In Death 38 - Thankless in Death by J. D. Robb

Author:J. D. Robb [ROBB, J. D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-09-17T16:00:00+00:00

The silver-and-glass tower rising above the Hudson River boasted its own bank, a two-level state-of-the-art fitness center—with pool, a five-star spa, a select group of high-end boutiques, twenty-four-hour concierge service, two exclusive restaurants, three bars, and for an additional fee, a daily, weekly, or monthly cleaning service.

The apartment on the eighteenth floor was, for him, a wet dream.

Floor-to-ceiling windows comprised the river-facing wall. A touch of a button, or voice command, opened them to the terrace.

The generous living space—humongo, built-in wall screen, floors of cool silver, walls of pale gold—spilled into a dining area already furnished with a floating, free-form chrome table and glossy black chairs. The kitchen beyond, all hard silver, strong gold, rippled glass, held every modern feature he could imagine, and plenty he hadn’t.

He listened with half an ear as the realtor buzzed at him about square footage, location, amenities—soundproofing, full voice command, private elevator—blah, blah, blah.

He nodded, trying for knowledgeable and sophisticated as he circled around to the master suite.

He all but felt tears rush to his eyes.

Like the dining room, like the living area with its gel platform sofa, chrome tables, gold scoop chairs, it was already furnished.

She fussed with a remote that had the black headboard glowing, the privacy screens on that wall of glass sliding up, then down, the glass opening to the terrace.

He struggled to maintain his composure, glancing at the bathroom—big, sunken jet tub, clear glass multijet shower. Drying tube, flash-tan tube, another screen, a small gas fireplace, an attached dressing area complete with wardrobe comp.

The second bedroom, described by the yammering realtor as the perfect home office for a bachelor, also had its own bath—smaller than the master’s but no less swank.

He poked around, opening closets, wandering out to the terrace, giving her short answers or no comments.

It was, in his mind, already his. Everything he wanted, everything he deserved.

He wanted her out of it so he could flop down on the couch and kick his feet, wave his fists in the air in triumph.

“It’s prime real estate,” she continued—talk, talk, talk. “The complex has only been open for six months, and is already at ninety-three percent. The previous tenant hadn’t fully moved in, was still furnishing as you can see, when business required him to move to Paris. This unit has only just become available, and I expect it to be snapped up by next week. And only that long due to the holiday.”

“It might do.” Reinhold tried for weariness. “I really don’t have much time to spend on hunting.”

She gave him an easy, professional smile—a short, solid woman in a purple suit and sensible shoes. “You said you’d just come back to New York from Europe yourself.”

“Hmmm.” He merely nodded. He wandered back, frowned at the kitchen, opened a few doors, drawers. “It’s a bit small for the entertaining I do, but it’s here.”

“The caterer on site is one of the best in the city. Of course, you’d hardly expect less from a Roarke property.”

He glanced at her. “Roarke?” He felt the thrill spear through him, couldn’t suppress the smile.

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