Survivor in Death by J. D. Robb Page B

sex.”
    “I'm still breathing, so that would be yes.”
    He stepped inside with her, scanning when she called for lights. “Homey,” he decided. “Tastefully so. Thoughtfully. Nice colors, nice space. Urban family style.”
    “They came in this door.”
    He nodded. “It's a damn good system. Took some skill to bypass without tripping the backups and auto alarms.”
    “Is it one of yours?”
    “It is, yes. How long did it take them to get in?”
    “Minutes. Feeney figures about four.”
    “They knew the system, possibly the codes, but certainly the system. And what they were about,” he added, studying the alarm panel. “It's a tricky one, and would take good, cool hands, and just the right equipment. You see, the backups are designed to engage almost instantly if there's any sort of tampering. They had to know they were there, and deal with them simultaneously, even before they read or input the codes.”
    “Pros then.”
    “Well, it certainly wasn't their first day on the job. Likely they had an identical system to work with. That would take time, money, planning.” He stepped back from the panel, trying to ignore the outrage he felt that one of his designs had failed to serve. “But you never supposed this was random.”
    “No. What I put together from the scene and the witness report is that one went upstairs--or at least stayed back--while the other went through here.”
    She led the way, moving directly to the kitchen. “It was dark--some glow from security and streetlights through the windows--but they had night vision. Had to. Plus the witness described blank, shiny eyes.”
    “Which could be a child's imagination. Monster eyes. But,” he said with another nod, “more likely night vision. Where was she?”
    “Over there, lying on the bench.” Eve gestured. “If he'd looked, taken enough time to do a sweep through the kitchen, he'd have seen her. The way she tells it, he just walked straight to the domestic's door.”
    “So he knew where he was going. Knew the layout, or had been here at some time.”
    “Checking on household repairs, deliveries, but that doesn't feel like it. How do you get the layout of the whole house if you, what, install a new AutoChef or fix a toilet? How do you know the layout of the domestic's quarters?”
    “Someone involved with the domestic?”
    “She wasn't seeing anyone, hadn't been for several months. A few friends outside the family, but they pan out. So far.”
    “You don't think she was the primary target.”
    “Can't rule it out, but no. He moved straight in,” she repeated, and did so. “Sealed all the way. Had to be. Sweepers didn't find a fricking skin cell that wasn't accounted for. Witness said he didn't make any noise, so I'm thinking stealth shoes. Went directly to the bed, gave the head a quick yank up by the hair, sliced down, right-handed.”
    Roarke watched her mime the moves, quick and sure, cop's eyes flat.
    “Combat knife from Morris's report--lab should be able to reconstruct. Then he lets her drop, turns, walks out. Witness is there, just outside the doorway, down on the floor, back to the wall. If he looks, he sees. But he doesn't.”
    “Confident or careless?” Roarke asked.
    “I'd go with the first. Added to it, he's not looking because he doesn't expect to see anything.” She paused a moment. “Why doesn't he expect to see anything?”
    “Why would he?”
    “People don't always stay tucked in through the night. They get up to whiz, or because they're worried about their work and can't sleep. Or because they want a damn Orange Fizzy. How come you're this thorough, this much a pro, but you don't sweep an area when you enter?”
    Frowning, Roarke considered, studied the layout again. Yes, he thought as he pictured himself moving through the house in the dark. He would have. Yes, and he had on those occasions when he'd lifted locks and helped himself to what was behind them.
    “Good question, now that you pose it.