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When she collapsed, he stepped over her, removed the mask, set it aside. “Enough of the pageantry. She enjoyed it. I find it stifling.” He smiled, charmingly. “I don’t intend to make you suffer. There’s no purpose in it.”
The stench of blood was nauseating. Using all her will, Eve concentrated on his face. “Why did you kill her?”
“She’d ceased to be useful. She’s quite insane, you kno
w. Too many chemicals, I suspect, in addition to a defective personality. She liked me to beat her before sex.” He shook his head. “There were times I actually enjoyed it. The beating part, anyway. She was very clever with chemicals.” Absently, he ran a hand up and down Eve’s calf. “And I discovered with the right direction, the proper incentive, she was a clever businesswoman. We’ve made an enormous amount of money over the last couple of years. And, of course, there’s the membership contributions. People will pay ridiculous amounts of money for sex and the possibility of immortality.”
“So it was just a con.”
“Come on, Dallas. Calling up demons, selling the soul.” He chuckled, delighted. “It’s the best grift I’ve ever run, but it’s hit its peak. Now Selina…” He glanced down, idly rubbed a thumb over his chin. “She became quite serious about it. She actually believed she had power.” He studied the sprawled body with something like amused pity. “That she could see in the smoke, call up the devil.” He smiled again, made the ageless sign for lunacy by circling his finger at his temple.
A sham, Eve thought, from the beginning, nothing but a long con for profit. “Most grifters don’t add human sacrifice to the theme.”
“I’m not most grifters, and a few realistic ceremonies kept Selina in line. She developed a taste for blood. So did I,” he admitted. “That I did find addicting. Taking a life is a powerful thing, an arousing thing.”
He let his gaze roam over her, appreciating the slim, subtle lines. Selina had been all lush curves, just on the point of overabundance. “I may have you first, after all. It seems a waste not to.”
Everything in her revolted at the thought. “You were the one who had sex with Mirium, you were the one who told her to kill Trivane, to infiltrate the Wiccans.”
“She is the most malleable of women. And under a little chemical inducement, some posthypnotic suggestion, selectively forgetful.”
“It was never Selina. That’s where I was off. You weren’t her lap dog. She was yours.”
“That’s very accurate. She was losing control. I’ve known that for some time. She did the cop on her own.” His mouth thinned in annoyance. “That was the beginning of the end for this, and for her. He’d never have pinned us, and should have been left to fumble around until he gave up.”
“You’re wrong. Frank wouldn’t have given up.”
“Hardly matters now, does it?” He turned away, taking up a small vial and a pressure injector. “I’ll give you just a bit, to take the edge off. You’re really quite attractive. I can make you enjoy it when I rape you.”
“There aren’t enough drugs in the world for that.”
“You’re wrong,” he murmured and walked toward her.
Roarke had to force himself not to enter the apartment at a run. If she was inside and in trouble, his rushing in could do her more harm than good. He closed the door quietly at his back. Since the security had already been bypassed, he knew Jamie had gone in.
Still, the movement at his side had him lashing out, grabbing at the throat.
“It’s me. It’s Jamie. I can’t get into the room. They’ve installed something new. I can’t bypass.”
“Where is it?”
“There, that wall. I haven’t heard anything, but they’re in there. They have to be.”
“Go outside.”
“I won’t. And you’re wasting time.”
“Then stay back,” Roarke ordered, refusing to waste more.
He approached the wall, running his fingers over it, ordering himself to be thorough, methodical, while every instinct in him screamed to hurry.
If there was a device, it was well concealed. Reaching into his pocket, he took out his daily log, tapped in a program. He thought he caught the distant wail of a siren.
“What is that?” Jamie demanded in a whisper. “Jesus, is that a jammer? I’ve never seen one worked into a pocket diary.”
“You’re not the only one who knows the tricks.” He began to play it over the wall, cursing it for being too slow, too inefficient. Abruptly, it emitted a low hum, beeped twice. “There’s the little bastard.”
As the door slid open, he crouched and, baring his teeth, prepared to spring.
