"Remember me?" She gave him a toothy smile. "I need to speak with Mr. Dunwood."
"Yes, Lieutenant. Please come in. I'll tell Mr. Dunwood you're here. May I offer you some refreshment while you wait?"
"No, we're set, thanks."
"Very well. Please make yourself comfortable."
He walked away, stiff and formal in his classic black uniform.
"Now if Roarke would ditch Summerset and get a droid, I could be treated politely like that every day."
"Yeah." Peabody grinned. "You'd really hate it."
"Who says?"
"Those who know you best, sir."
"I think I know me best," she countered. "What makes you say… hold that thought," she said when she saw Lucias turn into the foyer. "Mr. Dunwood."
"Lieutenant." He'd dressed in black as well, had used just a hint of makeup to give his face a grieving pallor. It had worked wonders on his mother that morning, and he had no doubt it would set just the right tone with the cops. "You have some news about my grandfather? I spent the morning with my mother, and she…"
He trailed off, looked away as if composing himself. "We'd both be grateful for any news. Anything at all to help us make some sense out of our loss."
"I think I can help you with that. We already have someone in custody."
He looked back at her, an instant of surprise before it was masked. "I can't tell you what this means to us. To have his killer brought to justice quickly."
"Brightens my day, too."Indulgent, she told herself. She was being indulgent after all. But what the hell. "Actually, there were two people responsible. One has been charged, and an arrest of the second is imminent."
"Two? Two against a helpless old man." He worked rage into his voice. "I want them to suffer. I want them to pay."
"We're riding the same wave on that one. So let's get started. Lucias Dunwood, you're under arrest."
She whipped out her weapon when he took a quick step back. "Oh, please," she invited. "Keep going. I didn't have the opportunity to use this on your pal, Kevin, and it's made me twitchy."
"You stupid bitch."
"I'll take the bitch, but hey, which one of us is going into a cage? Stupid is as stupid does. Hands up and behind your head. Now."
He raised his hands, and when she turned him to face the wall, made him move.
Maybe she let him. Eve wasn't going to lie awake at night debating the point. But when he shoved, she let her body flow back, gave him room to swing. And ducking under the arch of his fist, rammed her own, twice, into his gut.
"Resisting arrest," she said when he fell to his hands and knees, retching. "Another mark on your permanent record." She nudged him flat with her foot, then put her boot lightly on the back of his neck. "I won't add assaulting an officer because you missed. Restrain this clown, Peabody, while I finish stating the charges against him and read him his rights."
He was demanding a lawyer before she'd finished.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The sky was still blue, a deep, dreamy evening blue, when she walked up the steps to her own front door. For the first time in days her mind was clear enough to let the sound of birdsong and the soft drift of flowers register.
She considered just sitting down on the steps and drawing it in, all those sweet and simple pleasures the world could offer. Remembering, taking the time to remember there was more than death, more than blood and those who spilled it with the selfishness of spoiled children made the difference between living and sinking.
Instead she pinched off a sprig of the purple flower spilling out of an urn and went inside. There was something she wanted more than fresh air.
Summerset took one look at the blossom in her hand and scowled. "Lieutenant, the arrangements in the urns are not cutting flowers."
"I didn't cut it. I snapped it off. Is he home?"
"In his office. If you want a display of verbena, you can order one from one of the greenhouses."
"Blah, blah, blah," she said as she walked up the stairs. "Yak, yak, yak."
Summerset nodded with approval. It seemed the medications had put her back to normal.
Roarke was at the window, holding a conversation on his headset. It seemed to be something about a revision to the prototype of some new communication/data system, but there was too much e-jargon for her to decipher. So she tuned out the words themselves, and just listened to the flow of his voice.
The Irish in it occasionally gave her a strange thrill, along with misty images of warriors and fragrant fires. And poetry, she supposed. Maybe the female of the species was just hardwired to react to certain stimuli.
Maybe in ten or twenty years, she'd actually get used to it. To him.
The sun, sinking in the sky, spilled in the window and drenched him in shimmering gold. He'd tied back his hair, which made her think he'd been at something that had required his hands and no distractions.
The light made a halo around him they both knew he didn't deserve, but that looked incredibly right.
He had the screen on, and a news report was humming. His desk 'link beeped and was ignored.
There was a scent to the room that was money, that was power. That was Roarke. Inside her rose a need basic as breath.
And he turned to her.
With her eyes locked on his she crossed the room, jerked him to her by his shirtfront, and captured his mouth with hers.
In the headset a voice continued to buzz in his ear, dim under the stirring of his own blood. He caught her hips, pressed heat against heat.
"Later," he muttered into the headset, then pulled it off, tossed it aside. "Welcome home, Lieutenant, and congratulations." He lifted a hand to brush it over her hair. "I caught your press conference on Seventy-five."
"Then you know it's over." She offered the verbena. "Thanks for your help."
"You're welcome." He sniffed the flower. "Anything else I can do for you?"
"As a matter of fact." She tugged the band out of his hair. "I've got another assignment for you."
"Really? My schedule's a bit tight right now, but I want to do my civic duty." He tucked the little flower behind her ear. "What sort of assignment is it? And be specific."
"You want me to be specific?"
"I do, yes. Very… very specific."
With a laugh, she boosted herself up so she could wrap her legs around his waist. "I want you to get naked."
"Ah, an undercover assignment." Bracing her hips, he started toward his office elevator. "Is it dangerous?"
"It's deadly. Neither of us may make it out alive."
Inside the elevator, he pressed her back against the wall. Felt the strength of her – and the yielding. "Master bedroom," he ordered, then ravaged her mouth. "I live for danger. Tell me more."
"It involves a lot of physical exertion. Timing…" Her breath clogged when his teeth found her throat. "Rhythm, coordination has to be perfect."
"Working on it," he managed and swung her out of the elevator into the bedroom.
The cat, stretched across the bed like a fat, furry rag, leaped up with a hissing complaint when they dropped onto the mattress beside him. Roarke reached out, gave him a light shove that sent him jumping down with a thud.
"This is no place for civilians."
With a snort of laughter, Eve locked her arms tight around him. "Naked." She raced kisses over his face. "Get naked. I want to sink my teeth into you."
Tugging at clothes, they rolled over the bed. Her shirt tangled in her weapon harness, making her curse breathlessly as she fought free of both. Their mouths met again, a frantic mating of lips, teeth, tongues that had the blood rushing hot through her veins and her body plunging under his.
She tugged at his shirt, yanking it down from his shoulders so she could dig her fingers into that hard ripple of muscle and test strength to strength.
But he caught her hands in his, drew her arms over her head. Stared down at her with those depthless blue eyes until her own muscles began to quake.