Peabody's voice came cool and calm through the buzzing in her ears. "Let the backup record show that subject physically threatened the lieutenant during questioning. As a result, subject lost his balance and struck his head on the desk. He appears to be momentarily stunned."
While Eve could do no more than stare at her, Peabody rose, stepped over, and dragged Jess up by the collar of his shirt. She held him there a moment, as if considering his condition. His knees sagged, his eyes rolled back white.
"That's affirmative," she stated, then dumped him into a chair. "Lieutenant Dallas, I believe your recorder has been damaged." With a brush of her hand, Peabody tipped Eve's coffee onto the unit, effectively frying its chips. "Mine is in working order and will be sufficient for reporting this interview. Are you injured?"
"No." Eve shut her eyes, snapped her control back into place. "No, I'm fine. Thank you. The interview breaks at oh one thirty-three. Subject Jess Barrow will be transported to the Brightmore Health Center for examination and treatment, and there be detained until nine hundred hours, when this interview will continue at Cop Central. Officer Peabody, please arrange for transport. Subject is to be held for questioning, charges pending."
"Yes, sir." Peabody glanced over as the door to Roarke's office slid open. It only took one look at his face to realize that there might be trouble. "Lieutenant," she began, careful to keep the recorder turned away. "I'm getting interference on my communicator, and your 'link may have been damaged when the subject knocked it to the floor. Permission to use another room to send for the MTs."
"Go ahead," Eve said and sighed as she watched Roarke come in and Peabody stride out. "You had no business monitoring this interview," she began.
"I beg to differ. I had every business." He glanced down at the chair as Jess moaned and shifted. "He's coming around. I'd like my moment with him now."
"Listen, Roarke – "
He cut her off with one swift, ice-edged stare. "Now, Eve. Leave us alone."
That was the trouble between them, she decided. Both of them were so used to giving orders that neither of them took orders well. But she remembered the stricken look in his eyes when he'd backed away from her. They had both been used, she thought, but Roarke had been victimized.
"You've got five minutes. That's it. And I'm going to warn you right now. The record shows he's relatively undamaged. If there are marks on him, it's going to swing back on me and compromise my case against him."
His lips twitched in a bare flicker of a smile as he took her arm and led her to the door. "Lieutenant, give me some credit. I'm a civilized man." He shut the door in her face, locked it.
And, he thought, he knew how to cause great discomfort to the human body without leaving so much as a dent.
He walked over, hauled Jess out of the chair, and shook him until his eyes blinked into focus. "Awake now, are you?" Roarke said softly. "And aware?"
Sweat pooled cold at the base of Jess's spine. He was looking into the face of murder, and he knew it. "I want a lawyer."
"You're not dealing with the cops now. You're dealing with me. At least for the next five minutes. And you have no rights or privileges here."
Jess swallowed, struggled for a show of cool. "You can't lay a hand on me. If you do, it'll slap right back on your wife."
Roarke's lips curved and struck a fresh fist of terror in Jess's gut. "I'm going to show you just how mistaken you are in that."
His eyes never left Jess's face as he reached down, grabbed onto his penis, and twisted. It was some satisfaction to see every drop of blood drain out of the man's face and watch his mouth work like a guppy's as it gasped for air. With his thumb, he pressed gently on Jess's windpipe and cut off even that thin passage of air until the silver eyes bulged.
"Hell, isn't it, to be led around by the cock?" He gave one last jerk of the wrist before letting Jess collapse into the chair and curl up like a shrimp.
"Now, let's talk," he said pleasantly enough. "About private matters."
Out in the corridor, Eve paced up and down, glancing every few seconds at the thick door. She knew very well if Roarke had implemented the soundproofing, Jess could be shrieking his lungs out and she wouldn't hear.
"If he killed him… Good God if he killed him, how was she going to handle it? She stopped, appalled, and pressed a hand to her stomach. How could she even consider it? She was duty bound to protect the bastard. There were rules. Whatever her personal feelings, there were rules.
She marched to the door, coded in, and hissed out a breath as her code was denied. "Son of a bitch. Goddamn it, Roarke." He knew her too well. With little hope, she raced down the corridor, into his office, and tried the connecting door.
Entrance denied.
She streaked to the monitor, cued up the security camera for her office, and found he'd locked her out of that as well.
"God almighty, he is killing him." She rushed the door again, beat on it uselessly with her fist. Moments later, like magic, the locks slicked back, and the door slid quietly open. She went through at a dead run and saw Roarke calmly sitting at her desk, smoking.
Her heart pounded as she looked down at Jess. He was pale as death, his pupils the size of pinpricks, but he was breathing. In fact, he was wheezing out air like a faulty temperature control.
"He's unmarked." Roarke picked up the brandy he'd poured himself. "And I believe he's begun to see the error of his ways."
Eve leaned down, peered closely into Jess's eyes, and watched him cringe back into the chair like a kicked dog. The sound he made was barely human. "What the hell did you do to him?"
He doubted Eve or the NYPSD would approve of the tricks he'd picked up in his more shadowy travels. "Much less than he deserved."
She straightened and now took a long, hard look at Roarke. He looked like a man about to entertain late night guests or chair an important business meeting. His suit was unwrinkled, his hair unmussed, his hands perfectly steady. But his eyes, she noted, were just on the down side of wild.
"Christ, you're scary."
Carefully, he set his brandy down. "I'll never hurt you again."
"Roarke." She pushed back the urge to go to him, close her arms around him. It wasn't what the moment called for, she decided. Or what he wanted. "This can't be personal."
"Yes." He drew in smoke, blew it out slowly. "It can. And is."
"Lieutenant." Peabody stepped in, her face bland. "The MTs are here. With your permission, I'll accompany the suspect to the health center."
"I'll go."
"Sir." Peabody slid a glance toward Roarke. He'd yet to take his eyes off Eve, she noted. And those eyes looked more than a little dangerous. "If you'll excuse me, I believe you have more pressing matters here. I can handle this. You still have a number of guests in the house, including the press. I'm sure you'd prefer this matter remain quiet until its disposition."
"All right. I'll contact Central from here, make the necessary arrangements. Prepare for second phase interview tomorrow, nine hundred hours."
"I'm looking forward to it." Peabody glanced over at Jess, lifted a brow. "He must have hit his head pretty hard. Still looks dazed, skin's clammy." She offered Roarke a wide smile. "I know just how that feels."
Roarke laughed, feeling more of the tension drain away. "No, Peabody. In this case, I don't believe you do."
He got up, walked to her and, framing her square face with his elegant hands, kissed her. "You're beautiful," he murmured before turning to Eve. "I'll see to the rest of our guests. Take your time."
As he walked out, Peabody touched her fingertips to her lips. Pleasure had radiated down to her toes and out through the reinforced tips of her boots. "Oh wow. I'm beautiful, Dallas."
"I owe you, Peabody."
"I think I just got paid." She stepped back to the door. "Here come the MTs. We'll get our boy out of here. Tell Mavis she was absolutely ultra."