She sat at her desk, and waited to settle as Roarke walked into his adjoining office. It remained an amazement, her personal miracle, that he loved her. Loved her because of or in spite of everything. In all the world, with all its misery, after all the pain, they’d found each other. He was right, of course. It was more than enough.
“Computer,” she began, and ordered the next layer in the search of Anders’s financials.
The rich were complicated, Eve thought, with all their many pockets inside which they tucked their booty. Stocks, bonds, trusts, tax-deferred, tax-free, liquid money, futures. Long-term, short-term. Subsets, and arms and divisions.
But under it all, somehow, someway, even the rich paid bills and bought toilet paper.
She scraped and she dug, searching for something to tie her victim to a lover or to licensed companions, running a secondary search for medications and/or sexual aids.
“Eve.”
“What?” She looked away from the data crowding her wall screen. “I’ve barely started. You can’t have found something already. It’s not natural.”
“I have, and I don’t think you’ll like it.”
“What?”
“In Ava Anders’s financials. There are regular bimonthly payments, going back for eighteen months.”
“For what?” Her eyes narrowed. “To who?”
“To Charles Monroe.”
“Charles.” As it slapped at her out of left field, Eve dragged a hand through her hair. “Son of a bitch.” This was the trouble, she thought, this was the damn problem with making friends. It came back and bit you in the ass. “She’s getting her pipes snaked twice a month by a licensed companion?”
“One would assume she wasn’t paying for a bridge partner.”
“And it just damn well has to be Charles.” She sat back, let it simmer. “Why does a woman who claims to love her husband need to diddle or be diddled by an LC every two weeks?”
“You’re not that naive. You know there are endless reasons for it.”
“Maybe, maybe, but I’m only interested in her reasons.” She rose, thinking she was about to be pried out of the warmth after all. “So I’ll go ask him what they are.”
“Now? Eve, it’s after ten.”
“LCs have flexible hours.”
“And he’s very likely to be out with a client.”
“Or in with one.”
“If you contact him first-”
“He’d have time to prepare. I want him off guard.”
And she had a point. “I’ll drive.”
5
“IF HE’S IN, ISN’T WITH A CLIENT, BUT WITH Louise?” Roarke stepped into the elevator in the elegant lobby of Charles’s apartment building.
Eve shrugged. “It’s not like she doesn’t know what he does for a living.” While she didn’t have any problem seeing how the smart, dedicated Dr. Dimatto fell for Charles-and he for her-she couldn’t quite work out how Louise so easily accepted his work.
“Why doesn’t it bother her? Seriously, it doesn’t. She’s not putting on a front. She’s in a serious relationship with a guy who has sex with other women for a living, and it doesn’t matter to her.”
“I married a cop.” Roarke smiled at her. “We all have our levels of acceptance. He was an LC when they met, just as she was a doctor, and one who often works in dangerous areas of the city.”
She shot him the same easy smile. “So…if I’d been an LC when we met, you wouldn’t have any problem with me banging other guys. Professionally.”
“None at all, as I’d kick your ass and murder all of them. But that’s just my level of acceptance.”
“Yes.” Pleased, she jabbed a finger into his chest. “That makes sense to me.”
“Which is why we’re suited, darling Eve, and neither of us with Charles or Louise. If Louise is here,” he added when the doors opened, “would you like me to take her off somewhere for a bit?”
“Let’s see how it plays.”
“And if he’s with a client-as I believe he only takes females-I’d be happy to engage her elsewhere while you work.”
“Sure, no problem. Remembering those acceptance levels, how suited we are, and how much you like having your balls kicked up to your throat.”
He put an arm around her waist for a sideways hug. “It is true love with us, isn’t it?”
“Hearts and flowers, every day.” She pushed the buzzer on Charles’s apartment door. In less than a minute, she saw the security light blink, flicked her gaze up to the camera. The light steadied to green; the door opened.
“This is a nice surprise. Roarke. Lieutenant Sugar.”
He stepped back in welcome. Charles Monroe was vid-star handsome, with a sheen of urban polish even in the casual at-home loose pants and sweater. His apartment with its strong colors, bold art, deep cushions reflected his easy sophistication and affection for comfort. Music, what Eve thought might’ve been vintage jazz, flowed through the air.
“What can I get you? Some wine? Or how about some Irish coffee?” He glanced around the room as he spoke, as if checking for something he’d misplaced. “God knows it’s cold enough out there.”
“We’re good. You alone, Charles?”
“Yes. Louise is doing a run with the medi-van tonight. These kind of temps make it rougher than usual on street people.”
“No client tonight?”
Something came and went in his eyes, but his smile stayed easy. “Actually, I had a cancellation. So it’s especially nice to see friends. Have a seat.”
“It’s police business, Charles.”
“I was getting an inkling.”
“About your client, Ava Anders.”
“Is she all right?” Concern, and hints of alarm sounded in his voice. “She’s not-”
“No, but her husband is.” Eve angled her head. “It’s been all over the media since this morning. You hadn’t heard?”
“No.” He closed his eyes a moment. “No, I hadn’t. I’ve been busy today, and had…things on my mind. I haven’t turned on the screen or looked at any reports. Thomas Anders is dead? Murdered since you’re here. Surely you don’t think Ava’s responsible.”
“Let’s backtrack. Ava Anders is a client.”
“Did she tell you that?”
“Her financials did.”
“Then, as you have the information already, yes, she’s a client.”
“And the services you provide her?”
“Dallas, you know I can’t. You know there has to be confidentiality between me and a client. I can’t discuss the arrangement without her consent. Sit down, will you?” He said it wearily. “I’m getting a drink. Do you want anything?”
“We’re fine, Charles.” Roarke nudged Eve to a chair while Charles crossed to a sleek wet bar.
“How was he killed?”
“In bed, in what appears to be a sexual bondage and erotic asphyxiation accident.”
“Oh Christ.” Charles dropped ice into a short glass, poured whiskey over it. “Ava-”
“Wasn’t there,” Eve finished, and waited while he took the first sip. “It doesn’t seem to surprise you-the manner of death, that his wife wasn’t there. Would that be because she wasn’t into the kink, or was too good at it to mess it up?”
“You’ll want to ask her that. You’re putting me in a position, Dallas.”
“How many did you put Ava in?”
He laughed, quick and amused, and the tension in his face dissolved. “You’ll have to ask her that, too.”
“How about this? How did she come to be a client?”
“Referral.” With the whiskey, he crossed back over, slid into a chair. “And no, I’m not going to tell you who. Not without consent. Dallas, my reputation and integrity hinge on consent, and on trust.”
Eve sat back, debated different angles. “You’d be, arguably, an expert on relationships.” When he laughed again, shook his head, she lifted her hands. “What? You trade in relationships. You told me once it’s not only the sex, but the relationship the client pays for.”