She'd left the financials on the wall screen. Roarke eased a hip onto her desk, angled his head, and scanned them.

Figures, they both knew, were like breath to him. He simply drew them in.

"Standard outlays for a typical middle-class lifestyle," he commented. "Reasonable rent payments, made in a timely fashion. Vehicle payments and maintenance costs, garage fees are a little on the high side. They ought to shop around a bit. Taxes, clothing, food, entertainment are a bit light. They don't get out much. Deposits are regular bimonthly, which would coincide with salaries. You certainly couldn't accuse this family of living over their incomes."

"No, you couldn't. Interesting though about the vehicle expenses. Seeing as Kohli had a city unit and neither he nor his wife own a personal vehicle."

"Is that so?" Frowning, he re-focused. "So, there's some skimming or padding going on, but at just under four thousand a month, it's hardly big time."

"Every little bit," Eve murmured. "Now take a look at this. Investment account. College funds, retirement, savings." She flipped the screens and heard Roarke's quiet "Ah."

"Someone was looking to the future. A half million in the past five months, and earning decently. Though I'd advise a bit more diversity and more of the pie in growth areas if college tuition is, indeed, the goal."

"He won't be needing a portfolio consult. A cop doesn't come up with a half million by watching his pennies. He comes up with it by being dirty."

With anger simmering, she sat. "He was taking. The question is, from who and why. The deposits and the accounts were down a couple of levels, but not buried deep, not covered up so a full scan didn't pop them right out. Pretty damn cocky."

She rose again to pace. "Pretty damn cocky. I don't think he was stupid. I think he was just sure of himself, sure he'd be covered."

"If he hadn't been killed, no one would have been looking at his financials," Roarke pointed out. "His lifestyle wasn't sending up red flags. He lived within his means."

"Yeah, he did his job, no more, no less. Went home at night to his pretty wife and pretty kids, then got up the next morning and did it all over again. No flash. The kind of cop nobody pays a lot of attention to and everybody likes. Nice guy, quiet guy. But IAB was looking at him."

She stopped in front of the wall screen. "They were looking, and they knew about the take. They don't want it coming out. Last time I looked, IAB didn't have a heart, so it's not concern for his grieving widow. So who's covering whose ass?"

"Perhaps they're simply being territorial. If they had him under investigation, they want to close that internal business up themselves."

"Yes, could be. I wouldn't put it past them." But it stuck in her craw. "Dirty or not, I've got a dead cop. And he's mine." She nodded at the screen. "I want to talk to Max Ricker."

"Lieutenant." Roarke moved behind her, rubbed her shoulders. "I have every confidence in your abilities, your intellect, and your instincts. But Ricker is a dangerous man, with a taste for the unpleasant. Particularly where women are involved. You'll appeal to him on several levels, not the least of which is your connection to me."

"Really?" she murmured and turned around.

"We didn't sever our business association on the best of terms."

"So, I can use that. If he's interested, it'll be easier to wade through his lawyers and set up a meet."

"Let me do it."

"No."

"Stop and think. I can get you to him quicker and more directly."

"Not this time, and not this way. You can't change your past," she said, "and he's part of that. But he's not part of your today."

"He's part of yours."

"That's right. Let's try to keep this, if not separate, sort of side by side. If he's part of it, you'll probably know before I do, because you won't leave it alone. But whatever kind of cop Kohli was, I'm the one standing for him now. I'll set up the meet when the time's right."

"Let me look into it a bit first, then you'll have more in your pocket when you do." And he'd have more time to do what needed to be done to keep her away from Ricker.

"Go ahead and look." But she was careful not to agree. "Tell me what you know about him. Give me an inside track."

Troubled, Roarke walked away, poured a brandy. "He's very smooth, educated, and can be charming when it suits him. He's quite vain and enjoys the company of beautiful women. When they please him, he can be very generous. When they displease him…"

Roarke turned, swirling the brandy. "He can and will be brutal. He's the same with his employees and associates. I once saw him slit the throat of a servant over a chipped wine goblet."

"It's hard to get good help these days."

"Isn't it? His main income is through the manufacture and distribution of illegals on a wide scale, but he also dabbles in weapons, assassinations, and sex. He has several high-placed officials in his pocket, which keeps him protected. Within an hour of your contact with him, he'll know whatever there is to know about you. He'll know, Eve, things you would prefer no one knew."

Her gut clenched, but she nodded. "I can handle that. Does he have family?"

"He had a brother. Rumor is Ricker dispensed with him over some sibling dispute. In any case, his body was never discovered. He has a son about my age, perhaps a few years younger. Alex. I never met him as he was living primarily in Germany when I had dealings with Ricker. Word is he's kept close, and insulated."

"Weaknesses?"

"Vanity, arrogance, greed. So far, he's been able to indulge himself in all three with relative impunity. But over the last year or so, there've been rumors. Quiet, very cautious ones, that his mental health is deteriorating, and as a result, some of his businesses are in mild distress. That's one of the avenues I'll explore more carefully."

"If he's involved in Kohli's death, that impunity ends. If he's mentally defective, it won't keep him out of a cage. Do you figure he'll agree to meet me if I make an approach?"

"He'll see you because he'll be curious. And if you take a shot at him, he'll never forget it. He's cold, Eve, and he's patient. If he has to wait a year, ten years, to circle back to you, he will."

"Then if I take a shot at him, I'll have to make it count."

More, Roarke thought as he finished his brandy. If she went after Ricker, Ricker would have to die.

He, too, could be cold. And patient.

– =O=-***-=O=-

She turned to him in the night. It was rare for her to do so unless the dreams were chasing her. When she slept, she slept deep and unprotected. Perhaps she knew he needed it, needed to feel her wrapped around him in the dark, the intimacy of it that stated more truly than words what they'd come to be to each other.

Her mouth found his, offered, while her hands roamed up the solid length of his back, down again to his hips.

They shifted on the wide bed, a tangle of limbs, of warm flesh, of breath beginning to quicken with each touch.

The taste of her-lips, throat, breasts-filled him, as it always did, even as it stirred hunger for more. Her heartbeat under his hand, under his mouth, and her first sign of pleasure trailed off into a quiet moan.

She arched against him, strength and surrender. Opened for him, invitation and demand.

He slipped inside her-hot and wet and waiting-and it was he who moaned as she closed around him. Shadows in the dark, their bodies rose and fell together, a slow, silky rhythm to draw out the night.

Pleasuring her, pleasuring himself, he slipped his hands under her hips, lifted her. Gave her more.

She locked herself around him, rode the edge. And when she felt herself begin to fall, she said his name.

He lifted his head, saw the gleam of her eyes, open, on him. "Eve," he said, and let himself fall with her.