"Roarke has interests there as well."
"Yes, sir, but he's had no recent dealings with either Conroy or Brennen. I checked. He's had no business or personal contact with them in a more than a decade."
"Revenge often takes time to chill." He steepled his fingers and studied Eve over the tips. "Do you intend to bring Summerset back into Interview?"
"I'm weighing that option, Commander. His alibi for the time of Brennen's murder is weak, but it's plausible. Audrey Morrell confirmed their date. It's more than possible they confused the times. The manner of Brennen's death, and Conroy's as well, doesn't fit Summerset. He isn't physical enough to have managed it."
"Not alone."
Eve felt her stomach stutter but nodded. "No, not alone. Commander, I'll pursue the leads. I'll investigate Summerset and any and all suspects, but it's my personal belief, and a strong personal belief, that Summerset would do nothing to harm or implicate Roarke in any way. He is devoted – even overly devoted. And I believe, Commander, that Roarke is a future target. He's the goal. That's why I was contacted."
Whitney said nothing for a moment as he measured Eve. Her eyes were clear and direct, her voice had been steady. He imagined she was unaware that she'd linked her fingers together and that her knuckles were white.
"I agree with you. I could ask you if you'd prefer to be taken off the case, but I'd be wasting my breath."
"Yes, sir."
"You'll interview Roarke." He paused while she remained silent. "And I imagine there will be no official report of said interview. Be careful how far you bend the rules, Dallas. I don't want to lose one of my best officers."
"Commander." She rose. "His mission isn't complete. He'll contact me again. I've already got a feel for him, an impression of type, but I'd like to consult with Dr. Mira on a profile as soon as possible."
"Arrange it."
"And I intend to work as much as possible out of my home. My equipment there is… superior to what's available to me at Cop Central."
Whitney allowed a smirk to twist his wide face. "I bet it is. I'm going to allow you as much free rein as I can on this, for as long as I can. I can tell you that time will be short. If there's another body, that time's going to be even shorter."
"Then I'll work fast."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Halfway up the long, curving drive Eve sat in her car and studied the house that Roarke built. That wasn't entirely accurate, she supposed. The structure would have been there for more than a century, ready for someone with money and vision to buy it. He'd had both and had polished a stone and glass palace that suited him beautifully.
She was at home there now, or more at home than she'd ever imagined she could be. There with the towers and turrets, the graceful lawns and glamorous shrubberies. She lived among the staggering antiques, the thick carpets from other lands, the wealth and the privilege.
Roarke had earned it – in his way. She had done nothing more than tumble into it.
They had both come from the streets and misery, and had chosen different paths to make their own. She had needed the law, the order, the discipline, the rules. Her Childhood had been without any of them, and the early years that she had so successfully blanked out for so long had begun to hurtle back at her, viciously, violently, over the past months.
Now she remembered too much, and still not all.
Roarke, she imagined, remembered all, in fluid and perfeet detail. He wouldn't allow himself to forget what he'd been or where he'd come from. He used it.
His father had been a drunk. And so had hers. His father had abused him. And so had hers. Their childhoods had been smashed beyond repair, and so they had built themselves into adults at an early age, one standing for the law, and one dancing around it.
Now they were a unit, or trying to be.
But how much of what she had made herself, and he had made himself, could blend?
That was about to be tested, and their marriage, still so new and bright, so terrifying and vital to her, would either hold or fail.
She drove the rest of the way, parking at the base of the old stone steps. She left her car there, where it consistently annoyed Summerset, and carried a small box of file discs into the house.
Summerset was in the foyer. He would have known the moment she'd driven through the iron gates, she imagined. And he would have wondered why she'd stopped for so long.
"Is there a problem with your vehicle, Lieutenant?"
"No more than usual." She stripped off her jacket, and out of habit, tossed it over the newel post.
"You left it in front of the house."
"I know where it is."
"There is a garage for the purpose of storing vehicles."
"Move it yourself. Where's Roarke?"
"Roarke is in his Fifth Avenue office. He's expected home within the hour."
"Fine, tell him to come up to my office when he gets here."
"I'll inform him of your request."
"It wasn't a request." She smirked as she watched Summerset pick up her jacket by the collar with two reluctant fingers. "Any more than it's a request when I tell you to make no plans to leave the city until further notice."
A muscle in his jaw twitched visibly. "You're enjoying this, aren't you, Lieutenant?"
"Oh, yeah, it's a bucketful of laughs for me. A couple of dead guys, one of them slaughtered on my husband's property, both of them old pals of his. I've been breaking up over it all day." When he stepped forward, her eyes went to dangerous slits. "Don't get in my face, old man. Don't even think about it."
The core of his anger simmered out in one terse sentence. "You interrogated Ms. Morrell."
"I tried to verify your piss-poor alibi."
"You led her to believe I was involved in a police investigation."
"News flash: You are involved in a police investigation."
He drew air audibly through his nose. "My personal life – "
"You've got no personal life until these cases are closed." She could read his embarrassment clearly enough, and told herself she didn't have time for it. "You want to do yourself a favor, you do exactly what I tell you. You don't go anywhere alone. You make certain you can account for every minute of your time, day and night. Because somebody else is going to die before much more time passes if I can't stop it. He wants the finger to point at you, so you make sure it doesn't."
"It's your job to protect the innocent."
She'd started up the stairs and now she stopped, turned back until their eyes met. "I know what my job is, and I'm damned good at it."
When he snorted she came down two steps. She came down slowly, her movements deliberate, because her own temper was much too close to the boil. "Good enough to have figured out why you've hated the sight of me since I first walked in that door. Since you understood Roarke had feelings for me. Part A was easy – a first-year rookie could have snagged onto it. I'm a cop, and that's enough for you to hold me in contempt."
He offered a thin smile. "I've had little reason to admire those in your profession."
"Part B was tougher." She came down another step so that their eyes were level. "I thought I had that figured, too, but I didn't realize that Part B had a couple of stages. Stage one: I'm not one of the glamorous, well-bred stunners that Roarke socialized with. I haven't got the looks or the pedigree or the style to suit you."
He felt a quick tug of shame, but inclined his head. "No, you don't. He could have had anyone, his pick of the cream of society."
"But you didn't want just anyone for him, Summerset. That's stage two, and I just figured that out this morning. You resent me because I'm not Marlena. That's who you wanted for him," she said quietly as the color slipped out of his cheeks. "You hoped he'd find someone who reminded you of her, instead you got stuck with an inferior model. Tough luck all around."