Doesn't take long. Doesn't matter if he drinks it now, or later, but she'd rather now so she can watch. Cozy up to him on the couch, tell him all about what and who she's doing next. Can she have some wine? Can she stay awhile? It's so good to have someone to talk to, to be with.

"He pours the wine, he pours the brandy. It's his wine, his brandy.

He's not worried. She probably drinks first, while she chats, just bubbling over with energy and enthusiasm. He'd smile at her while he drinks, caught up in her, sated from the sex, wondering if he'll be able to get it up for a second round. When he feels the poison in him, it's too late. He's shocked, horrified. Not him. It can't be. But he'd see it on her face then. She'd let him see it. That cold pleasure.

Tidy herself up, secure the apartment. Run into the neighbor and have a friendly conversation. Uncle Eli's going out of town for several weeks, isn't that nice?" "And she walks away," Peabody finished.

"And she walks away. Seal it up, Peabody. I'll go in, file the report. Then I'm going home."

CHAPTER 12

If the appeal of the suburbs baffled steadfast urbanite Eve Dallas, the appeal of the great flat stretches of Texas was foreign as a moonscape. Texas had cities, great, sprawling, crowded cities.

So why did anyone actually choose to live on the pancake grass of the prairie where you could see for miles, where you were surrounded by an endless spread of space?

Even so, there were towns, of course, with buildings that blocked that uneasy view, and straight-arrow roads that spilled into pretzel-curved freeways leading to and from civilization.

She could certainly understand people driving toward those towns and cities and buildings. But she'd never comprehend what pushed them to drive out into the nothingness.

"What do they get from this?" she asked Roarke as they zoomed down one of those roads. "There's nothing here but grass and fences and four- legged animals. Really big four-legged animals," she added as they traveled past a herd of horses with cautious suspicion.

"Yippee-ky-yay."

She shifted that suspicious stare to Roarke only briefly. She preferred to keep close watch on the animals. Just in case.

"This guy's loaded," she went on, slightly mollified by the roaring clack of a helicopter that buzzed the near field. "He's got a thriving, successful business in Dallas. But he chooses to live out here.

Voluntarily. There's something really sick about that."

With a laugh, Roarke picked up her hand, the one that kept inching up toward her weapon, and kissed it. "There are all kinds of people in the world."

"Yeah, and most of them are crazy. Jesus, are those cows! Cows shouldn't be that big, should they? It's unnatural." "Just think steaks, darling."

"Uh-uh, that's just creepy. Are you sure this is the right way? This can't be right. There's nothing out here." "May I point out the several houses we're passing along this route?"

"Yeah, but I think the cows must live in them." She had a flash of bovine activities inside the low-slung houses. Watching some screen, having cow parties, making cow love in four-poster beds. And shuddered. "God, that's creepy, too. I hate the country."

Roarke glanced down at the in-dash navigation screen. He'd worn jeans and a white T-shirt, and a pair of sleek, black sunshades. It was a casual look for him, even simple. But he still looked like city.

Rich city, Eve mused.

"We should be there in a few minutes," he told her. "There's a bit of civilization up ahead."

"Where?" She risked taking her attention away from the cows, looked through the windshield and saw the spread of a town.

Buildings, fuel stations, shops, restaurants, more houses. Her gut loosened a little. "Okay, that's good."

"But we're not going through there. We veer off here." So saying, he turned off the wide ribbon of road onto a narrow offshoot. One that, in Eve's opinion, brought them entirely too close for comfort to those strange, flat grassy fields.

"Those fences don't look all that strong." "If there's a stampede, we'll outrun them."

She moistened her lips, swallowed. "I bet you think that's funny."

But she was somewhat mollified as there were other vehicles on the road. Other cars, trucks, long sleek trailers, and a few topless power Jeeps. Buildings began to spring up. Not houses, Eve thought.

Farm buildings or ranch buildings. Whatever. Barns and sheds and animal shelters.

Stables, she supposed. Granaries or whatever they were. Silos, and what kind of word was that? It looked like a painting with all that grass, the crops, the bored-faced cattle, and the strong reds and whites of the outbuildings.

"What's that guy doing?" she demanded, inching up in the seat to stare beyond Roarke's profile. "He appears to be riding a horse."

"Yeah, yeah, I can see that. But why?" "I have no idea. Perhaps he wants to."

"See?" To punctuate it, she slapped Roarke's shoulder. "Sick.

People are just sick." She let out a little breath of relief when she spotted the ranch house. I t was enormous, sprawling all over hell and back on one story. Portions of i t were painted that same br ight white and others looked to be fashioned from stones cobbled all together on a whim. There were sections built of glass, and she nearly shuddered at the idea of standing there looking out at field after field. And having what was in those fields looking in at her.

There were smaller fenced areas, and while there were horses in them, there was also considerable human activity. That relieved her, even if those humans were all wearing cowboy hats.

She saw a helipad and a number of vehicles, many of which she couldn't begin to identify. She had to assume they were used for some sort of rural labor.

They drove through enormous stone pillars topped by rearing horses.

"Okay, he knows we're coming, and he's not happy about it," she began. "He's bound to be hostile, defensive, and uncooperative. But he's also smart enough to know I can complicate his life, dredge up the past, and press the local cops to add some pressure. He doesn't want all this crap uncovered in his backyard. Doing this on his turf lets him feel more in control."

I t was enormous, sprawling all over hell and back on one story. Portions of i t were painted that same br ight white and others looked to be fashioned "And how long are you going to let him feel that way?"

"We'll see how it goes." She stepped out of the car and nearly lost her breath in the heat.

A baking heat, she realized, very unlike the steambath of a New York City summer. She smelled grass and what had to be manure.

"What's that clacking sound?" she asked Roarke.

"I'm not altogether sure. I think it might be chickens."

"Christ almighty. Chickens. If you tell me to think omelettes, I'll have to hit you."

"Understood." He walked up the pathway beside her. He knew her well enough to be certain her preoccupation with the local scene helped to keep her mind off her fears and worries. She'd yet to say anything about heading into Dallas itself, or what she could or would do there.

The doors were ten feet wide and crowned by the bleached-out horns of some sort of animal. Roarke pondered it, and the type of I t was enormous, sprawling all over hell and back on one story. Portions of i t were painted that same br ight white and others looked to be fashioned personality that enjoyed decorating with dead animals, while Eve rang the bell.

Moments later, the image of the old American West yanked open the door.

He was weathered as leather, tall as a mountain, wide as a river.

He wore boots with toes sharp as stilettos and crusted with dirt. His jeans were dark indigo and looked stiff enough to stand tall without him while his shirt was a faded red-and-white check. His hair was a dull silver, slicked back from a hard and ruddy face, mapped with lines, toughened in a scowl.

When he spoke, his voice rattled like loose gravel in a very deep bucket. "You the city cops?" "Lieutenant Dallas." Eve offered her badge. "This is my field assistant-"

"I know you." He pointed a finger, thick as a soy dog on his ham of a hand, at Roarke. "Roarke. You're Roarke, and you're no cop." "Praise be," Roarke acknowledged. "I happen to be married to one."

"Yeah." He nodded as he considered Eve. "Recognize you now, too.

Big city New York cop." He looked like he might spit, but restrained himself. "Jake T. Parker, and I don't have to talk to you. Fact is, my lawyers advise against it." I t was enormous, sprawling all over hell and back on one story. Portions of i t were painted that same br ight white and others looked to be fashioned

"You're not now under any legal obligation to speak with me, Mr.

Parker. But you can be put under that legal obligation, and I'm sure your lawyers advised you of that as well."

He hooked his wide thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans. His scarred belt creaked at the movement. "Take you some little while to pull that off, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, sir, it would. I wonder how many more people Julianna can kill before the lawyers wrangle that out? You care to speculate?"

"I've got nothing to do with her, haven't in more than a dozen years.

I made my peace there, and I don't need some city-girl cop from New York coming here and throwing that dirt in my face."

"I'm not here to throw dirt, Mr. Parker. I'm not here to judge you. I'm here to learn anything that might help me stop Julianna from taking more lives. One of them might be yours."