Page 97 of Bonded in Death

“Summerset hurt him, humiliated him, left him naked and blubbering in the shower, so use him to kill his friend. He’ll be last on the list, Summerset. The, you know, crescendo. Rossi caught him first, beat him, so he had to die first. The others? I’m sure he has an order and a method to fit. That’s organized, tidy, everything in place.

“He wants them here, Roarke. We brought them here.”

“And here they’re safe, no matter how good he is.” Of that, he had not a whisper of doubt. “He’s dead, after all, and can’t know you’ve already disproved that.”

“Not a hundred percent until the DNA results. But no, he’s not dead.”

Because he understood his cop, Roarke turned it on her.

“How would you do it? You know him now. How would you do it?”

“I’d find a way to lure one or two of them out. A message from a friend. Keep it to daylight. Just a little catch-up visit with a pal. What’s the harm? The others will be harder when that’s done, so he’d need leverage. Abduct a family member.”

“Their families are secure. I’ve seen to it.”

“Let’s make sure of it.”

She pushed away from the table.

“He can’t get them all that way. If he hadn’t left the card, he’d have a better chance of picking them off. But he let us know it went back to The Twelve.”

“That wouldn’t have been enough. For full revenge,” Roarke continued, “for the satisfaction. To win? They had to know why. They all had to know why while it happened. You’re ahead of him, Lieutenant.”

She looked at Rossi’s photos. “You’re never ahead when there’s a body in the morgue.”

He walked to her, stood behind her. He rubbed her shoulders while they both studied the board.

“He could have been free and clear. Living in the warm and sunny, a whole new life with all the French pastries he wanted. Killing’s more important to him. Lose the battle, but win the war. That’s what this is to him. His personal war game.”

“He won’t win.” Roarke kissed the top of her head. “I’ll start on my assignments.”

She reached back, covered his hand with hers. “You’re a family member. Keep that in mind.”

“He won’t use me. I can promise you that.”

She turned, gripped his face in her hands. “Take an oath on it. They’re popular right now.”

“I swear on my heart, and that’s you, he won’t use me.”

“Okay. Okay. I need to get started, too.”

She dealt with the dishes, as that was part of the deal, then sat at her command center.

Downstairs in the dining room, the remainder of The Twelve gathered. Though he’d prepared the meal himself, and with pleasure, Summerset took Roarke’s advice. The droid would serve, clear, and clean.

What had brought them together once more was tragedy, and the grief would wind through again and again. But he could and would prize this time with old friends, good friends, for as long as he had it.

“Well, this is brilliant.” After sampling the beef, Marjorie gave Summerset an easy smile. “And where was this brilliance when it was your turn at the pot at HQ?”

“Yet to be born.”

“He made a good lamb stew,” Harry recalled. “When I could scavenge the makings. Now you, my beauty.”

On a laugh, Marjorie waved a hand in the air. “Was rubbish in the kitchen, and still am. I have other talents.”

“And always did,” Cyril added.

“None of us lack, or lacked, in other talents.” Ivanna patted a hand on the back of Cyril’s. “And how good it is to sit here and see what each of us has made with those talents.”

---