"I don't want your favors."

"You'll have it, anyway." Roarke sat in a chair comfortably sprung. He helped himself to Feeney's nearly empty bottle. "What do you know about her father?"

"What?" Baffled now, Feeney turned his head and stared. "What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"It has everything to do with her. Did you know he beat her, tortured her, raped her repeatedly until she was eight years old?"

A muscle worked in Feeney's jaw as he turned away again, muted the screen. He'd known that she'd been found in an alley at eight, beaten, broken, sexually abused. That was on record, and he never worked with anyone without knowing their official data. But he hadn't known it was her father who'd done it. He'd suspected as much, but he hadn't known. His stomach twisted, his hands clenched.

"I'm sorry for that. She never brought it up."

"She didn't always remember. Or, more likely, she did and refused to remember. She still has nightmares, flashbacks."

"You got no business telling me this."

"She'd likely say the same, but I'm telling you, anyway. She made herself what she is, and you helped. She'd go to the wall for you; you know that."

"Cops back up cops. That's the job."

"I'm not talking about the job. She loves you, and she doesn't love easily. It's difficult for her to feel it, and to show it. Part of her may always be braced for betrayal, for a blow. You've been her father for ten years, Feeney. She didn't deserve to be broken again."

Roarke stood, and saying nothing more, walked out.

Alone, Feeney raked his hands up over his face, into his wiry red hair, then let them drop on his lap.

– =O=-***-=O=-

It was six fifteen when Eve rolled over, blinked at the light streaming through the windows. Roarke preferred waking to sun. Unless she snuck out of bed or climbed in well after him, she didn't get her shot at pulling the privacy screens.

She felt logy, decided it was too much sleep, and started to slip out of bed.

Roarke's arm swept out and pinned her. "Not yet." His voice was husky, his eyes still closed as he tugged her back over.

"I'm awake. I can get an early start." She wiggled. "I've been in bed nearly nine hours. I can't sleep anymore. ''

He opened one eye – sufficient to note that she did indeed look rested. "You're a detective," he pointed out. "I'll bet if you investigated, you'd uncover the startling fact that there are activities that can be done in bed other than sleep."

His lips curved as he rolled on top of her. "Allow me to give you the first clue."

It shouldn't have surprised her that he was already hard, or that she would be so instantly ready for him. He slid inside her, smooth, slow, deep, and watched the lingering sleep clear from her eyes into awareness.

"I think I've figured it out already." She lifted her hips, matched his lazy pace.

"You're such a quick study." He lowered his lips to nuzzle just under her jawline. "I like this spot," he murmured. "And this one." His hand trailed up her rib cage, cupped her breast.

The arousal was sweet, simple, and made her sigh. "Let me know when you get to something you don't like."

She wrapped her arms around him, her legs. He was so solid, so warm, the steady beat of his heart against hers so comforting. Pleasure built in gauzy layers, floating over her mind, stroking through her body.

"Go over for me." He nibbled her lips, then swept his tongue inside to tangle with hers. To nip, to suck. "Go over," he repeated. "Slow."

"Well…" Her breath was already hitching, catching in her throat. "Since you ask so nice."

The climax rolled through her, one long, lingering wave. She felt him follow, caught in the same current, and pressed her cheek to his.

"Was that like a cookie?" she wondered.

"Hmmm?"

"You know, have a cookie. You'll feel better." She put her hands on either side of his face, lifting it as he laughed. "Were you making me feel better?"

"I certainly hope so. It worked for me." He dipped his head to kiss her lightly. "I wanted you. I always do."

"It's funny how men can wake up with their brains in their cocks."

"It makes us what we are." Still chuckling, he rolled her over him, patted her butt. "Let's take a shower. I'll give you another cookie."

– =O=-***-=O=-

Thirty minutes later, she stumbled out of the shower and into the drying tube. He was a quick change artist when it came to mood, she thought dizzily. From lazy to amused to hot, steamy, mind-numbing sex, all in one short morning. Because her system was still frazzled, she braced a hand against the curve of the tube as warm air blew around her. When he stepped out of the shower, she jabbed out a finger.

"Stay away from me. You grab me again, I'll have to take you down. I mean it. I've got work."

He hummed a tune and used a towel. "I like making love to you in the morning. You only wake up fast if you get a call from dispatch or if I seduce you."

"I'm awake now." She stepped out, pushed a hand through her hair. Giving herself safe distance, she reached for a robe. "Go look at the stock reports or something."

"I intend to. You'll want breakfast," he added as he left the room. "I'll order it up."

She started to tell him she wasn't hungry. She wasn't. But she knew without fuel she wouldn't make it through the day.

When she joined him in the bedroom, he was slipping into a shirt, his gaze focused on the table monitor where he could view the headlines and financial reports. She walked past him to her closet, chose plain gray trousers.

"I'm sorry I lost it last night."

He lifted his gaze, noted she kept her back to him as she pawed out a shirt. "You were upset. You had a right to be."

"Anyway, I appreciate you not making me feel like an idiot."

"How do you feel now?"

She jerked a shoulder. "I've got a job to do." She'd come to that end while she'd tossed her way into sleep. "I'm going to do it. Maybe… Well, maybe if I do it right, Feeney won't hate me so much when it's over."

"He doesn't hate you, Eve." When she didn't answer, he let it drop. He'd already programmed their meal in the recessed AutoChef. "I thought ham and eggs would do the trick this morning."

He got the coffee first, brought it to the table in the sitting area.

"It'll do the trick any morning." She pasted on a determined smile, went over to get the food herself. He ordered the viewing screen on Channel 75 while she shoveled in creamy eggs.

She scowled as the on-air reporter, glossy as a china doll at seven thirty in the morning, recited the data on the Wineburg homicide.

"Though Lieutenant Eve Dallas, assigned to the homicide division of NYPSD, was on the scene, only yards away from the murder site, the police have no solid leads. The investigation continues. This is the second stabbing death connected with Lieutenant Dallas in as many days. When asked if the cases are linked, Dallas refused to comment."

"A ten-year-old kid with a vision defect could see they're linked, for Christ's sake." She had been eating on automatic, and now shoved the plate aside. "That Cross bitch is sitting in her hell house, laughing."

Springing up, she began to pace. Roarke took it as a good sign. If she was angry, she wasn't feeling sorry for herself. He chose some fresh strawberry jam for his croissant.

"I'm going to nail her, I swear to God, I'm going to nail her. For all of them. I need to connect Wineburg to her. If I can do that, I can harass her some more. May not be enough to get me a warrant to toss her place, but I can keep on her ass."

"Well, then." Roarke wiped his fingers with a pale blue linen cloth, set it aside. "I should be able to help you with that."

As she continued to pace and mutter, he rose, walked to a dresser, took a sealed disc from a drawer. "Lieutenant?"