutenant. Eve glanced down at Silks sky-high heels. Just heels, she noted, with the feet arched into them bare on top. I heard about those. She pointed. People are actually wearing invisible shoes.