Reunion in Death

«Anyway she can get out without using the hallway?»

«Only if she leaps from the terrace. It is four floors up, and not recommended.»

«Put a man outside, on the ground. Just in case.»

«As you wish.» He took out a small communicator, relayed the order as they stepped into an elevator.

«I want all civilians kept in their rooms up there. She'll resist if she can, run if she can, take a hostage if she can.»

«The safety of our guests is paramount. We will see to their protection.»

When the elevator doors opened, Eve laid a hand on the butt of her weapon. She saw the guard outside a set of wide double doors. He sat, blocking them, sipping coffee.

One sharp command in Italian from his superior had him springing to his feet, rattling back a response.

«She has made no attempt to leave the room by this door,"Bartelli told Eve. «No one has tried to enter. Two guests, one from the next room, one from the end of this hallway, left their rooms. There are morning activities,» he explained. «And the health club and pools are open twenty-four hours for the convenience of our guests.»

«Handy. All right, move aside and stand by.»

She shoved the chair out of the way, slid in the first code. «Which way is the bedroom?»

«It is to the left, through an archway. Perhaps twelve feet from this door.»

«And to the right?»

«A smaller sitting room.»

She slid in the second code. «Go right,» she said to Roarke.

She nudged the door open, soundlessly, and with her weapon out did a first, fast sweep. The living area of the suite was deep in shadow with the privacy drapes snug over the windows. There wasn't a sound.

«On the door,» she murmured to Bartelli and slipped inside.

Her boots sank into the soft pile of an ancient carpet, clicked quietly over polished tile. She moved fast and silent through the archway and into the darkened bedroom. She smelled flowers, female. And heard nothing.

«Lights,» she ordered. «On full.»

Her weapon was trained toward the bed when they flashed on, and she found what her instincts had already told her. It was empty. There was a sheer black evening dress draped over a chair, a pair of carelessly discarded black heels beside it. And on the dresser was a silver-backed brush, a frosted bottle of scent. On the mirror above it, elegantly written in murderous red lip dye were two words.

CIAO, EVE

«She didn't just rabbit because she felt like a brisk pre-dawn run. She knew I was coming.» Eve stared at the reservations manager with enough heat to melt stone. «Someone told her she'd been made.»

«Lieutenant Dallas, I assure you, I spoke to no one but you, and those you authorized me to speak to.» She glanced at the message on the mirror over Eve's shoulder. «I have no explanation for this.»

«Obviously the woman had anticipated your movements.»

Captain Giamanno, who'd arrived at last with a trio of men, spread his hands. «There was a guard at the door after you requested one. There are security cameras in the hallway. She did not simply poof past these like a ghost.»

«No, she didn't poof past them like a ghost. She walked.» Eve turned back to the bedroom computer, gestured as she ordered it to run the section of the disc she'd already viewed. «Right there.»

The screen showed the guard, sitting sleepily in his chair outside the suite's doors. The time stamp read oh-four-fifty-six hours. A door opened from the next room and a woman wearing one of the hotel's white robes, a wide straw hat with trailing scarf, and carrying a large straw purse came out. Her face was shielded by the brim as she mumbled a quiet buon giorno to the guard and strolled toward the elevator.

«This is not her room,» Giamanno pointed out. «There is no access to that suite from this one, Lieutenant, and as you can see, no adjoining doors.»

She stared at him for a full ten seconds. Could he be that dim? she wondered, and riding on fury, stormed into the parlor and flung open the terrace doors.

As the others trailed after her, Eve rose up on her toes, bent to flex her knees once, twice, then sprinted across the terrace, sprang off the stone banister, and leaped to the neighboring terrace.

Her ankles sang on impact, but she ignored the pain, stepped to the doors. «I wonder if it'll come as a big surprise to you, Giamanno, that these doors are unlocked.»

She opened them, peered inside, stepped back. Closed them again. «And that there are two people in bed inside here, still sawing wood.»

«Sawing-«

«Sleeping, you-«

«Lieutenant.» Roarke interrupted what would no doubt have been a tirade harsh enough to destroy all friendly relationships between Italy and the United States for the next decade. «I believe what Lieutenant Dallas has deduced is that, forewarned in some manner, the suspect fled the premises by the manner just demonstrated, and left the building, in all probability the country, before our arrival.»