"Come on." There were nerves as well as enthusiasm. "We're going to get food in, and Jess's got the most rocking brew here. It'll debrain you in seconds. He thinks if we can lay something decent down tonight, we could run with it. I'd really like you around. You know, moral support shit. Can't you just stop by for a while?"

"I guess I could." Damn it. No backbone. "I'll let Roarke know I'll be late. But I can't stay."

"Hey, I gave Roarke a buzz already."

"You -- what?"

"I 'linked him just a bit ago. Hey, you know, Dallas, I've never been by that meg-cool office of his. He had like the UN or something in there, all these off country guys. Wild. Anyway, they put me through to the inner sanctum because I was a pal of yours, and I talked to him. So," Mavis chirped on over Eve's heaved sigh, "I told him what was up and coming, and he said he'd stop around after the meeting or summit or whatever he was into."

"Looks like it's all settled." Eve watched her fantasy involving a whirlpool, a glass of wine, and a fat slab of steak go up in smoke.

"Too tops. Hey, is that Peabody? Hey, Peabody, you come, too. We'll party. See you soon, right?"

"Mavis." Eve caught her seconds before she disengaged. "Where the hell are you?"

"Oh, didn't I say? The studio's at Eight Avenue B, street level. Just beat on the door. Somebody'll let you in. Gotta go," she shouted as something that might have been music boomed. "They're tuning up. Catch ya."

Eve blew out a breath, scooped her hair out of her eyes, and glanced over her shoulder. "Well, Peabody, want to go to a recording session, get your ears fried, eat bad food, and get drunk on bad brew?"

Peabody didn't have to think twice. "As a matter of fact, Lieutenant, I'd love to."

-=O=-***-=O=-

It took a lot of banging on a gray steel door that looked as though it had been on the wrong end of a battering ram somewhere along the line. The rain from that morning had turned into steam that smelled unpleasantly of street oil and the recycling units that never seemed to be in full repair in that part of town.

With more resignation than energy, Eve watched two chemi-heads make deals under the dirty light of a street-lamp. Neither of them so much as blinked at Peabody's uniform. Eve turned when one of the powder junkies took a hit less than five feet away.

"Damn it, that's just too arrogant. Bust him."

Resigned, Peabody headed over. The chemi-head focused, swore and, swallowing the paper his powder had been cupped in, swung around to run. He skidded on the wet pavement and banged face first into the lamppost. By the time Peabody reached him, he was flat on his back and bleeding profusely from the nose.

"He's out cold," she called to Eve.

"Idiot. Call it in. Get a cruiser over here to haul him into the tank. You want the collar?"

Peabody considered, then shook her head. "Not worth it. The beat cop can take it." She pulled out her communicator, gave the location as she walked back to Eve. "The dealer's still across the street," she commented. "He's got air blades, but I could try to chase him down."

"I sense a lack of enthusiasm." Eve narrowed her eyes, scanned the dealer hulking across the street, air blades steaming. "Hey, asshole," she called out. "You see this uniform here?" She jerked a thumb at Peabody. "Take your business someplace else, or I'll tell her to bump her weapon up to level three and watch you piss your pants."

"Cunt," he shouted back and whizzed off on his blades.

"You've got a real way with community relations, Dallas."

"Yeah, it's a gift." Eve turned back, prepared to beat on the door again, and found herself facing a female of massive proportions. She was easily six five, with shoulders wide as a highway. They rose out of a sleeveless leather vest and rippled with muscles and tattoos. Beneath, she wore a unisuit, snug as skin and the color of a healing bruise. She sported a copper nose ring and close-cropped hair fashioned into tight, glossy black curls.

"Fucking drug pushers," she said in a voice like a cannon boom. "Stink up the neighborhood. You Mavis's cop?"

"That's right, and I brought my cop with me."

The woman sized Peabody up out of milky blue eyes. "Solid. Mavis says you're right. I'm Big Mary."

Eve angled her head. "Yes, you are."

It took about ten seconds, then Big Mary's moon-sized face creased in a knife-edged grin. "Come on in. Jess is just heating up." By way of welcome, she took Eve's arm and lifted her up and into the short hallway. "Come on, Dallas's cop."

"Peabody." With a cautious glance, Peabody kept warily out of Big Mary's reach.

"Pea body. Yeah, you ain't much bigger than a pea." Roaring at her own joke, Big Mary carted Eve into a padded elevator, waited for the door to close. They were cocooned together, tight as fish in a pan as Mary directed the unit to take them up one level. "Jess, he says to take you up to control. You got money?"

It was hard to maintain dignity of any kind when Eve's nose was pressed in Mary's armpit. "What for?"

"We got food coming. You gotta plunk in your share for the eats."

"All right. Is Roarke here yet?"

"Ain't seen no Roarke. Mavis says you can't miss him 'cause he is fine and prime."

The padded door opened, and Eve let out the breath she'd been holding. Even as she sucked in air, her ears were assaulted. Mavis's high, wild voice was screeching to the accompaniment of blistering noise.

"She's got a groove going."

Only deep affection for Mavis prevented Eve from leaping back into the soundproofing. "Apparently."

"I'll get your drinks. Jess, he brought the brew."

Mary hulked off, leaving Eve and Peabody in a glass-walled control booth that curved in a semicircle a half level above a studio where Mavis was singing her heart and lungs out. With a grin, Eve moved closer to the glass, the better to see.

Mavis had scooped up her hair so that it spewed in a purple fountain out of a multicolored band. She was wearing modified overalls, the black leather straps running up the center of her bare breasts. The rest of the material was a shimmering kaleidoscope that started at the midriff and ended barely south of the crotch. She danced to the beat on a fashionable pair of slides that left the feet bare and propped them onto four-inch stilts.

Eve had no doubt that Mavis's lover had designed the costume for her. She spotted Leonardo in a corner of the studio, glowing like a sunbeam at Mavis and wearing a body-skimming jumpsuit that made him look like an elegant grizzly.

"What a pair," she murmured and hooked her thumbs in the back pockets of her battered jeans. She turned her head to speak to Peabody, but noted her companion's attention was riveted to the left, and the look on Peabody's face, Eve noted with some curiosity, managed to combine shock, admiration, and lust.

Following Peabody's distracted gaze, Eve had her first view of Jess Barrow. He was beautiful. A painting in motion with a long, shining mane of hair the color of polished oak. His eyes were nearly silver, thickly lashed, intensely focused, as he worked the controls of an elaborate console. His complexion was flawless, tanned to bronze set off by rounded cheekbones and a strong chin. His mouth was full and firm, and his hands, as they flew over the controls, were as finely sculptured as marble.

"Roll up your tongue, Peabody," Eve suggested, "before you step on it."

"God. Holy God. He's better in person. Don't you just want to bite him?"

"Not particularly, but you go ahead."

Catching herself, Peabody flushed to the roots of her hair. She shifted on her sturdy legs. This was, she reminded herself, her superior. "I admire his talent."

"Peabody, you're admiring his chest. It's a pretty good one, so I can't hold it against you."

"I wish he would," she murmured, then cleared her throat as Big Mary stomped back with two dark brown bottles. "Jess gets this brew from his family down South. It's fine."

Since it was also unmarked and unlabeled, Eve prepared to sacrifice a few layers of stomach lining. She was pleasantly surprised when the liquid slid mellowly down her throat. "It is fine. Thanks."

"You add to the kitty, you can have more. I'm supposed to go down to wait for Roarke. I hear he's got money to roll in. How come you're not wearing some flash, you linked up with a rich man?"

Eve decided not to mention the baby-fist-sized diamond resting between her breasts under her shirt. "My underwear's solid gold. It chafes some, but it makes me feel secure."

After another brief processing delay, Mary hooted with laughter, slapped Eve on the back hard enough to bop her head into the glass, then headed off in her rock-breaking stride.

"We ought to sign her up," Eve muttered. "She wouldn't need a weapon or body armor."

The music built to an ear-scorching crescendo, then cut off as if severed with a knife. Below, Mavis let out a squeal and launched herself into Leonardo's open arms.

"That was a nice take, sugar." Jess's voice flowed out like top cream and drifted lazily with a Southern drawl. "You take ten and rest that golden throat for me."

Mavis's idea of resting her throat was to let out another scream, then wave desperately at Eve. "Dallas, you're here. Wasn't that mag? I'm coming up, don't go anywhere." She scrambled through a door on her trendy stilts.

"So this is Dallas." Jess pushed away from his console. His body was trim and showed off to advantage in jeans as battered as Eve's and a simple cotton shirt that would retail for a beat cop's monthly paycheck. He wore a diamond stud in his ear that glinted as he crossed the booth and a braided gold chain around his wrist that slid fluidly as he held out one of those beautiful hands. "Mavis is brimming over with stories about her cop."

"Mavis brims over habitually. It's part of her charm."

"That it is. I'm Jess, and I'm delighted to meet you at last." With his hand still cupped over Eve's, he turned that slow, heart-thudding smile onto Peabody. "And it seems we have two cops for the price of one."

"I -- I'm a huge fan," Peabody managed and fought against the nervous stutter. "I have all of your discs, audio and video. I've seen you in concert."

"Music buffs are always welcome." He released Eve's hand to take hers. "Why don't I show you my favorite toy?" he suggested, leading her toward the console. Before Eve could follow, Mavis burst in.

"What did you think? Did you like it? I wrote it. Jess orchestrated it, but I wrote it. He thinks it could hit."

"I'm really proud of you. You sounded great." Eve returned Mavis's enthusiastic embrace and grinned at Leonardo over her shoulder. "How does it feel to be hooked up with a rising music legend?"

"She's wonderful." He leaned in to give Eve a one-armed squeeze. "You look terrific. I noticed on some news clips that you wore a number of my designs. I'm grateful."

"I'm grateful," Eve said and meant it. Leonardo was a talented and emerging genius of clothing design. "I didn't look like Roarke's rag-picking cousin."

"You always look like yourself," Leonardo corrected, but he narrowed his eyes and flipped his fingers through her untidy hair. "You need some work here. If you don't have it styled every few weeks, it loses shape."

"I was going to trim it up some, I just -- "

"No, no." He shook his head solemnly, but his eyes twinkled at her. "The days of you hacking at it yourself are over. You call Trina, have her do you."

"We'll have to drag her again." Mavis grinned at everything. "She'll keep making excuses and start clipping at it with kitchen shears when it gets in her eyes." She giggled when Leonardo shuddered. "We'll get Roarke to hound her."

"I'd be delighted to." He stepped out of the elevator, walked straight to Eve and, framing her face in his hands, kissed her. "What am I hounding you about?"

"Nothing. Have a drink." She passed him her bottle.

Instead of drinking, he kissed Mavis in greeting. "I appreciate the invitation. This is quite a setup."

"Isn't it mag? The sound system's ace of the line, and Jess works all kinds of magic with the console. He's got like six million instruments programmed in. He can play them all, too. He can do anything. The night he came into the D and D changed my life. It was like a miracle."

"Mavis, you're the miracle." Smoothly, Jess led Peabody back toward the group. She was flushed and glassy-eyed. Eve could see the pulse in her throat pounding to its own rhythm.

"Down, girl," she muttered, but Peabody only rolled her eyes.

"You met Dallas and Peabody, right? And this is Roarke." Mavis bounced on her stilts. "My closest friends."

"It's a genuine pleasure." Jess offered one of his finely boned hands to Roarke. "I admire your success in the business world and your taste in women."

"Thank you. I tend to be careful with both." Roarke scanned the area, inclined his head. "Your studio's impressive."

"I love showing it off. It's been in the planning stages for some time. Mavis is actually the first artist to use it, other than myself. Mary's going to order food. Why don't I show you my prize creation before I put Mavis back to work?"

He led the way back to the console, sat at it like a captain at the helm. "The instruments are programmed in, of course. I can call up any number of combinations and vary pitch and speed. It's accessed for voice command, but I rarely use that. Distracts me from the music."

He slid controls and had a simple backbeat playing. "Recorded vocals." He tapped his fingers over buttons and Mavis's voice punched out, surprisingly gritty and rich. A monitor displayed the sounds with washing of colors and shapes. "I use that for computer analysis. Musicologists" -- he flashed a charming, self-deprecating smile -- "we can't help ourselves. But that's another story."

"She sounds good," Eve commented, pleased.

"And she'll sound better. Overdubbing." Mavis's voice split, layered over itself in close harmony. "Layers and fill." Jess's hands danced over the controls, drawing out guitars, brass, the jingle of a tambourine, the searing wail of a sax. "Cool it down." Everything slowed, mellowed. "Heat it up." Went into double time, blasted.

"That's all very basic, as is having her duet with recording artists of the past. You'll have to hear her version of 'Hard Day's Night' with the Beatles. I can also code in any sound." With a smile flirting around his mouth, he spun a dial, and skimmed his fingers over the keys. Eve's voice whispered out.

"Down, girl." The words melded into Mavis's vocal, repeating, echoing, drifting.

"How did you do that?" Eve demanded.

"I'm miked," he explained, "and hooked into the console. Now that I have your voice on program, I can have your voice replace Mavis's." He skimmed the controls again, and Eve winced when she heard herself singing.

"Don't do that," she ordered, and laughing, Jess switched it back.

"Sorry, I can't resist playing. Want to hear yourself croon, Peabody?"

"No." Then she gnawed her lip. "Well, maybe."

"Let's see, something smoky, understated, and classic." He worked for a moment, then sat back. Peabody's eyes rounded when she heard herself quietly torching through "I've Got You Under My Skin."

"Is that one of your songs?" she asked. "I don't recognize it."

Jess chuckled. "No, it's before my time. You've got a strong voice, Officer Peabody. Good breath control. Want to quit your day job and join the party?"

She flushed and shook her head. Jess cut out the vocals, tuned the console to a bluesy instrumental. "I worked with an engineer who designed some autotronics for Disney-Universe. It took nearly three years to complete this." He patted the console like a well-loved child. "Now that I have the prototype and a working unit, I'm hoping to manufacture more. She works on remote, too. I can be anywhere and link up, run the board. I got specs on a smaller, portable unit, and I've been working on a mood enhancer."

He seemed to catch himself, shook his head. "I get carried away. My agent's starting to complain that I'm spending more time working on electronics than recording."

"Food's here!" Big Mary bellowed.

"Well, then." Jess smiled, scanned his audience. "Let's dig in. You've got to keep your energy level up, Mavis."

"I'm starving." She grabbed Leonardo's hand and headed for the door. Below, Mary was carting bags and boxes into the studio.

"Go help yourselves," Jess told them. "I've got a little fiddling to do. I'll be right along."

"What do you think?" Eve murmured to Roarke as they headed down, trailed by Peabody.

"I think he's looking for an investor."

Eve sighed, nodded. "Yeah, that was my take. I'm sorry."

"It's not a problem. He's got an interesting product."

"I had Peabody run a make on him. Nothing's come up. But I don't like to think of him using you -- or Mavis."

"That's yet to be seen." He turned her into his arms as they stepped into the studio, ran his hands over her hips. "I missed you. I miss spending large quantities of time with you."

She felt the heat kindle between her thighs, hotter, lustier than the moment called for. Her breasts tingled with it. "I missed you, too. Why don't we figure out how to cut the evening short, go home, and fuck like rabbits?"

He was hard as iron. As he leaned down to nip at her ear, he found himself struggling not to tug at her clothes. "Good thought. Christ, I want you."

The hell with where they were, Roarke thought and dragged her head back by the hair to plunder her mouth.

At the console, at the controls, Jess watched them and smiled. Another few minutes, he mused, and they could very well be on the floor, mindlessly mating. Better not. With deft fingers, he skimmed buttons, changed the program. More than satisfied, he rose and started downstairs.

-=O=-***-=O=-

Two hours later, driving home through the dark streets that ran with colors from flashing billboards, Eve pushed her cruiser past the limits of the law. Need was a low, throbbing beat between her thighs, an itch desperate to be scratched.

"You're breaking the law, Lieutenant," Roarke said mildly. He was rock hard again, like a teenager cruising on hormones.

The woman who prided herself on never abusing her badge muttered, "Bending it."

Roarke reached over, cupped her breast. "Bend it more."

"Oh Jesus." She could already imagine what he'd feel like inside her, so she punched the accelerator and shot like a bullet down Park.

A glide-cart operator flipped up her middle finger as Eve screamed around a curb and headed east. Cursing lightly, Eve switched on her duty light, popped up the red and blue globe, and had it flashing.

"I can't believe I'm doing this. I never do this."

Roarke slid his hand down to her thigh. "Do you know what I'm going to do to you?"

She gave a hoarse laugh, swallowed hard. "Don't tell me, for God's sake. I'll kill us."

Her hands were glued to the wheel and trembling, her body vibrating like a string already plucked. Her breath was already hitching. Clouds slipped past the moon and freed its light.

"Hit the remote for the gate," she panted. "Hit the remote. I'm not slowing down."

He coded it quickly. The iron gate eased majestically open, and she burst through with inches to spare. "Excellent job. Stop the car."

"Just a minute, just a minute." She rocketed up the drive, flying past the gorgeous trees and musical fountains.

"Stop the car," he demanded again and pressed his hand to her crotch.

She came instantly, violently, barely managing to keep from steering into an oak. Gasping for air, she pulled the vehicle to a stop, fishtailing and ending in a drunken diagonal across the drive.

She flew at him.

They tore at clothes, fighting to find each other in the narrow confines of the car. She bit his shoulder, yanked his trousers open. He was cursing, she was laughing, when he dragged her out of the car. They fell on the grass in a tangle of limbs and twisted clothing.

"Hurry up, hurry up." It was all she could manage through the unbearable pressure. His mouth was on her breast through her torn shirt, teeth scraping. She pulled at his trousers, dug her fingers into his hips.

His breathing was fast, rough, the raw need clawing through him as urgently as her nails clawed at his back. He could feel his blood roaring, a tidal wave through his veins. His hands bruised her as he rocked her legs back, drove deep inside her.

She screamed, a wild, savage sound of pleasure, her nails raking his back, her teeth fixing on his shoulder. She could feel him pulsing inside her, filling her with each desperate thrust. The punch of the orgasm was painful and did nothing to lessen the monstrous need.

She was wet, hot, her muscles vising over him like teeth with each pump of hips. He couldn't stop, couldn't think, and plunged again and again like a stud covering a mare in heat. He couldn't see her through the red haze that clouded his vision, he could only feel her, racing with him, pistoning her hips. Her voice buzzed in his ears, all whimpers and moans and gasps.

Each sound beat in his blood like a primal chant.

It shattered without warning, beyond his control. His body simply peaked like an engine on maximum power, battered into hers, then erupted. The hot wave of release swamped him, swallowed him, drowned him. It was the only time since he'd first touched her that he didn't know if she had followed him over the edge.

He collapsed, rolled weakly away to try to find air for his overtaxed lungs. In the glowing moonlight, they sprawled on the grass, sweaty, half-dressed, shuddering, like the lone survivors of a particularly vicious war.

With a groan, she rolled over on her stomach, let the grass cool her burning cheeks. "Christ, what was that?"

"Under other circumstances, I'd call it sex. But..." He managed to open his eyes. "I don't have a word for it."

"Did I bite you?"

A few aches were making themselves known as his body recovered. He twisted his head, glanced at his shoulder, and saw the imprint of her teeth. "Someone did. I think it was probably you."

He watched a star fall, shooting silver from sky to earth. It had been much like that, he thought, like plunging helplessly to oblivion. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know. I have to think about it." Her head was still spinning. "We're on the lawn," she said slowly. "Our clothes are torn. I'm pretty sure I have the imprint of your fingers dented into my butt."

"I did my best," he murmured.

She snickered first, then chuckled, then broke into fits of giddy, hiccupping laughter. "Jesus, Roarke, Jesus Christ, look at us."

"In a minute. I think I'm still partially blind." But he was grinning as he shifted. She was still shaking with laughter. Her hair stuck up at odd angles, her eyes were glassy, and there were grass stains as well as bruises on her pretty ass. "You don't look much like a cop, Lieutenant."

She rolled to sit up as he had, angled her head. "You don't look much like a rich guy, Roarke." She tugged on his sleeve -- it was all that was left of his shirt. "But it's an interesting look. How are you going to explain that to Summerset?"

"I'll simply tell him my wife is an animal."

She snorted. "He's already decided that for himself." Blowing out a breath, she looked toward the house. Lights glimmered on the lower level to welcome them home. "How are we going to get into the house?"

"Well..." He found what was left of her shirt, tied it around her breasts, and made her giggle helplessly. They managed to tug on ruined slacks, then sat looking at each other. "I can't carry you to the car," he told her. "I was hoping you'd carry me."

"We have to get up first."

"Okay."

Neither of them moved. The laughter started again, continued as they grabbed onto each other like drunks and staggered to their feet. "Leave the car," he decided.

"Uh-huh." They limped off, weaving. "Clothes? Shoes?"

"Leave them, too."

"Good plan."

Snickering like children breaking curfew, they stumbled up the steps, shushing each other as they fell through the door.

"Roarke!" Shocked tones, rushing feet.

"I knew it," Eve muttered dourly. "I just knew it."

Summerset rushed out of the shadows, his normally set face alive with shock and worry. He saw tattered clothes, bruised skin, wild eyes. "Was there an accident?"

Roarke straightened up, kept his arm around Eve's shoulders as much for balance as support. "No. It was on purpose. Go to bed, Summerset."

Eve glanced over her shoulder as she and Roarke helped each other up the stairs. Summerset stood at the base, gaping. The picture pleased her so much, she snickered all the way to the bedroom.

They fell into bed, exactly as they were, and slept like babies.

CHAPTER SEVEN

At shortly before eight the next morning, a bit sore and fuzzy-brained, Eve sat at her desk in her home office. She considered it more of a sanctuary than an office, really, the apartment Roarke had built for her in his home. Its design was similar to the apartment where she had lived when she'd met him, which she'd been reluctant to give up.

He'd provided it so that she could have her own space, her own things. Even after all the time she'd lived there, she rarely slept in their bed when he was away. Instead, she curled into the relaxation chair and dozed.

The nightmares came less often now, but crept back at odd moments.

She could work here when it was convenient, lock the doors if she wanted privacy. And as it had a fully operational kitchen, she often chose her AutoChef over Summerset when she was alone in the house.

With the sun streaming through the view wall at her back, she reviewed her caseload, juggled legwork. She knew she didn't have the luxury of focusing exclusively on the Fitzhugh case, particularly since it was earmarked a probable suicide. If she didn't turn up hard evidence in the next day or two, she'd have no choice but to lower its priority.

At eight sharp there was a brisk knock on the door.

"Come on in, Peabody."

"I'll never get used to this place," Peabody said as she walked inside. "It's like something out of an old video."

"You should get Summerset to take you on a tour," Eve said absently. "I'm pretty sure there are rooms I've never seen. There's coffee." Eve gestured toward the kitchen alcove and continued to frown at her logbook.

Peabody wandered off, scanning the entertainment units lining the wall, wondering what it would be like to be able to afford any amusement available: music, art, video, holograms, VR, meditation chambers, games. Play a set of tennis with the latest Wimbeldon champ, dance with a hologram of Fred Astaire, or take a virtual trip to the pleasure palaces on Regis III.

Daydreaming a bit, she turned into the kitchen. The AutoChef was already programmed for coffee, so she ordered two, carried the steaming mugs back into the office. She waited patiently while Eve continued to mutter.

Peabody sipped her coffee. "God. Oh God. It's real." Blinking in shock, she cupped both hands reverently around the mug. "This coffee is real."

"Yeah, you get spoiled. I can hardly stomach the slop down at Cop Central anymore." Eve glanced up, caught Peabody's dazed expression, and grinned. It hadn't been so long before that she'd had a similar reaction to Roarke's coffee. And to Roarke. "Pretty great, huh?"

"I've never had real coffee before." As if sipping liquid gold -- and with the depletion of the rain forests and plantations it was equally dear -- Peabody drank slowly. "It's amazing."

"You've got a half hour to OD on it while we work out the day's strategy."

"I can have more?" Peabody closed her eyes and just inhaled the scent. "You're a god, Dallas."

With a snort, Eve reached for her beeping 'link. "Dallas," she began, then her face lit with a grin. "Feeney."

"How's married life, kid?"

"It's tolerable. Pretty early in the day for you electronic detectives, isn't it?"

"Got a hot one working. A scramble at the chief's office. Some joker hacked into his mainframe and nearly fried the whole system."

"They got in?" Her eyes widened in surprise. She wasn't sure even Feeney, with his magic touch, could break the security on the Chief of Police and Security's system.

"Looks that way. Tangled shit all to hell and back. I'm unknotting it," he said cheerfully. "Thought I'd check in, see what's what since I haven't heard from you."

"I hit the ground running."

"You don't know any other speed. You primary on Fitzhugh?"

"That's right. Something I should know?"

"No. Smart money's that he iced himself, and nobody around here's too sorry. That oil slick loved squeezing cops on the stand. Funny though, second big suicide in a month."

Eve's interest spiked. "Second?"

"Yeah. Oh, that's right, you were off honeymooning and making cow's eyes." He wiggled his bushy red eyebrows. "Senator in East Washington a couple weeks ago. Jumped out the window of the Capitol Building. Politicians and lawyers. They're crazy anyway."

"Yeah. Could you get me the data on it when you have the chance? Transfer it to my office unit."

"What, you going to keep a scrapbook?"

"Just interested." The feeling was back in her gut, "I'll pick up the tab next time we're in the Eatery."

"No problem. As soon as I get this system unknotted, I'll feed it to you. Don't be a stranger," he told her and signed off.

Peabody continued to take miserly sips of coffee. "You think there's a connection between Fitzhugh and the senator who took the dive?"

"Lawyers and politicians," Eve murmured. "And autotronic engineers."

"What?"

Eve shook her head. "I don't know. Disengage," she ordered her unit, then swung her bag over her shoulder. "Let's go."

Peabody struggled not to pout about the lack of another cup of coffee. "Two suicides in two different cities in a month isn't such a weird thing," she began, lengthening her stride to catch up with Eve.

"Three. There was a kid on Olympus who hanged himself while we were there. Mathias, Drew. I want to see if you can find a connection, anything that ties them together. People, places, habits, education, hobbies." She rushed down the stairs, gearing up.

"I don't know the politician's name. I didn't pay attention to the reports on the East Washington suicide." Busily, Peabody tugged out her personal palm computer and began searching for data.

"Mathias was in his early twenties, autotronics engineer. He worked for Roarke. Shit." She had a bad feeling she was going to be forced to drag Roarke into her work once again. "If you run into a snag, ask Feeney. He can pop the data handcuffed and drunk, faster than either of us."

Eve wrenched open the door, scowled when she didn't see her car at the top of the drive. "Goddamn Summerset. I've told him to leave my car when I park it."

"I think he did." Peabody flipped on her sunshades, pointed. "It's blocking the drive, see?"

"Oh, yeah." Eve cleared her throat. The car was just as she'd left it, and fluttering in the mild breeze were a few torn articles of clothing. "Don't ask," she muttered and started to hoof it down the drive.

"I wasn't going to." Peabody's voice was smooth as silk. "Speculation's more interesting."

"Shut up, Peabody."

"Shutting up, Lieutenant." With a smirk, Peabody climbed in the car and swallowed a laugh when Eve swung the vehicle around and cruised down the drive.

-=O=-***-=O=-

Arthur Foxx was sweating. It was subtle, just a faint sheen over his top lip, but Eve found it satisfying. She hadn't been surprised to discovered his chosen representative was an associate of Fitzhugh's, a young eager beaver in a pricey suit with trendy medallions decorating the slim lapels.

"My client is understandably upset." The lawyer folded his youthful face into somber lines. "The memorial service for Mr. Fitzhugh is scheduled for one p.m. this afternoon. You've chosen an inappropriate time for this interview."

"Death chooses the time, Mr. Ridgeway, and it's usually inappropriate. Interview with Authur Foxx, re Fitzhugh, case number three oh oh nine one-ASD, conducted by Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. Date August 24, 2058, time oh nine thirty-six. Will you state your name for the record?"

"Arthur Foxx."

"Mr. Foxx, you are aware that this interview is being recorded."

"I am."

"You have exercised your right to counsel and understand your additional rights and responsibilities?"

"That's correct."

"Mr. Foxx, you gave an earlier statement regarding your activities on the night of Mr. Fitzhugh's death. Do you wish to view a replay of that statement?"

"It's not necessary. I told you what happened. I don't know what else you expect me to tell you."

"To begin, tell me where you were between twenty-two thirty and twenty-three hundred on the night of the incident."

"I've already told you. We had dinner. We watched a comedy, we went to bed and caught a bit of the late news."

"You remained at home all evening?"

"That's what I've said."

"Yes, Mr. Foxx, that's what you've said, on record. But that's not what you did."

"Lieutenant, my client is here voluntarily. I see no -- "

"Save it," she suggested. "You left the building at approximately ten thirty p.m. and returned some thirty minutes later. Where did you go?"

"I -- " Foxx tugged at the silver string of his tie. "I stepped out for a few minutes. I'd forgotten."

"You'd forgotten."

"My mind was confused. I was in shock." His tie made wispy sounds as his fingers worked over it. "I didn't remember something as unimportant as taking a quick walk."

"But you remember now? Where did you go?"

"Just for a walk. Around the block a few times."

"You returned with a parcel. What was in it?"

She saw the moment he realized the security cameras had nailed him. His gaze shifted past her and the fingers on his tie became busier. "I stopped into a 24/7, picked up a few things. Veggie-Smokes. I have the urge for one occasionally."

"It's a simple matter to check with the 24/7 and determine exactly what you purchased."

"Some tranqs," he spit out. "I wanted to tranq out for the night. I wanted a smoke. There's no law against it."

"No, but there is a law against giving false statements in a police investigation."

"Lieutenant Dallas." The lawyer's voice was still smooth but a bit frayed around the edges with annoyance. It gave Eve the clue that Foxx had been no more forthcoming with his representative than he had with the police. "The fact that Mr. Foxx left the premises for a short time is hardly germane to your investigation. And discovering a loved one's body is a more than reasonable excuse for neglecting to remember a minor detail."

"One minor detail, maybe. You didn't mention, Mr. Foxx, that you and Mr. Fitzhugh had a visitor on the evening of his death."

"Leanore is hardly a visitor," Foxx said stiffly. "She is -- was Fitz's partner. I believe they had some business to discuss, which is another reason I went for a walk. I wanted to give them a few moments of privacy to discuss the case." He took a shallow breath. "I generally found that more convenient for everyone."

"I see. So now your statement is that you left the apartment in order to provide your spouse and his partner with privacy. Why didn't you mention Ms. Bastwick's visit in your earlier statement?"

"I didn't think of it."

"You didn't think of it. You stated that you ate dinner, watched a comedy, and went to bed, but you neglected to add in these other events. What other events have you neglected to tell me, Mr. Foxx?"

"I have nothing more to say."

"Why were you angry when you left the building, Mr. Foxx? Did it annoy you to have a beautiful woman, a woman with whom Mr. Fitzhugh works closely, drop by your home so late in the evening?"

"Lieutenant, you have no right to imply -- "

She barely spared the lawyer a glance. "I'm not implying, Counselor, I'm asking, in a very straightforward manner, if Mr. Foxx was angry and jealous when he stormed out of his building."

"I did not storm, I walked." Foxx fisted a hand on the table. "And I had absolutely no reason to be angry or jealous of Leanore. However often she chose to throw herself at Fitz, he was completely disinterested in her on that level."

"Ms. Bastwick threw herself at Mr. Fitzhugh?" Eve lifted her brows. "That must have ticked you off, Arthur. Knowing that your spouse had no sexual preference between women or men, knowing they were together hours every day during the work week, having her come by, flaunt herself in front of him in your own home. No wonder you were angry. I'd have wanted to deck her."

"He thought it was amusing," Foxx blurted out. "He was actually flattered to have someone so much younger and so attractive playing for him. He laughed when I complained about her."

"He laughed at you?" Eve knew how to play the game. Sympathy dripped in her voice. "That must have infuriated you. It did, didn't it? It ate at you, didn't it, Arthur, imagining them together, him touching her, and laughing at you."

"I could have murdered her." Foxx exploded with it, batting away his lawyer's restraining hands as fury spurted color into his face. "She thought she could lure him away from me, make him want her. She didn't give a damn that we were married, that we were committed to each other. All she wanted to do was win. Fucking lawyer."

"You don't care much for lawyers, do you?"

His breath was shuddering. He caught it, let it shudder out until it was even again. "No, as a rule, I don't. I didn't think of Fitz as a lawyer. I thought of him as my spouse. And if I'd been disposed to committing murder that night or any other, Lieutenant, I would have murdered Leanore."

He unfisted his hands, folded them together. "Now, I have nothing more to say."

Gauging it to be enough for the time being, Eve terminated the interview, rose. "We'll be talking again, Mr. Foxx."

"I'd like to know when you're going to release Fitz's body," he said, getting stiffly to his feet. "I've decided not to postpone the service today, though it feels unseemly to go on with it with his body still being held."

"That's the decision of the medical examiner. His tests are still incomplete."

"Isn't it enough that he's dead?" Foxx's voice trembled. "Isn't it enough that he killed himself without you dragging it out, pulling out the small and sordid personal details of our lives?"

"No." She walked to the door, released the code. "No, it's not." She hesitated, decided to take a stab in the dark. "I imagine Mr. Fitzhugh was very shocked and very upset by the recent suicide of Senator Pearly."

Foxx only jerked his head in a formal nod. "He was shocked, certainly, though they barely knew each other." Then a muscle jerked in his cheek. "If you're implying that Fitz took his own life because he was influenced by Pearly, it's ridiculous. They had no more than a slight acquaintance. They rarely communicated."

"I see. Thank you for your time." She ushered them out, glanced down the corridor to the adjoining interview room. Leanore should certainly be inside by now, waiting.

Taking her time, Eve strolled down the corridor to a vending unit, contemplated her choices, jingled loose credits in her pocket. She settled on a Chewy Bar and a half tube of Pepsi. The unit delivered the goods, droned out the standard request to recycle, and offered the consumer a mild warning on sugar intake.

"Mind your own business," Eve suggested. Leaning back against the wall, she lingered over her snack, dumped the trash into the recycle chute, then walked leisurely down the hall.

She'd estimated the twenty-minute wait would steam Leanore. She was right on target.

The woman was pacing like a cat, elegant legs eating up the worn flooring with quick steps. The minute Eve opened the door, she whirled.

"Lieutenant Dallas, my time is extremely valuable, even if yours is not."

"Depends on how you look at it," Eve said easily. "I don't get to log in billable hours at two K a pop."

Peabody cleared her throat. "For the record, Lieutenant Eve Dallas has entered Interview Room C to conduct the remainder of the proceedings. The subject has been informed of all rights and has chosen self-representation during this interview. All data has been logged in record."

"Fine." Eve sat, indicated the chair across from her. "Whenever you've finished prowling, Ms. Bastwick, we can get started."

"I was ready to begin this procedure at the appropriate time." Leanore sat, crossed her satiny legs. "With you, Lieutenant, not your subordinate."

"Hear that, Peabody, you're my subordinate."

"Duly recorded, sir," Peabody said dryly.

"Though I consider it insulting and unnecessary." Leanore brushed at the cuffs of her trim black suit. "I'm attending Fitz's memorial in a few hours."

"You wouldn't be here, being unnecessarily insulted, if you hadn't lied in your previous statement."

Leanore's eyes went glacial. "I assume you can substantiate that accusation, Lieutenant."

"You stated for the record that you had gone to the deceased's residence last evening on a professional matter. That you remained, discussing a case, for twenty to thirty minutes."

"More or less," Leanore said, her voice frosty around the edges.

"Tell me, Ms. Bastwick, do you always take a bottle of vintage wine to a business meeting and groom yourself for said meeting in the elevator like a prom queen?"

"There's no law against good grooming, Lieutenant Dallas." Her gaze flicked dismissively over Eve's untidy hair down to her battered boots. "You might try it yourself."

"Aw, now you've hurt my feelings. You polished yourself up, flicked open the top three buttons of your blouse, and brought along a bottle of wine. Sounds like seduction time to me, Leanore." Eve shifted closer, nearly winked. "Come on, we're all girls. We know the drill."

Leanore took her time, studied a minute chip in her manicure. She remained icy. Unlike Foxx, the woman didn't break a sweat. "I dropped by that evening to consult with Fitz on a professional matter. We had a brief meeting, and I left."

"You were alone with him during that time."

"That's right. Arthur got into one of his snits and went out."

"One of his snits?"

"It was typical of him." There was a sneer in her voice now, light and disdainful. "He was outrageously jealous of me, certain I was trying to lure Fitz away from him."

"And were you?"

A slow, feline smile curved Leanore's lips. "Really, Lieutenant, if I'd put any effort into it, don't you think I would have succeeded?"

"I'd say you put effort into it. And not succeeding would have really burned you."

Leanore lifted a shoulder. "I'll admit I was giving it some consideration. Fitz was wasting himself on Arthur. Fitz and I had a great deal in common, and I found him very attractive. I was very fond of him."

"Did you act on your attraction and your fondness that evening?"

"You could say I made it clear that I was open to a more intimate relationship with him. He wasn't immediately receptive, but it was only a matter of time." She moved her shoulders, a quick, confident movement. "Arthur would have known that." Her eyes went cold again. "And that's why I believe he killed Fitz."

-=O=-***-=O=-

"Quite a piece of work, isn't she?" Eve muttered when the interview was completed. "Doesn't see anything wrong with trying to lure a man into adultery, break apart a longstanding relationship. More, she's convinced there isn't a man in the world who could resist her." She sighed heavily. "Bitch."

"Are you going to charge her?" Peabody wondered.

"For being a bitch?" With a small smile, Eve shook her head. "I could try to nail her on the false statement, and she and her legal pals would brush it off like lint. Not worth the time. We can't place her at the scene at time of death or hang any kind of motive on her. And I can't see that self-absorbed bimbo sneaking up on a two hundred fifty pound man and slashing his wrists. She wouldn't have wanted to get all that blood on her nifty suit."

"So you're back to Foxx?"

"He was jealous, he was pissed, he inherits all the toys." Eve rose, paced to the door and back. "And we've got nothing." She pressed her fingers to her eyes. "I've got to go with what he said when he lost it during interview. He'd have killed Leanore, not Fitzhugh. I'm going to review the data on the two previous suicides."

"I haven't got much yet," Peabody began as she followed Eve out of the interview room. "There wasn't time."

"There's time now. And Feeney's probably come through. Get me what you've got, then get me more," Eve demanded and swung into her office. "Engage," she ordered the computer as she plopped down in front of it. "Play new communications."

Roarke's face swam onto the screen. "I assume you're out fighting crime. I'm on my way to London, a little glitch that requires personal attention. I don't imagine it will take long. I should be back by eight, which will give us plenty of time to fly out to New Los Angeles for the premiere."

"Shit, I forgot."

On screen, his image smiled. "I'm sure you've conveniently forgotten the engagement, so consider this a gentle reminder. Take care of yourself, Lieutenant."

Flying to California to spend the evening rubbing elbows with puffed-up video types, eating the glossy little vegetables people out there considered food, tolerating reporters sticking recorders in her face and asking lame questions was not her idea of an entertaining evening.

The second communication was from Commander Whitney, ordering her to prepare a statement for the media on several ongoing cases. Hot damn, she thought sourly. More headlines.

Then the data from Feeney flashed on screen. Eve rolled her shoulders, hunkered down, and got to work.

At two, she walked into the Village Bistro. Her shirt was sticking to her back as the temperature control on her unit had once again died an unnatural death. The air inside the tony restaurant was ocean breeze cool. Soft, loving zephyrs flitted through, teasing the feathery palms, which grew in huge, white china pots. Glass tables were arranged on two levels, cleverly situated near a small, black water lagoon or in front of a wide-view screen of a white sand beach. Servers wore short uniforms in tropical hues and threaded their way through the tables with offerings of colorful drinks and artistically arranged dishes.

The maitre d' was a droid dressed in a flowing white jumpsuit and programmed with a snooty French accent. He took one look at Eve's worn jeans and limp shirt and wrinkled his prominent nose.

"Madam, I am afraid we have no tables available. You would perhaps prefer the delicatessen on the next block north."

"Yeah, I would." Because his attitude annoyed her, she stuck her badge in his face. "But I'm eating here. I don't give a shit if that puts your chips in a twist, pal. Where's Dr. Mira's table?"

"Put that away," he hissed, looking everywhere at once and fluttering his hands. "Do you wish my customers to lose their appetites?"

"They'll really lose them if I take my weapon out, which is what I'll do if you don't show me Dr. Mira's table and see that I've got a glass of iced fizzy water in the next twenty seconds. Got that program?"

His lips clamped together and he nodded. Stiff-backed, he led the way up a swing of faux stone steps to the second level, and then onto an alcove fashioned to resemble an ocean terrace.

"Eve." Mira rose immediately from her pretty table and took both of Eve's hands. "You look wonderful." To Eve's faint surprise, Mira kissed her cheek. "Rested. Happy."

"I guess I am." After a brief hesitation, Eve leaned forward and touched her lips to Mira's cheek in turn.

The droid had already snapped to a server. "Dr. Mira's companion wishes a fizzy water."

"Iced," Eve added, curling her lip at the maitre d'.

"Thank you, Armand." Mira's soft blue eyes twinkled. "We'll order shortly."

Eve took another quick scan of the restaurant, the diners in their summer pastels and pricey cottons. She shifted on her padded chair. "We could have met in your office."

"I wanted to take you to lunch. This is one of my favorite spots."

"The droid's an asshole."

"Well, perhaps Armand is a bit overprogrammed, but the food is wonderful. You should try the Clams Maurice. You won't regret it." She settled back when Eve's water was served. "Tell me, how was your honeymoon?"

Eve gulped down half the water and felt human again. "Tell me how long I can expect people to ask me that question?"

Mira laughed. She was a pretty woman with soft sable hair swept back from a quietly attractive face. She wore one of her habitually elegant suits, this one in pale yellow. She appeared polished and tidy. She was one of the leading behavioral psychiatrists in the country, and was often consulted by the police about the most vicious crimes.

Though Eve was unaware of it, Mira's feelings toward her were strong and deeply maternal.

"It embarrasses you."

"Well, you know. Honeymoon. Sex. Personal." Eve rolled her eyes. "Stupid. I guess I'm just not used it. To being married. To Roarke. To the whole business."

"You love each other and make each other happy. There's no need to get used to it, only to enjoy it. You're sleeping well?"

"Mostly." And because Mira knew her deepest and darkest secrets, Eve dropped her guard. "I still have nightmares, but not as often. The memories come and go. None of it's as bad now that I've dealt with it."

"Have you dealt with it?"

"My father raped me, abused me, beat me," Eve said flatly. "I killed him. I was eight years old. I survived. Whoever I was before I was found in that alley doesn't matter now. I'm Eve Dallas. I'm a good cop. I've made myself."

"Good." There would be more, Mira thought. Traumas such as the one Eve had lived through cast echoes that never completely faded. "You still put the cop first."

"I am a cop first."

"Yes." Mira smiled a little. "I suppose you always will be. Why don't we order, then you can tell me why you called."

CHAPTER EIGHT

Eve chose Mira's recommendation of clams, then treated herself to some of the real yeast bread set in a silver basket on the table. As she ate, she gave Mira a profile of Fitzhugh and the details of his death.

"You'd like me to tell you if he was capable of taking his own life. Disposed to it, emotionally, psychologically."

Eve cocked a brow. "That's the plan."

"Unfortunately, I can't do that. I can tell you that everyone is capable of it, given the right circumstances and emotional state."

"I don't believe that," Eve said so firmly, so decisively, that Mira smiled.

"You're a strong woman, Eve. Now. You've made yourself strong, rational, tough-minded. You're a survivor. But you remember despair. Helplessness. Hopelessness."

Eve did; too well, too clearly. She shifted in her chair. "Fitzhugh wasn't a helpless man."

"The surface can hide a great deal of turmoil." Dr. Mira held up a hand before Eve could interrupt again. "But I agree with you. Given your profile of him, his background, his lifestyle, I wouldn't tag him as a likely candidate for suicide -- certainly not one of such an abrupt and impulsive nature."

"It was abrupt," Eve agreed. "I dealt with him in court right before this happened. He was as smug and arrogant and full of his own sense of importance as ever."

"I'm sure that's true. I can only say that some of us -- many of us -- confronted with some crisis, some personal upheaval of the heart or mind, choose to end it rather than live through it or change it. You and I can't know what Fitzhugh might have found himself confronted with on the night of his death."

"That isn't a hell of a lot of help," Eve muttered. "Okay, let me give you two more." Briskly, with a cop's dispassion, she related the other suicides. "Pattern?"

"What did they have in common?" Mira tossed back. "The lawyer, the politician, and the tech."

"A blip in the brain. Maybe." Tapping her fingers on the cloth, Eve frowned. "I've got some chains to pull to get all the data, but it could be the motive. The reason behind it all might be physiological rather than psychological. If there's a connection, I've got to find it."

"You're veering out of my field, but if you find data linking the three cases, I'd be happy to do a workup."

Eve smiled. "I was counting on it. I don't have a lot of time. The Fitzhugh case can't stay a priority for much longer. If I can't nail something down soon and use it to convince the commander to keep the file open, I'll have to move on. But for now -- "

"Eve?" Reeanna slipped up to the table, looking stunning in an ankle-skimming robe of bleeding rainbow colors. "Well, how nice. I was lunching with an associate and thought I recognized you."

"Reeanna." Eve worked up a smile. She didn't mind looking like a street hawker next to the glamorous redhead, but she did mind having her consult lunch interrupted. "Dr. Mira, Reeanna Ott."

"Dr. Ott." Gracious, Mira offered a hand. "I've heard of your work and admired it."

"Thank you, and I'll say the same. It's an honor to meet one of the top psychiatrists in the country. I've scanned a number of your papers and found them fascinating."

"You flatter me. Won't you sit down, join us for some dessert?"

"I'd love to." Reeanna flicked a questioning glance at Eve. "If I'm not interrupting official business."

"We seem to be finished with that part of the program." Eve looked up at the waiter summoned by a discreet flick of Mira's finger. "Just coffee. House brand. Black."

"I'll have the same," Mira said. "And a dish of the Blueberry Trifle. I'm weak."

"So am I." Reeanna beamed at the waiter as though he would personally prepare her selection. "A double latte, and a slice of Chocolate Sin. I'm so tired of processed food," she confided to Mira. "I intend to gorge myself while I'm in New York."

"And how long will you be in town?"

"It depends a great deal on Roarke" -- she smiled at Eve -- "and how long he finds it useful to have me here. I have a feeling he'll be shipping both William and me off to Olympus within a few weeks."

"The Olympus Resort's quite an undertaking," Mira commented. "All the blips I've seen on the news and entertainment channels have been fascinating."

"He'd like to have it up and fully operational by next spring." Reeanna ran her hand up and down the trio of gold links she wore around her neck. "We'll see. Roarke usually gets what he wants. Wouldn't you agree, Eve?"

"He didn't get where he is by taking no for an answer."

"No, indeed. You were just on the resort. Did he give you a tour of the Autotronics Arcade?"

"Briefly." Eve's lips quirked a little. "We had ... a lot of ground to cover in a short time."

Reeanna's smile was slow and sly. "I imagine you did. But I hope you tried a few of the programs that are in place. William's so proud of those games. And you did mention you'd seen the hologram room in the Presidential Suite of the hotel."

"I did. Made use of it several times. Very impressive."

"Most of that's William's doing -- the design -- but I will take partial credit. We plan to utilize that new system to enhance the treatment of addicts and certain psychoses." She shifted as their coffee and dessert was served. "That might be of interest to you, Dr. Mira."

"It certainly would. It sounds fascinating."

"It is. Wickedly expensive right now, but we hope to refine and bring the cost down. But for Olympus, Roarke wanted the best -- and he's getting it. Such as the Lisa droid."

"Yeah." Eve remembered the stunning female droid with the sultry voice. "I've seen her."

"She'll be in PR and customer service. A very superior model that took months to perfect. Her intelligence chips are unmatched by anything on the market. She'll have decision making and personality capabilities well beyond the current available units. William and I -- " She broke off, chuckled at herself. "Listen to me. I just can't get away from work."

"It's fascinating." Mira dipped delicately into her trifle. "Your study of brain patterns and their genetic thrust on personality, and their application to electronics is compelling, even to a dug-in-at-the-roots psychiatrist such as myself." She hesitated, glanced at Eve. "As a matter of fact, your expertise might lend a new angle on a particular case Eve and I were discussing."

"Oh?" Reeanna forked up some chocolate and all but hummed over it.

"Hypothetical." Mira spread her hands, well aware of the official ban of layman consults.

"Naturally."

Eve drummed her fingers on the table again. She preferred Mira's take, but weighing the options, decided to expand.

"Apparent self-termination. No known motive, no known predisposition, no chemical inducement, no family history. Behavioral patterns up to point of termination normal. No substantiated signs of depression or personality fluctuations. Subject is a sixty-two-year-old male, professional, high-end education, successful, financially solvent, bisexual, with long-term same-sex marriage."

"Physical disabilities?"

"None. Clean health card."

Reeanna's eyes narrowed in concentration, either over the profile or the dessert she was slowly spooning into her mouth. "Any psychological defects, treatment?"

"No."

"Interesting. I'd love to see the brain wave pattern. Available?"

"Currently classified."

"Hmm." Reeanna sipped her latte contemplatively. "Without any known physical or psychiatric abnormalities, no chemical addictions or usage, I'd lean toward a brain blip. Possible tumor. Yet I assume none showed up in autopsy?"

Eve thought of the pinprick, but shook her head. "Not a tumor, no."

"There are cases of predisposition that slide through genetic scanning and evaluation. The brain is a complicated organ and still baffles even the most elaborate technology. If I could see his family history... Well, to take a wild guess, I'd say your man had a genetic time bomb that went undetected through normal analysis. He'd reached the point in his life where the fuse ran short."

Eve cocked a brow. "So he just blew?"

"In a manner of speaking." Reeanna leaned forward. "We're all coded in, Eve, in the womb. What we are, who we are. Not just the color of our eyes, our build, our skin tones, but our personalities, our tastes, our intellect, and our emotional scale. The genetic code is stamped on us at the moment of conception. It can be altered to a certain extent, but the basis of what we are remains. Nothing can change it."

"We are what we're born?" Eve thought of a filthy room, a blinking red light, and a young girl curled into a corner with a bloody knife.

"Precisely." Reeanna's smile beamed out.

"You don't take into account environment, free will, the basic human drive to better oneself?" Mira objected. "To consider us merely physical creatures without heart, soul, and a range of choices to be made over a lifetime lowers us to the level of animals."

"And so we are," Reeanna said with a sweep of her fork. "I understand your viewpoint as a therapist, Dr. Mira, but mine, as a physiologist, runs down a different lane, so to speak. The decisions we make throughout our life, what we do, how we live, and what we become were printed on our brains while we swam in the womb. Your subject, Eve, was fated to take his life at that time, in that place, and in the manner he chose. Circumstances might have altered it, but the results would have been the same, eventually. It was, in essence, his destiny."

Destiny? Eve thought. Had it been hers to be raped and abused by her own father? To become less than human, to fight her way through that abyss?

Mira shook her head slowly. "I can't agree. A child born in poverty on the edge of Budapest, taken from the mother at birth and raised in privilege, with love and care in Paris, would reflect that upbringing, that education. The emotional nest," she insisted, "and the basic human drive to better oneself can't be discounted."

"I agree, to a point," Reeanna qualified. "But the stamp of the genetic code -- that which predisposes us to achievement, failure, good or evil, if you will -- overrides all else. Even with the most loving and nurturing of backgrounds, monsters breed; and in the toilets of the universe, goodness, even greatness survives. We are what we are -- the rest is window dressing."

"If I subscribe to your theory," Eve said slowly, "the subject in question was fated to take his life. No circumstances, no twists or turns of environment would have prevented it."

"Precisely. The predisposition was there, lurking. Likely an event set it off, but it may have been a minor thing, something easily passed off in another brain pattern. Research still under way at the Bowers Institute has complied strong evidence of genetic brain patterns and their unassailable influence on behavior. I can get you discs on the subject, if you like."

"I'll leave the head studies to you and Dr. Mira." Eve shoved her coffee aside. "I've got to get back to Cop Central. I appreciate the time, Dr. Mira," she said as she rose. "And the theories, Reeanna."

"I'd love to discuss them further. Any time." Reeanna lifted a hand and shook Eve's warmly. "Do give my best to Roarke."

"I will." Eve shifted slightly on her feet when Mira rose to kiss her cheek. "I'll be in touch."

"I hope you will, and not just when you've a case to discuss. Tell Mavis hello for me when you see her."

"Sure." Hitching her bag on her shoulder, Eve swung her way out, pausing briefly to sneer at the maitre d'.

"A fascinating woman." Reeanna slid her tongue in one long, slow lick over the back of her spoon. "Controlled, a little angry underneath, straight focused, and unused and vaguely uncomfortable with casual displays of affection." She laughed lightly at Mira's lifted brow. "Sorry, professional pitfall. It drives William mad. I didn't mean any offense."

"I'm sure you didn't." Mira's lips curved, and her eyes warmed with understanding. "I often find myself doing the same. And you're right, Eve is a very fascinating woman. Quite self-made, which, I'm afraid, might unbalance your genetic printing theory."

"Really?" Obviously intrigued, Reeanna leaned forward. "You know her well?"

"As well as possible. Eve is a ... contained individual."

"You're very fond of her," Reeanna commented with a nod. "I hope you won't take it the wrong way if I say she wasn't at all what I expected when I learned Roarke was to marry. That he was to marry at all was a surprise, but I imagined his spouse as a woman of polish and sophistication. A homicide detective who wears her shoulder harness as another woman might an heirloom necklace wasn't my conception of Roarke's choice. Yet they look right together, suited. One might even say," she added with a smile, "destined."

"That I can agree with."

"Now, tell me, Dr. Mira, what is your opinion of DNA harvesting?"

"Oh, well now..." Happily, Mira settled down for a lively busman's holiday.

-=O=-***-=O=-

At her desk unit, Eve juggled the data she'd compiled on Fitzhugh, Mathias, and Pearly. She could find no link, no common ground. The only real correlation between the three was the fact that none of them had exhibited any suicidal tendencies before the fact.

"Probability the subject cases are related?" Eve demanded.

Working. Probability five point two percent.

"In other words, zip." Eve blew out a breath, scowling automatically when an airbus rumbled by, rattling her stingy window. "Probability of homicide in the matter of Fitzhugh using currently known data."

With currently known data, probability of homicide is eight point three percent.

"Give it up, Dallas," she told herself in a mutter. "Let it go."

Deliberately, she swiveled in her chair, watching the air traffic clog the sky outside her window. Predestination. Fate. Genetic imprint. If she were to believe in any of that, what was the point of her job -- or her life, for that matter? If there was no choice, no changing, why struggle to save lives or stand for the dead when the struggle failed?

If it was all physiologically coded, had she simply followed the pattern by coming to New York, fighting her way out of the dark to make something decent out of herself? And had it been a smear on that code that had blocked out those early years of her life, that continued to shadow bits and pieces of it even now?

And could that code kick in, at any given moment, and make her a reflection of the monster who had been her father?

She knew nothing of her other blood kin. Her mother was a blank. If she had siblings, aunts, uncles, or grandparents, they were all lost in that dark void in her memory. She had no one to base her genetic code on but the man who had beaten and raped her throughout childhood until in terror and pain she had struck back.

And killed.

Blood on her hands at eight years of age. Is that why she'd become a cop? Was she constantly trying to wash away that blood with rules and law and what some still called justice?

"Sir? Dallas?" Peabody laid a hand on Eve's shoulder and jumped when Eve jolted. "Sorry. Are you all right?"

"No." Eve pressed her fingers to her eyes. The discussion over dessert had troubled her more than she'd realized. "Just a headache."

"I've got some departmental-issue painkillers."

"No." Eve was afraid of drugs, even officially sanctioned doses. "It'll back off. I'm running out of ideas on the Fitzhugh case. Feeney fed me all known data on the kid on Olympus. I can't find any correlation between him and Fitzhugh or the senator. I've got nothing but piddly shit to hang on Leanore and Arthur. I can request truth detection, but I won't get it. I'm not going to be able to keep it open more than another twenty-four hours."

"You still think they're connected?"

"I want them to be connected, and that's a different thing. I haven't exactly given you an impressive lift off with your first assignment as my permanent aide."

"Being your permanent aide is the best thing that ever happened to me." Peabody flushed a little. "I'd be grateful if we got stuck shoveling through inactives for the next six months. You'd still be training me."

Eve leaned back in her chair. "You're easily satisfied, Peabody."

Peabody shifted her gaze until her eyes met Eve's. "No, sir, I'm not. When I don't get the best, I get real cranky."

Eve laughed, dragged a hand through her hair. "You sucking up, Officer?"

"No, sir. If I was sucking up, I'd make some personal observation, such as marriage obviously agrees with you, Lieutenant. You've never looked lovelier." Peabody smiled a little when Eve snorted. "That's how you'd know I was sucking up."

"So noted." Eve considered a moment, then cocked her head. "Didn't you tell me your family are Free-Agers?"

Peabody didn't roll her eyes, but she wanted to. "Yes, sir."

"Cops don't usually spring from Free-Agers. Artists, farmers, the occasional scientist, lots of craft workers."

"I didn't like weaving mats."

"Can you?"

"If held at laser point."

"So, what? Your family pissed you off and you decided to break the mold, go into a field dramatically removed from pacifism?"

"No, sir." Puzzled at the line of questioning, Peabody shrugged. "My family's great. We're still pretty tight. They're not going to understand what I do or want to do, but they never tried to block me. I just wanted to be a cop, the same way my brother wanted to be a carpenter and my sister a farmer. One of the strongest tenets of Free-Ageism is self-expression."

"But you don't fit the genetic code," Eve muttered and drummed her fingers on her desk. "You don't fit. Heredity and environment, gene patterns -- they all should have influenced you differently."

"The bad guys wished I had been," Peabody said soberly. "But I'm here, keeping our city safe."

"If you get an urge to weave a mat -- "

"You'll be the first to know."

Eve's unit beeped twice, signaling incoming data. "Additional autopsy report on the kid." Eve gestured for Peabody to come closer. "List any abnormal brain pattern," she ordered.

Microscopic abnormality, right cerebral hemisphere, frontal lobe, left quadrant. Unexplained. Further research and testing under way.

"Well, well, I think we just caught a break. Display visual of frontal lobe and abnormality." The cross section of the brain popped on screen. "There." A quick surge of excitement churned in her belly as Eve tapped the screen. "That shadow -- pinprick. See it?"

"Barely." Peabody leaned closer until she was all but cheek to cheek with Eve. "Looks like a flaw on the display."

"No, a flaw in the brain. Increase quadrant six, twenty percent."

The picture shifted, and the section with the shadow filled the screen. "More of a burn than a hole, isn't it?" Eve said half to herself. "Hardly there, but what kind of damage, what kind of influence would it have on behavior, personality, decision making?"

"I pretty well dumped my required Abnormal Physiology at the Academy." Peabody moved her sturdy shoulders. "I did better in Psych, better yet in Tactics. This is over my head."

"Mine, too," Eve admitted. "But it's a link, our first one. Computer, cross section of brain abnormality, Fitzhugh, file one two eight seven one. Split screen with current display."

The screen jittered, went to fuzzy gray. Eve swore, smacked it with the heel of her hand, and bumped out a shaky image blurred across the center.

"Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch. This cheap shit we have to use around here. It's a wonder we can close a case on jaywalking. Download all data, you bastard, on disc."

"Maybe if you sent this unit into Maintenance," Peabody suggested and received a snarl.

"It was supposed to be overhauled while I was away. The fuckers in Maintenance have their fingers up their butts. I'm going to run this through one of Roarke's units." She caught Peabody's lifted brow and tapped her foot as she waited for the wheezy machine to download. "You got a problem with that, Officer?"

"No, sir." Peabody tucked her tongue in her cheek and decided against mentioning the series of codes Eve was about to break. "No problem here."

"Fine. Get to work on the red tape and get me the brain scan of the senator for comparison."

Peabody's smug little smile fell away. "You want me to bump heads with East Washington?"

"Your head's hard enough to handle it." Eve ejected the disc and pocketed it. "Call me when you get it. The minute you get it."

"Yes, sir. If we get a link there, we're going to need an expert analyst."

"Yeah." Eve thought of Reeanna. "I might just have one. Get moving, Peabody."

"Moving, Lieutenant."

CHAPTER NINE

Eve wasn't one for breaking rules, yet she found herself standing outside the locked door of Roarke's private room. It was disconcerting to realize that after a decade of going by the book, she could find it so easy to circumvent procedure.

Do the ends justify the means? she wondered. And are the means really so out of line? Maybe the equipment in the room beyond was unregistered and undetectable to Compuguard and therefore illegal, but it was also top of the line. The pathetic electronics budgeted to the Police and Security Department had been antiquated nearly before it was installed, and Homicide's slice of the budget pie was stingy and stale.

She tapped her fingers on her pocket where the disc rested and shifted her feet. The hell with it, she decided. She could be a law-abiding cop and walk away or she could be a smart one.

She placed her hand on the security screen. "Dallas, Lieutenant Eve."

The locks disengaged with a quiet snick and opened into Roarke's huge data center. The long curve of windows, which were shielded against sun and flybys, kept the room in shadows. She ordered lights, secured the door, and walked over to face the wide, U-shaped console.

Roarke had programmed her palm and voice print into the system months before, but she'd never used the equipment alone. Even now that they were married, she felt like an intruder.

She made herself sit, snugged the chair into the console. "Unit one, engage." She heard the silky hum of high-level equipment responding and nearly sighed. Her disc slid in smoothly, and within seconds had been decoded and read by the civilian unit. "And so much for our elaborate security at NYPSD," she muttered. "Wall screen on full. Display data, Fitzhugh File H-one two eight seven one. Split screen with Mathias File S-three oh nine one two."

Data flowed like water onto the huge wall screen facing the console. In her admiration, Eve forgot to feel guilty. She leaned forward, scanning birth dates, credit ratings, purchasing habits, political affiliations.

"Strangers," she said to herself. "You couldn't have had less in common." Then her lips pursed as she noted correlations on a section of purchasing habits. "Well, you both liked games. Lots of on-line time, lots of entertainment and interactive programs." Then she sighed. "Along with about seventy percent of the population. Computer, split screen display, brain scan both loaded files."

With an almost seamless segue, Eve was studying the images. "Increase and highlight unexplained abnormalities."

The same, she mused, eyes narrowed. Here the two men were the same, like brothers, twins in the womb. The burn shadow was precisely the same size and shape, in precisely the same location.

"Computer, analyze abnormality and identify."

Working . . . Incomplete data . . . Searching medical files. Please wait for analysis.

"That's what they all say." She pushed away from the console to pace while the computer juggled its brain. When the door opened, she spun around on her heel and very nearly flushed when Roarke walked in.

"Hello, Lieutenant."

"Hi." She dipped her hands in her pockets. "I -- ah -- had some trouble with my unit at Cop Central. I needed this analysis, so I... I can put a hold on it if you need the room."

"No need for that." Her obvious discomfort amused him. He strolled to her, leaned down, and kissed her lightly. "And no need for you to fumble through an explanation as to why you're using the equipment. Digging for secrets?"

"No. Not the way you mean." The fact that he was grinning at her increased the embarrassment level. "I needed something a little more competent than the tin cans we have at Cop Central, and I figured you'd be gone for a couple more hours."

"I got an early transport back. Need some help with this?"

"No. I don't know. Maybe. Stop grinning at me."

"Was I?" His grin only widened as he slid his arms around her and tucked his hands in the back pockets of her jeans. "How was your lunch with Dr. Mira?"

She scowled. "Do you know everything?"

"I try. Actually, I had a quick meeting with William, and he mentioned that Reeanna had run into you and the doctor. Business or pleasure?"

"Both, I guess." Her brows lifted as his hands got busy on her butt. "I'm on duty, Roarke. Your hands are currently rubbing the ass of a working cop."

"That only makes it more exciting." He shifted to nibble her neck. "Want to break a few laws?"

"I already am." But she turned her head instinctively to give him better access.

"Then what are a few more?" he murmured and slid his hand out of her pocket and around her body to cup her breast. "I love the feel of you." His mouth was trailing along her jawline toward her mouth when the computer beeped.

Analysis complete. Display or audio?

"Display," Eve ordered and wiggled free.

"Damn," Roarke sighed. "I was so close."

"What the hell is this?" Hands fisted on her hips, Eve scanned the display on the view screen. "It's gibberish. Fucking gibberish."

Resigned, Roarke sat on the edge of the console and studied the display himself. "It's technical; medical terms, primarily. A bit out of my realm. A burn, electronic in origin. Does that make sense?"

"I don't know." Thoughtfully, she tugged on her ear. "Does it make sense for a couple of dead guys to have an electric burn hole in the frontal lobe of their brains?"

"Some fumbling with the equipment during autopsy?" Roarke suggested.

"No." Slowly, she shook her head. "Not on two of them, examined by different MEs in different morgues. And they're not surface flaws. They're inside the brain. Microscopic pinpricks."

"What's the relationship between the two men?"

"None. Absolutely none." She hesitated, then shrugged. He was already involved in a peripheral manner, why not drag him into the center? "One of the men is yours," she told him. "The autotronics engineer from the Olympus Resort."

"Mathias?" Roarke pushed off the console, his half-amused, half-intrigued expression going dark. "Why are you investigating a suicide on Olympus?"

"I'm not, officially. It's a hunch, that's all. The other brain your fancy equipment's analyzing is Fitzhugh's. And if Peabody can untangle the red tape, I'll plug in Senator Pearly's."

"And you expect to find this microscopic burn in the senator's brain?"

"You're a quick study, Roarke. I've always admired that about you."

"Why?"

"Because it's annoying to have to explain everything step by step."

His eyes narrowed. "Eve."

"All right." She held up her hands, let them fall. "Fitzhugh just didn't strike me as the type to do himself. I couldn't close the case until I'd explored all the options. I've been running out of options. I might have put it to bed anyway, but I kept thinking about that kid hanging himself."

She began to pace restlessly. "No predisposition there, either. No obvious motive, no known enemies. He just has himself a snack and makes a noose. Then I heard about the senator. That makes three suicides without logical explanations. Now, for people like Fitzhugh and the senator, with their kind of financial base, there's counseling at the snap of a finger. Or in cases of terminal illness -- physical or emotional -- voluntary self-termination facilities. But they took themselves out in bloody and painful ways. Doesn't fit."

Roarke nodded. "Go on."

"And the ME on Fitzhugh came up with this unexplained abnormality. I wanted to see if, on the off chance, the kid had anything like it." She gestured to the screen. "He does. Now I need to know what put it there."

Roarke shifted his eyes back to the screen. "Genetic flaw?"

"Possibly, but the computer says unlikely. At least it's never come across anything like it before -- through heredity, mutation, or outside causes." She moved behind the console, scrolled the screen. "See there, in the projection of possible mental affects? Behavioral alterations. Pattern unknown. A lot of help that is."

She rubbed her eyes, thought it through. "But that says to me that the subject could, and likely would, behave out of pattern. Suicide would be out of pattern for these two men."

"True enough," Roarke agreed. Leaning back against the console, he crossed his legs at the ankles. "But so would dancing naked in church or kicking elderly matrons off a sky walk. Why did they both choose self-termination?"

"That's the question, isn't it? But this gives me enough, once I figure out how to spin it to Whitney, to keep both cases open. Download data to disc, print hard copy," she ordered, then turned to Roarke. "I've got a few minutes now."

His brow quirked, a habitual gesture she secretly adored. "Do you?"

"Which laws did you have in mind to break?"

"Several, actually." He glanced at his watch as she stepped forward to unbutton his elegant linen shirt. "We have a premiere in California tonight."

Her fingers stopped, her face fell. "Tonight."

"But I think we have time for a few misdemeanors first." With a laugh, he scooped her off her feet and laid her back on the console.

-=O=-***-=O=-

Eve was tugging on a floor-length, siren-red sheath and complaining bitterly about the impossibility of wearing so much as a scrap of underwear under the clinging material when her communicator beeped. Naked to the waist, with the flimsy bodice hanging to her knees, she pounced.

"Peabody?"

"Sir." Several expressions passed over Peabody's face before it went carefully blank. "That's a lovely dress, Lieutenant. Are you premiering a new style?"

Baffled, Eve looked down, then rolled her eyes. "Shit. You've seen my tits before." But she set the communicator down and struggled the bodice into place.

"And may I say, sir, they're quite lovely."

"Sucking up, Peabody?"

"You bet."

Eve stifled a chuckle and sat on the edge of the sofa in the dressing room. "Report?"

"Yes, sir. I... ah ..."

Noting that Peabody's eyes had shifted and glazed over, Eve glanced over her shoulder. Roarke had just walked into the room, damp from his shower, tiny beads of water glistening on his bare chest, a white towel barely hitched at his hips.

"Stay out of view, will you, Roarke, before my aide goes brain dead."

He looked toward the communicator screen, grinned. "Peabody, hello."

"Hi." Even over the unit, her swallow was audible. "Nice to see you -- I mean, how are you?"

"Very well, and you?"

"What?"

"Roarke." Eve heaved a sigh. "Give Peabody a break, will you, or I'll have to block video."

"You don't have to do that, Lieutenant." Voice rusty, Peabody deflated as Roarke slipped out of view. "Jesus," she said under her breath and grinned foolishly at Eve.

"Settle your hormones, Peabody, and report."

"Settling, sir." She cleared her throat. "I've untangled most of the bureaucratic tape, Lieutenant. Just a couple more snags. At this juncture, we should have the requested data by oh nine hundred. But we have to go to East Washington to view it."

"I was afraid of that. All right, Peabody. We'll catch the shuttle at oh eight hundred."

"Don't be foolish," Roarke said from behind her while he critically studied the lines of the dinner jacket he held. "Take my transport."

"It's police business."

"No reason to squeeze yourselves into a tuna can. Traveling in comfort doesn't make it less official. In any case, I've some business I can see to in East Washington myself. I'll take you." He leaned over Eve's shoulder, smiled at Peabody. "I'll have a car sent for you. Seventy forty-five? Is that convenient?"

"Sure." She wasn't even disappointed that he was now wearing a shirt. "Great."

"Listen, Roarke -- "

"Sorry, Peabody." He cut Eve off smoothly. "We're running a bit late here. See you in the morning." Reaching over, he manually disengaged the communicator.

"You know, it really pisses me off when you do that kind of thing."

"I know," Roarke said equably. "That's why it's irresistible."

-=O=-***-=O=-

"I've spent half my life on one sort of transport or another since I met you," Eve grumbled as she settled into her seat in Roarke's private Jet Star.

"Still cranky," he observed, and signaled the flight attendant. "My wife needs another dose of coffee, and I'll join her."

"Right away, sir." She slipped into the galley with silent efficiency.

"You really get a bang out of saying that, don't you? My wife."

"I do, yes." Roarke tipped her face up with a fingertip and kissed the shallow dent in her chin. "You didn't sleep enough," he murmured, rubbing his thumb under her eye. "You so rarely turn off that busy brain of yours." He flicked a glance up at the flight attendant as she set steaming coffee on the table in front of them. "Thank you, Karen. We'll take off as soon as Officer Peabody arrives."

"I'll inform the pilot, sir. Enjoy your flight."

"You don't really have to go to East Washington, do you?"

"I could have handled it from New York." He shrugged, lifted his coffee. "Personal attention always has more impact. And I have the added benefit of watching you work."

"I don't want you involved in this."

"You never do." He lifted her cup, handed it to her with an easy smile. "However, Lieutenant, I'm involved with you, and therefore you can't shut me out."

"You mean you won't be shut out."

"Precisely. Ah, here's the redoubtable Peabody now."

She came aboard pressed and polished, but spoiling the effect with her jaw hanging open as she swiveled her head right and left in an attempt to see everything at once.

The cabin was as plush and sumptuous as a five-star hotel, with deep, cushy seats and gleaming tables, the glint of crystal holding flowers so fresh they gleamed with dew.

"Stop gaping, Peabody, you look like a trout."

"Nearly finished, Lieutenant."

"Don't mind her, Peabody, she woke up surly." Roarke rose, disconcerting Peabody until she realized he was offering her a seat. "Would you care for coffee?"

"Well, ah, sure. Thanks."

"I'll fetch it and leave you two to discuss your work."

"Dallas, this is ... ultra."

"It's just Roarke," Eve muttered into her coffee.

"Yeah, like I said. Ultra."

Eve glanced up as he came in with more coffee. Dark and gorgeous and just a bit wicked, she thought. Yeah, she supposed, ultra was the word all right. "Well, strap in, Peabody, and enjoy the ride."

The takeoff was smooth, and the trip was short, providing Peabody with just enough time to fill Eve in on the details. They were to report to the office of the Chief of Security for Government Employees. All data would be viewed in house, and nothing could be transferred or transported.

"Fucking politics," Eve complained as they jumped into a cab. "Who are they protecting, for Christ's sake? The man's dead."

"Standard CYA procedure. And there are always plenty of asses to cover in East Washington."

"Fat asses." Eve eyed Peabody consideringly. "Been to East Washington before?"

"Once, when I was a kid." Peabody moved her shoulders. "With my family. The Free-Agers staged a silent protest against artificial insemination of cattle."

Eve didn't bother to muffle a snort. "You're full of surprises, Peabody. Since you haven't been here in a while, you may want to take in the scenery. Check out the memorials." She gestured as they whizzed by the Lincoln Memorial and its throng of tourists and street hawkers.

"I've seen plenty of videos," Peabody began, but Eve lifted her brows.

"Check out the scenery, Peabody. Consider it an order."

"Sir." With what on another face might have been considered a pout, Peabody turned her head.

Eve nipped a card recorder out of her bag and tucked it under her shirt. She doubted security was so tight it would involve X rays or a strip search. And if it did, she'd simply claim she always carried her spare on her person. Eve flipped a glance at the driver, but the droid had her eyes bland and on the road.

"Not a bad town for sightseeing," Eve commented as they veered onto the vehicle bypass of the White House where the old mansion could just be seen through reinforced gates and steel bunkers.

Peabody swiveled her head, looked dead into Eve's eyes. "You can trust me, Lieutenant. I thought you knew that."

"It's not a matter of trust." Because she heard the hurt in Peabody's voice, Eve spoke gently. "It's a matter of not being willing to put anyone's ass but my own in a sling."

"If we're partners -- "

"We're not partners." Eve inclined her head, and there was authority in her tone now. "Yet. You're my aide, and you're in training. As your superior, I decide how far your butt sticks out in the wind."

"Yes, sir," Peabody said stiffly and made Eve sigh.

"Don't get your briefs in a twist, Peabody. There'll come a time when I'll let you take your lumps with the commander. And believe me, he's got a hell of a punch."

The cab pulled over to the curb outside the gates of the Security Building. Eve shoved credits through the safety slot, climbed out, and approached the view screen. She placed her palm on the plate, slipped her badge into the identification slot, and waited for Peabody to mirror the procedure.

"Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, and aide, appointment with Chief Dudley."

"One moment for verification. Authorization confirmed. Please place all weapons in holding bin. Warning. It is a federal offense to bring any weapons into the facility. Any individual entering with a weapon in his or her possession will be detained."

Eve slipped her police issue out of her holster, then, with some regret, bent down to take her clinch piece out of her boot. At Peabody's bland look, she shrugged. "I started carrying a spare after my experience with Casto. A clinch piece might have saved me some grief."

"Yeah." Peabody dumped her standard-issue stunner in the bin. "I wish you'd blasted the son of a bitch."

Eve opened her mouth, closed it again. Peabody had been careful not to mention the Illegals detective who'd charmed her, bedded her, and used her while he'd killed for profit.

"Look," Eve said after a moment. "I'm sorry about the way things went down there. If you want to vent about it sometime -- "

"I'm not much of a venter." Peabody cleared her throat. "Thanks, anyway."

"Well, he'll be stretching those long legs of his in lockup into the next century."

Peabody's mouth curved grimly. "There is that."

"You are cleared to enter. Please step through the gate, proceed to the autotram on the green line for transport to second level clearing."

"Jesus, you'd think we were going to see the president instead of some suit-and-tie cop." Eve walked through the gate that efficiently shut and bolted behind them. She and Peabody settled down on the stiff plastic seats of the tram. With a mechanical hum, it sped them through bunkers and into a steel-walled passageway that angled down until they were ordered to step out into an anteroom filled with harsh, artificial light and walls of view screens.

"Lieutenant Dallas, Officer." The man who approached wore the smoke gray uniform of Government Security with the rank of corporal. His blond hair was buzz cut so close his pale white scalp peeked through. His thin face was equally pale, the skin tone of a man who spent his time indoors and underground.

His uniform shirt bulged under hefty mountains of biceps.

"Leave your bags with me, please. No electronic or recording devices are permitted beyond this point. You are under surveillance and will remain so until you leave the facility. Understood?"

"Understood, Corporal." Eve handed him her bag, then Peabody's, and pocketed the receipts he gave her. "Some place you've got here."

"We're proud of it. This way, Lieutenant."

After depositing the bags in a bomb-safe lockup, he led them to an elevator, programmed it for Section Three, Level A. The doors closed without a sound; the car ran with barely a trace of movement. Eve wanted to ask how much the taxpayers had paid for the luxury, but decided the corporal wouldn't appreciate the irony.

She was certain of it when they were deposited in a wide lobby decorated with foam scoop chairs and potted trees. The carpet was thick and undoubtedly wired for motion detection. The console at which three clerks busily worked was equipped with a full range of computers, monitors, and communications systems. The piped-in music was beyond soothing and edging toward mind dulling.

The clerks weren't droids, but they were so stiff and polished, so radically conservative in dress, that she thought they'd have been better off as automatons. Mavis, she thought with deep affection, would have been appalled at the lack of style.

"Reconfirmation of palm prints, please," the corporal requested, and obediently, Eve and Peabody laid their right hands flat on the plate. "Sergeant Hobbs will escort you from here."

The sergeant, tucked neatly into her uniform, stepped from behind the console. She opened another reinforced door and led the way down a silent corridor.

At the last checkpoint, there was a final screen for weapons, then they were key-coded into the chief's office.

Here was a sweeping view of the city. Eve supposed, after one glance at Dudley, that he considered it his city. His desk was as wide as a lake, and one wall flashed with screens spot-checking various areas of the building and grounds. On another were photos and holograms of Dudley with heads of state, royalty, ambassadors. His communications center rivaled the control room at NASA Two.

But the man himself cast the rest in shadow.

He was enormous, easily six seven and a beefy two seventy. His wide, rawboned face was weathered and tanned, with his brilliantly white hair cropped short. On hands as big as Virginia hams, he wore two rings. One was the symbol of military rank; the other was a thick gold wedding band.

He stood poker straight and studied Eve out of eyes the color and texture of onyx. For Peabody, he never spared a glance.

"Lieutenant, you're inquiring into the death of Senator Pearly."

So much for amenities, Eve thought and answered in kind. "That's affirmative, Chief Dudley. I'm investigating the possibility that the senator's death is connected to another case on which I am primary. Your cooperation in this matter is duly noted and appreciated."

"I find the possibility of a connection slim to none. However, after reviewing your record with NYPSD, I found no objection to allowing you to view the senator's file."

"Even a slim possibility bears investigating, Chief Dudley."

"I agree, and I admire thoroughness."

"Then, might I ask if you knew the senator personally?"

"I did, and though I did not agree with his politics, I considered him a dedicated public servant and a man with a strong moral base."

"One who would take his own life?"

Dudley's eyes flickered for a moment. "No, Lieutenant, I would say not. Which is why you're here. The senator has left behind a family. In the area of family, the senator and I were in harmony. Therefore, his apparent suicide does not fit the man."

Dudley touched a control on his desk, inclined his head to the view wall. "On screen one, his personal file. On screen two, his financial records. Screen three, his political file. You'll have one hour to review data. This office will be under electronic surveillance. Simply request Sergeant Hobbs when you've completed your hour."

Eve's opinion of Dudley was a little hum in her throat as he left the office. "He's making it easy for us. If he didn't particularly like Pearly, I'd say he respected him. Okay, Peabody, let's get to work."

She scanned the screens as her cop's eyes had already scanned the room. She was nearly certain she'd spotted all the security cameras and recorders, and taking a chance on a very uncomfortable detention, shifted so that her body was partially blocked by Peabody's.

She pulled the diamond Roarke had given her from under her shirt, ran it idly along its chain, and with her free hand slid the small recorder out, kept it pressed just at her throat as she aimed it at the screens.

"A clean life," she said aloud. "No criminal record whatsoever. Parents married, still living, still based in Carmel. His father did military time, ranked colonel, served during the Urban Wars. Mother an MT with time off as professional parent. That's a pretty solid upbringing."

Peabody kept her eyes on the screen and off the recorder. "Solid education, too. Graduate of Princeton, with post-grad work at the World Learning Center on Space Station Freedom. That was right at its conception, and only the top students could get in. Married at thirty, just before his first run for office. Adjusted Population advocate. Requisite one child, male."

She shifted her gaze to another screen. "His politics are dead center Liberal Party. Butted heads with your old friend DeBlass over the repeal of the Gun Ban and the Morality Bill DeBlass was pushing."

"I have a feeling I would have liked the senator." Eve turned slightly. "Scroll personal data to medical history."

The screen flipped, and the technical terms made her eyes want to cross. She'd have them translated later, she thought, if she managed to get out of the facility with the recorder.

"Looked like a healthy specimen. Physical and mental records show no abnormality. Tonsils treated in childhood, a broken tibia in his twenties as a result of a sport injury. Sight correction, standard, in middle forties. A permanent sterilization procedure during the same period."

"This is interesting." Peabody continued to scan the political screen. "He was endorsing a bill that would require all legal representatives and technicians to be rescreened every five years, at their own expense. That wouldn't sit too well with the legal community."

"Or with Fitzhugh," Eve murmured. "Looks like he was after the electronic empire, too. Tougher testing requirements for new devices, new licensing laws. That wouldn't have made him Mister Popularity, either. Autopsy report," she demanded, then narrowed her eyes when it flashed on screen.

She skimmed through the jargon, shook her head. "Boy, was he a mess when they scraped him up. Didn't leave them a hell of a lot to work with. Brain scan and dissection. Nothing," she said after a moment. No report here of an abnormality or flaw."

"Display," she demanded, and stepped closer to the screen to study the visual herself. "Cross section. Side view, enhance. What do you see, Peabody?"

"Unattractive gray matter, too damaged for transplant."

"Enhance right hemisphere, frontal lobe. Jesus, what a fucking mess he made out of himself. You just can't see. Can't be sure." She stared until her eyes burned. Was that a shadow, or was it simply part of the trauma caused when a human skull smashed brutally into concrete?

"I don't know, Peabody." She had all she needed, and she slid the recorder under her shirt again. "But I do know that there's no motive or predisposition for self-destruct in this data. And that makes three. Let's get the hell out of this place," she decided. "It gives me the creeps."

"I'm with you all the way on that one."

-=O=-***-=O=-

They got tubes of Pepsi and what passed for a hash sandwich at a glide-cart on the corner of Pennsylvania Avenue and Security Row. Eve was just about to hail a transport back to the airport when a sleek black limo glided to the curb. The rear window slid down, and Roarke smiled out at them.

"Would you ladies like a lift?"

"Wow," was all Peabody could manage as she scanned the car from bumper to bumper. It was a gleaming antique, a luxury from another era, and as romantic and tempting as sin.

"Don't encourage him, Peabody." When Eve started to climb in, Roarke took her hand and tumbled her into his lap. "Hey." Mortified, she jabbed with her elbow.

"I love to fluster her when she's on duty," Roarke said, wrestling Eve back onto his lap. "And how was your day, Peabody?"

Peabody grinned, delighted to see her lieutenant flushed and cursing. "It just got better. If this thing has a privacy screen, I can leave you two alone."

"I said not to encourage him, didn't I?" This time her elbow had better aim, and Eve managed to slide off onto the seat. "Idiot," she muttered at Roarke.

"She dotes on me so." He sighed, settled back. "It's almost smothering. If you've finished your police business, can I offer you a tour of the city?"

"No," Eve said before Peabody could open her mouth. "Straight back to New York. No detours."

"She's a real party animal, too," Peabody said soberly, then neatly folded her hands and watched the city stream by.

CHAPTER TEN

Before Eve left for home, she perfected a detailed report on the similarities in the alleged suicides and why her suspicions that the senator's death was due to the same as yet unknown causes. She transferred her findings to the commander's unit, with a flag to his home 'link.

Unless his wife was hosting one of her ubiquitous dinner parties, she knew Whitney would review the report before morning. With that hope, she took the sky glide from homicide to the Electronic Detective Division.

She found Feeney at his desk, his stubby fingers holding delicate tools, microglasses turning his eyes to saucers as he stripped down a miniboard.

"You doing repair and maintenance these days?" She eased a hip on the edge of his desk, careful not to jar his rhythm. She'd expected no more than the grunt she received in response and waited while he transferred a sliver of something onto a clear dish.

"Somebody's having fun and games," he muttered. "Managed to get a virus of some kind right into the chief's unit. Memory's been boosted, the GCC compromised."

She glanced at the silver sliver and imagined that was the GCC. Computers weren't her forte. "Got a line on it?"

"Not yet." With tiny tweezers, he lifted the sliver, studied it through his glasses. "But I will. I found the virus, dosed it, that's first priority. This poor little bastard's dead, though. When I autopsy it, we'll see."

She had to smile. It was so like Feeney to think of his components and chips in human terms. He replaced the sliver, sealed the dish, then tugged off his glasses.

His eyes shrank, blinked, refocused. And there he was, Dallas thought, rumpled, wrinkled, and baggy, just as she liked him best. He'd made her a cop, giving her the kind of in-the-field training she could never have learned through discs or VR. And though he'd transferred from Homicide to captain in EDD, she continued to depend on him.

"So," she began. "Did you miss me?"

"Were you gone?" He grinned at her, reached a hand into a bowl for some candied almonds. "Did you like your fancy honeymoon?"

"Yeah, I did." She took a nut herself. It had been a long time since lunch. "Even with a body at the end of it. I appreciate the data you dug up for me."

"No problem. A lot of fuss for self-terminations."

"Maybe." His office was larger than hers, due to his rank and his love of space. His boasted a view screen which, as usual, was tuned to a classic film channel. Just now Indiana Jones was being lowered into a pit of asps. "It's got a few interesting aspects, though."

"Want to share?"

"That's why I'm here." She'd copied the data she'd taken from the senator's file and took the disc from her pocket. "I've got a brain dissection on here, but the picture's a little rough. Can you clean it up, boost it some?"

"Can bears shit in the reforested park?" He took the disc, swiveled to his unit, and loaded it. Moments later, he was scowling over the image. "Pitiful imaging. What did you do, use a portable to record off screen?"

"It would be better if we didn't get into that."

He turned his head, studied her with that same scowl. "You teetering on a line, Dallas?"

"My balance is good."

"Let's hope so." Preferring to work manually, he slid out a keyboard. His workingman's fingers danced over keys and controls like a master harpist's over strings. He jerked a shoulder when she leaned close. "Don't crowd me, kid."

"I need to see."

Under his expertise the picture was clearing, contrasts sharpening. She struggled for patience as he fine tuned, diddled, humming to himself as he worked. Behind her all hell was breaking loose between Harrison Ford and the snakes.

"That's about the best we can do on this unit. You want more, I have to take it into master." He flicked a glance up at her. "You gotta log on for master. Technically."

She knew he'd bypass regulations for her and risk an interview with IAD. "Let's go with this for now. You see that, Feeney?" She tapped a finger against the screen just under the tiny shadow.

"I see a hell of a lot of trauma. This brain must have been bashed good and proper."

"But this." She could just make it out. "I've seen this before. On two other scans."

"I'm no neurologist, but I'd guess it's not supposed to be there."

"No." She straightened. "It's not supposed to be there."

-=O=-***-=O=-

She got home late and was met by Summerset at the door. "There are two ... gentlemen to see you, Lieutenant."

With a quick jolt, she thought of the data she'd commandeered. "Are they wearing uniforms?"

Summerset's pursed mouth pruned further. "Hardly. I've put them in the front parlor. They insisted on waiting, though you had not indicated when you would arrive, and Roarke is detained at the office."

"Okay, I'll handle it." She wanted a huge plate of anything edible, a hot bath, and some thinking time. Instead, she wound her way down to the parlor and found Leonardo and Jess Barrow. Relief came first, then annoyance. Summerset, the creep, knew Leonardo and could have told her who was waiting to see her.

"Dallas." Leonardo's moon-sized face creased into a grin when he spotted her. He swept across the room, a giant in a magenta skin suit overbloused with emerald gauze. No wonder Mavis adored him. He caught Eve up in a bone crushing hug, then narrowed his eyes. "You haven't dealt with your hair yet. I'll call Trina myself."

"Oh. Well." Intimidated, Eve raked her fingers through her short, messy cap of hair. "I don't really have time right now to -- "

"You have to make time for personal appearance. Not only are you an important public figure in your own right, but you're Roarke's wife."

She was a cop, damn it. Suspects and victims didn't give a rat's ass about her hairdo. "Right. As soon as -- "

"You're neglecting your treatments," he accused her, simply rolling over her excuses like a big smooth boulder down a bumpy slope. "Your eyes are strained and your brows need shaping."

"Yeah, but -- "

"Trina will be in touch to set up a session. Now then." He propelled her across the room, all but dumped her into a chair. "Relax," he ordered. "Put your feet up. You've had a long day. Can I get you anything?"

"No, really. I'm -- "

"Some wine." Inspired, he beamed, gave her shoulder a quick rub. "I'll see to it. And don't worry. Jess and I won't keep you long."

"No use arguing with a born nurturer," Jess commented as Leonardo moved off to order the wine for Eve. "Nice to see you, Lieutenant."

"Aren't you going to tell me I've lost weight, or gained it, or need a facial?" But she blew out a breath and leaned back. It did feel incredibly good to sit in a chair that wasn't designed to torture the ass. "Okay, let's have it. Something must be up for you to tolerate Summerset insulting you until I got home."

"Actually, he just looked appalled and closed us in here. I do think he's going to run a room scan after we're gone to be sure we didn't lift any of the knickknacks." Jess sat down, cross-legged, on the cushion at her feet. His silver eyes were smiling, his voice smooth as Bavarian cream. "Great knickknacks, by the way."

"We like them. If you'd wanted the tour, you should have said so before Leonardo set me down. I'm going to stay here awhile."

"Looking at you will do just fine. I hope you don't mind me saying you're the most attractive cop I've ever... rubbed shoulders with."

"Have we rubbed shoulders, Jess?" Her brows lifted, disappearing under her bangs. "I hadn't noticed."

He chuckled, patted her knee with one of his beautiful hands. "I would love that tour, sometime or other. But right now we have a favor to ask."

"Got a traffic blot you need fixing?"

His lovely face beamed. "Well, now that you mention it -- "

Leonardo carried the crystal glass filled with pale gold wine across the room himself. "Don't tease her, Jess."

Eve accepted the glass, glanced up at Leonardo. "He's not teasing me, he's flirting with me. He likes to live dangerously."

Jess let out an appealingly musical laugh. "Caught. Happily married women are the safest to flirt with." He spread his hands as she sipped, considered him. "No harm, no foul." He picked up her hand, ran a fingertip along the intricate carving on her wedding ring.

"The last man who messed with me is doing life in lockup," Eve said casually. "That's after I beat the crap out of him."

"Oops." Chuckling, Jess released her hand. "Maybe I'd better let Leonardo ask for the favor."

"It's for Mavis," Leonardo said, and his eyes became warm and liquid as he spoke her name. "Jess thinks the demo disc is ready. Music and entertainment is a tough field, you know. Crowded, competitive, and Mavis has her heart set on making it. After what happened with Pandora -- " He shuddered delicately. "Well, after what happened before, and Mavis being arrested, fired from the Blue Squirrel, going through all of that... It's been rough on her."

"I know." The guilt set in again, for her part in it. "It's behind her now."

"Thanks to you." Though Eve shook her head, Leonardo insisted. "You believed her, you worked for her, you saved her. Now I'm going to ask you for something else because I know you love her as much as I do."

Eve's eyes narrowed. "You're boxing me in very neatly, aren't you?"

He didn't bother to suppress the smile. "I hope so."

"It's my idea," Jess interrupted. "Leonardo had to be nudged some to approach you with it. He didn't want to take advantage of your friendship or your position."

"My position as a cop?"

"No." Jess smiled, reading her reaction perfectly. "As Roarke's wife." Oh, she didn't care for that, he thought, amused. This was a woman who wanted to stand firm, on her own. "Your husband has a great deal of influence, Dallas."

"I know what Roarke has." It wasn't precisely true. She didn't have a clue as to the full extent of his holdings and operations. She didn't want to. "What do you want from him?"

"Just a party," Leonardo said quickly.

"A what?"

"A party for Mavis."

"A splashy one," Jess put in, grinning. "A busting one."

"An event." Leonardo shot Jess a warning look. "A stage, so to speak, where Mavis can mingle with people, perform. I haven't mentioned the idea to her in case you objected. But we thought if Roarke could invite ..." There was obvious embarrassment now as she only stared at him. "Well, he knows so many people."

"People who buy performance discs, go to clubs, look for entertainment." Not embarrassed in the least, Jess smiled winningly. "Maybe we should get you some more wine."

Instead, she set the barely touched glass aside. "You want him to give a party." Wary of a trap, she scanned both faces. "That's it?"

"More or less." Hope sprang in Leonardo's chest. "We'd like to run the demo during it, have Mavis give a live performance as well. I know it's an expense. I'm more than willing to pay -- "

"It won't be the money that concerns him." Eve considered, tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair. "I'll talk to him about it and get back to you. I guess you want it soon."

"As soon as possible."

"I'll get back to you," she repeated, then rose.

"Thank you, Dallas." Leonardo bent in several places to kiss her cheek. "We'll get out of your way."

"She's going to be a huge hit," Jess predicted. "She just needs a liftoff." He took a disc out of his pocket. "This is a copy of the demo," he told her. A specially doctored copy, he thought, just for the lieutenant. "Give it a try. See what we've come up with."

She smiled at it, thinking of Mavis. "I will."

-=O=-***-=O=-

Upstairs, alone, Eve programmed the AutoChef and came up with a steaming plate of pasta and what was certainly fresh sauce from garden-grown tomatoes and herbs. It never ceased to amaze her what Roarke had access to. She wolfed it down while she ran a bath. As an afterthought, she tossed in some of the foaming salts he'd bought her in Paris. She thought they smelled like her honeymoon: rich and romantic. She sank into a tub the size of a small lake and sighed greedily. Blank the mind before thinking, she decided and popped open the control panel in the wall. She'd already loaded the demo in the bedroom unit and switched it to play on the recessed screen in the bathroom.

She settled back into hot, frothy water, a second glass of vintage wine in her hand, and shook her head. What the hell was she doing here? Eve Dallas, a cop who'd come up the hard way; a nameless kid found in an alley, abandoned and abused, with a murder on her hands blocked from her memory.

Even a year before, that memory had been patchy and her life had been one of work, survival, and more work. Standing for the dead was her business, and she was good at her job. That had been enough. She'd made it enough.

Until Roarke. The glitter of the ring on her finger continued to puzzle her.

He loved her. He wanted her. He, the competent, successful, and enigmatic Roarke, even needed her. That was the biggest puzzle of all. And maybe, since she couldn't seem to solve it, she would eventually learn to simply accept it.

She brought the wine to her lips, sank a little lower into the water, and hit the remote.

Instantly, color and sound exploded into the room. In defense, she lowered the volume before her eardrums burst. Then Mavis swirled across the screen, as exotic as a sprite, potent as straight whiskey. Her voice was a screech, but it was appealing, nonetheless, and it suited her as well as the music Jess had designed to showcase the vocals.

It was hot, ruthless, and raw. Very much Mavis. But as Eve soaked it in, she realized that the sound and the show had more polish. Oh, there had always been flash and sparkle when it came to Mavis's work, but now there was a thin sheen of gloss she had lacked before.

Production values, she supposed. Orchestration. And someone who has the eye to recognize a rough diamond and the talent and willingness to help buff it up.

Eve's opinion of Jess took a step up. Maybe he'd looked like a cocky boy showing off on his complicated console, but he obviously knew how to make it work. More, he understood Mavis, Eve realized. He appreciated her for what she was and what she wanted to do, and he'd found a way for her to do it well.

Eve chuckled to herself and lifted her glass in toast to her friend. It looked like they were going to have a party at that.

-=O=-***-=O=-

In his studio downtown, Jess reviewed the demo. He sincerely hoped that Eve was watching the disc. If she did, her mind would be open. Wide open to dreams. He wished he knew what they would be, where they would take her. Then he could see what she would see. He could document. Relive. But his research hadn't yet allowed him to find the path into the dreams. One day, he thought, one day.

-=O=-***-=O=-

Eve's dreams took her back into the dark, into the dread. They were jumbled, then shockingly clear, then scattered again like leaves in the wind. It was terrifying. She dreamed of Roarke, and that was soothing. Watching an explosive sunset with him in Mexico, making reckless love in the dark, bubbling water of a lagoon. Hearing his voice in her ear when he was inside her, urging her to let go. Just let go.

Then it was her father, holding her down, and she was a child, helpless, hurting, frightened.

Please don't.

The smell of him was there, candy over liquor. Too sweet, too strong. She was gagging on it and weeping, and his hand was over her mouth to stifle her screams when he raped her.

Our personalities are programmed at conception. Reeanna's voice floated in, cool and sure. We are what we are made. Our choices are already set at birth.

And she was a child, in a terrible room, a cold room that smelled of garbage and urine and death. And there was blood on her hands.

Someone was holding her, pinning her arms, and she fought like a wild thing, like a terrified, desperate child would fight.

"Don't. Don't. Don't."

"Ssh, Eve, it's a dream." Roarke gathered her closer, rocked, while the clammy sweat on her skin soaked into his shirt and broke his heart. "You're safe."

"I killed you. You're dead. Stay dead."

"Wake up now."

He pressed his lips to her temple, struggling to find the right way to soothe her. If he'd had the power, he would have gone back in time and cheerfully murdered what haunted her.

"Wake up, darling. It's Roarke. No one's going to hurt you. He's gone," he murmured when she stopped fighting him and began to shudder. "He's never coming back."

"I'm all right." It humiliated her, always, to be caught in the grip of a nightmare. "I'm okay now."

"I'm not." He continued to hold her, stroking until her tremors eased. "It was a bad one."

She kept her eyes shut, tried to concentrate on the scent of him: clean and male. "Remind me not to go to bed after gorging on spiced spaghetti." She realized he was fully dressed and the bedroom lights were on low. "You haven't been to bed."

"I just got in." He eased her back to study her face and brushed a drying tear from her cheek. "You're still pale." It tore at him, and his voice was edgy. "Why the hell won't you take a soother at least?"

"I don't like them." As usual, the nightmare had left her with the dull throb of a headache. Knowing he would see it if he looked too closely, she shifted away. "I haven't had one in a while. Weeks really." Calmer now, she rubbed her tired eyes. "That one was all jumbled up. Strange. Maybe it was the wine."

"And maybe it's stress. You will work until you collapse."

She angled her head, glanced at the watch on his wrist. "And who's just coming in from the office at two a.m.?" She smiled, wanting to erase the worry from his eyes. "Buy any small planets lately?"

"No, just a few minor satellites." He rose, stripped off his shirt, then lifted a brow when he caught the considering look she gave his bare chest. "You're too tired."

"I don't have to be. You could do all the work."

Laughing, he sat to take off his shoes. "Thank you very much, but why don't we wait until you have the energy to participate?"

"Christ, that's so married." But she slid down in the bed, exhausted. The headache was just on the edge of her brain, cannily waiting to strike. When he slipped into bed beside her, she rested her tender head on his shoulder. "I'm glad you're home."

"So am I." He brushed his lips over her hair. "You'll sleep now."

"Yeah." It soothed her to feel the rhythm of his heart under the palm of her hand. She only felt slightly ashamed of needing it there, needing him there. "Do you think we're programmed at conception?"

"What?"

"I wonder." She was drifting into that twilight sleep already, and her voice was thick and slow. "Is it just the luck of the draw, the gene pool, what slips in with egg and sperm? Is that it? What does that make us, Roarke, you and me?"

"Survivors," he said, but he knew she was asleep. "We survived."

He lay awake a long time, listening to her breathe, watching the stars. When he was certain she slept without scars, he let himself follow.

-=O=-***-=O=-

She was awakened at seven by a communique from Commander Whitney's office. She'd been expecting the summons. She had two hours to prep for the face-to-face report.

It didn't surprise her that Roarke was already up, dressed, and sipping coffee while he scanned the stock reports on his monitor. She grunted at him, her usual morning greeting, and took coffee into the shower with her.

He was on the 'link when she came back. His broker, she imagined from the bits and pieces of conversation she caught. She snagged a muffin, intending to stuff it into her mouth as she dressed, but Roarke grabbed her hand, pulled her down on the sofa.

"I'll get back to you by noon," he told his broker, then ended transmission. "What's your hurry?" he asked Eve.

"I've got to meet Whitney in an hour and a half and convince him there's a link between three unrelated victims, talk him into letting me pursue the matter, and to accept data I accessed illegally. Then I'm due in court, again, to testify so that a lowlife pimp, who ran an unlicensed stable of minors and beat one of them to death with his hands, goes into a cage and stays there."

He kissed her lightly. "Just another day at the office. Have some strawberries."

She had a weakness for them and plucked one out of the bowl. "We don't have any -- you know -- thing scheduled for tonight, do we?"

"No. What did you have in mind?"

"I was thinking we could just hang." She moved her shoulders. "Unless I'm in Interview being kicked because of breaching government security."

"You should have let me do it for you." He grinned at her. "A little time, and I could have accessed the data from here."

She closed her eyes. "Don't tell me that. I really don't want to know that."

"What do you say to watching some old videos, eating popcorn, and necking on the sofa?"

"I say, thank you, God."

"It's a date then." He topped off their coffee. "Maybe we'll even manage to have dinner together. This case -- or these cases -- are troubling you."

"I can't get a hook, a focal point. There's no why, there's no how. Other than Fitzhugh's spouse and his associate, no one's been even one step out of line. And they're both just idiots." She moved her shoulders. "It's not homicide when it's self-termination, but it feels like homicide." She huffed out a disgusted breath. "And if that's all I've got to convince Whitney, I'm going to be dragging my ass out of his office after he stomps it."

"You trust your instincts. He strikes me as a man who's smart enough to trust them as well."

"We'll soon see."

"If they arrest you, darling, I'll wait for you."

"Ha ha."

"Summerset said you had visitors last night," Roarke added as she rose to go to the closet.

"Oh, shit, I forgot." Dumping the robe on the floor, she pawed naked through her clothes. It was a process Roarke never failed to enjoy. She found a shirt of plain blue cotton, shrugged it on. "I had a couple of guys over for a quick orgy after work."

"Did you take pictures?"

She chuckled and found some jeans, remembered court, and switched to tailored slacks. "It was Leonardo and Jess. They're looking for a favor. From you."

Roarke watched as Eve started to pull on the slacks, remembered underwear, and yanked open a drawer. "Oh-oh. Will it hurt?"

"I don't think so. And actually, I'm kind of for it. They were thinking you could throw a party for Mavis here. Let her perform. The demo disc is done. I watched it myself last night and it's really good. It would give her a chance to, like, premiere it before they start hawking it."

"All right. We could probably do it in a week or two. I'll check my schedule."

Half dressed, she turned to him. "Just like that?"

"Why not? It's not a problem."

She pouted a little. "I figured I'd have to persuade you."

Anticipation lit wickedly in his eyes. "Would you like to?"

She fastened her slacks, kept her face bland. "Well, I really appreciate it. And since you're being so accommodating, I guess this is a good time to hit you with part two."

Idly, he poured more coffee, flicked a glance at the monitor as the off planet agriculture reports began to scroll. He'd recently bought a minifarm on Space Station Delta.

"What's part two?"

"Well, Jess has worked out this one number. He ran it by me last night." She looked at Roarke, making it up as she went along. "It's a duet, really impressive. And we thought, if for the party -- the live portion of the performance -- you could do it with Mavis."

He blinked, lost all interest in crops. "Do what with Mavis?"