"Damn you, Eve." He said it quietly; so quietly, so calmly, her throat burned in reaction.
"What do you want from me, Roarke? You said you'd help, that I could use your connections. Now, because you're pissed about something else, you're blocking me."
"I changed my mind." His tone was dismissive as he rose and walked behind his desk. "About several things," he added, watching her with eyes that sliced at her heart.
"If you would just tell me why you sold. The coincidence of that can't be ignored."
He considered for a moment his decision to reorganize some of his less-than-legal enterprises and shake loose of what couldn't be changed. "No," he murmured. "I don't believe I will."
"Why are you putting me in this position?" she demanded. "Is this some sort of punishment?"
He sat, leaned back, steepled his fingers. "If you like."
"You're going to be pulled into this, just like the last time. There's just no need for it." Driven by frustration, she slapped her hands on his desk. "Can't you see that?"
He looked at her face, the dark, worried eyes, the ridiculously chopped hair. "I know what I'm doing." He hoped he did.
"Roarke, don't you understand, it's not enough for me to know you had nothing to do with it. Now I have to prove it."
He wanted to touch her, so much that his fingers ached from it. More than anything at that moment, he wished he could hate her for it. "Do you know, Eve?"
She straightened, dropped her hands to her sides. "It doesn't matter," she said and turned and left him.
But it did matter, he thought. At the moment, it was all that really mattered. Shaken, he shifted forward. He could curse her now, now that those big, whiskey-colored eyes were no longer staring into him. He could curse her for bringing him so low he was nearly ready to beg for whatever scraps of her life she was willing to share with him.
And if he begged, if he settled, he would probably grow to hate her almost as much as he would hate himself.
He knew how to outwait a rival, how to outmanuever an opponent. He certainly knew how to fight for what he wanted or intended to have. But he was no longer sure he could outwait, outmanuever, or fight Eve.
Taking the button out of his pocket, he toyed with it, studied it as though it were some intriguing puzzle to be solved.
He was an idiot, Roarke realized. It was humiliating to admit what an incredible fool love could make of a man. He stood, slipped the button back in his pocket. He had a board meeting to complete, business to take care of.
And, he thought, some research to do on whether any details of the Slade arrest had left Sector 38. And if they had, how and why.
Eve couldn't put off her appointment with Nadine. The necessity of it irritated, as did the fact she had to schedule the time between Nadine's evening and late live broadcasts.
She plopped down at a table at a small cafe near Channel 75 called Images. It was, with its quiet corners and leafy trees, several large steps away from the Blue Squirrel. Eve winced at the prices on the menu – broadcasters were paid a great deal more than cops – and settled on a Classic Pepsi.
"You ought to try the muffins," Nadine told her. "The place is famous for them."
"I bet it is." At about five bucks a rehydrated blueberry, Eve thought. "I don't have a lot of time."
"Neither do I." Nadine's on-camera makeup was still perfectly in place. Eve could only wonder how anyone could stand having their pores gunked for hours at a time.
"You go first."
"Fine." Nadine broke open her muffin and it steamed fragrantly. "Obviously the memorial is the big news of the day. Who came, who said what. Lots of side stories about the family, focus is tight on the grieving daughter and her fiance."
"Why?"
"Human interest, Dallas. Big splashy wedding plans interrupted by violent murder. Word's leaked that the ceremony will be postponed until the first part of next year."
Nadine took a bite of muffin. Eve ignored the envious reaction of her stomach juices. "Gossip isn't what I'm after, Nadine."
"But it adds color. Look, it was more like a plant than a leak. Somebody wanted the media to know the wedding's been postponed. So I wonder if this means there'll be a wedding after all. What I smell is the scent of trouble in paradise. Why would Mirina turn away from Slade at a time like this? Seems to me they'd have a nice quiet private ceremony so he'd be there to comfort her."
"Maybe that's the plan exactly, and they're throwing you off the scent. "
"It's possible. Anyway, without Towers as buffer, speculation's running that Angelini and Hammett will dissolve their business associations. They were very cool to each other, never spoke during the service – before or after it, – either."
"How do you know?"
Nadine smiled, feline and pleased. "I have my sources. Angelini needs income, and fast. Roarke's made him an offer for his shares, which now include Towers's interest, in Mercury."
"Has he?"
"You didn't know. Interesting." Sly as a cat, Nadine licked crumbs from her fingertips. "I thought it was interesting, too, that you didn't attend the service with Roarke."
"I was there in an official capacity," Eve said shortly. "Let's stick to the point."
"More trouble in paradise," Nadine murmured, then her eyes sobered. "Look, Dallas, I like you. I don't know why, but I do. If you and Roarke are having problems, I'm sorry for it."
Buddy-to-buddy confidences were something Eve was never comfortable with. She shifted, surprised that she was tempted, even for an instant, to share. Then she set it down to Nadine's skill as a reporter. "The point," she repeated.
"Okay." Nadine moved a shoulder and took another bite of muffin. "Nobody knows dick," she said briefly. "We've got speculation. Angelini's financial difficulties, the son's gambling habits, the Fluentes case."
"You can forget the Fluentes case," Eve interrupted. "He's going down. Both he and his lawyer know it. The evidence is clean. Taking Towers out won't change a thing."
"He might have been pissed."
"Maybe. But he's small time. He doesn't have the contacts or the money to buy a hit the size of Towers. It doesn't check out. We're running everybody she ever put away. So far we've got zip."
"You've cooled off on the revenge theory, haven't you?"
"Yeah. I think it was closer to home."
"Anyone in particular?"
"No." Eve shook her head when Nadine studied her. "No," she repeated. "I don't have anything solid yet. Here's what I want you to look into, and I need you to hold it off the air until I clear it."
"That was the deal."
Briefly, Eve told her of the incident in Sector 38.
"Holy shit, that's hot. And it's public record, Dallas."
"That may be, but you wouldn't know where to look unless I'd tipped you. Stick with the deal, Nadine. You hold it off air, and you poke around. See if you can find out if anyone know, or cares. If there's a connection to the murder, I'll hand it to you. If not, I guess it'll be up to your conscience whether you want to broadcast something that could ruin the reputation of a man and his relationship with his fiancee."
"Low blow, Dallas."
"Depends on where you're standing. Keep the cover on it, Nadine."
"Um-hmm." Her mind was humming. "Slade was in San Francisco the night of the murder." She waited a beat. "Wasn't he?"
"So the record shows."
"And there are dozens of coast-to-coast shuttles, public and private, running every hour, back and forth."
"That's right. You keep in touch, Nadine," Eve said as she rose. "And you keep the cover on."
Eve made it an early night. When her 'link beeped at one she was screaming her way out of a nightmare. Sweating shaking, she tore off the covers that wrapped around her fought off the hands that were groping over her body.