– =O=-***-=O=-

Into the night, in the dark, he lay beside her, listening to her breathe. He knew the varied and sundry reasons a man would kill. But none were more fierce, none were more vital than to hold safe what he loved.

CHAPTER FOUR

Lieutenant Alan Mills caught Eve on her communicator as she was grabbing her second cup of coffee. Her first thought was that he looked as though he could have used a good jolt of caffeine himself.

His eyes were sleepy and irritable, a watery gray in a pale face.

" Dallas. Mills, here. You looking for me."

"That's right. I'm primary on the Kohli homicide."

"Son of a bitch." Mills snorted, sniffed. "I'd like a piece of the dickweed who did Kohli. What have you got?"

"This and that." She wasn't about to share investigative data with a man who looked like he'd yet to roll out of bed and had probably rolled into it with a little chemical enhancement, not strictly departmentally approved. "You and a Detective Martinez worked with Kohli on a task force over the past year. Max Ricker."

"Yeah, yeah." Mills rubbed his face. She could actually hear the scrub brush sound of his stubble against his palm. "Him and about a dozen other cops, and the slick bastard still oozed through the cracks. You think Ricker's tied to this?"

"I'm covering my bases here. I need a picture of Kohli, then maybe I'll get a picture of his killer. You got some time this morning, Mills, maybe you could hook Martinez and meet me at the crime scene. I'd appreciate any input."

"I heard the case was being transferred to our house."

"You heard wrong."

He seemed to digest this information and not find it particularly to his liking. "Kohli was one of ours."

"And now he's mine. I'm asking for some cooperation on this. Are you going to give it to me?"

"I want a look at the scene anyway. When?"

"No time like the present. I'll be at Purgatory in twenty minutes."

"I'll round up Martinez. Probably still taking her siesta. She's a Mex."

He ended transmission and left Eve regarding her communicator thoughtfully before she stuck it in her trouser pocket. "Gee, Mills. Nobody told me you were a complete and total asshole. Go figure."

"The asshole is still going to want to prove he has harder balls than you," Roarke commented. He'd stopped scanning the morning stock reports to watch her handle her colleague.

"Yeah, I got that."

She snagged her weapon harness, strapped it on in a way, Roarke thought, another woman clipped on earrings. He rose, slid a finger down the dent in her chin. "He'll find out, very shortly, he's wrong. No one has harder balls than you, Lieutenant."

She checked her weapon, settled it. "Is that a compliment or a dig?"

"An observation. I'd like to take another look at the scene myself-for insurance purposes."

For insurance purposes her ass, Eve thought. "Not today, pal. But I'll try to clear it for you by tomorrow."

"As property owner, I'm entitled to an on-site scan to determine damage costs."

"As primary in a homicide investigation, I'm entitled to seal and preserve the crime scene until I'm satisfied all evidence has been gathered."

"The sweep was completed yesterday afternoon, and the scene was fully recorded." He reached down to the table in the sitting area of the bedroom, lifted a file disc. "At this point, the property owner is allowed admittance, in the company of a police representative and his insurance agent, to estimate repair and replacement costs. The memo from my attorney on the matter, Lieutenant."

She snatched the disc he offered. "Now who's rattling their balls," she muttered and made him grin. "Maybe I don't have time for you this morning."

He strolled to his closet, selected a suit jacket from the vast forest of his wardrobe. She had never figured out how he knew what went with what when there was so damn much to choose from.

"Maybe you'll have to make time. I'll ride with you. I've made arrangements to be picked up at the club when I'm finished there."

"You had this set up before you got home last night."

"Hmmm." He moved to her closet, found the gray vest that matched her trousers. If she'd thought to look for it herself, it would have taken her an hour not to find it. "It's cool out this morning," he said as he handed it to her.

"You think you're slick, don't you?"

"Yes." He bent down, kissed her, deftly did up the vest buttons for her. "Ready?"

– =O=-***-=O=-

"You don't talk to the other cops," Eve warned as they approached the club.

"What in the world would I have to say to them?" He continued to read and respond to overnight correspondence on his PPC while she pulled to the curb.

"You don't go anywhere on scene unless you're accompanied by me, Peabody, or an officer I designate," she continued. "And you take nothing-that means nothing-off scene."

"Are you interested in a small summer home in Juno, Alaska?" He glanced at her, met her narrowed eyes. "No, I see you're not. I don't believe I am, either. Ah, here we are." He pocketed the mini-unit. "And we appear to be the first to arrive."

"Roarke, no funny business."

"Fortunately, I left my red rubber nose at the office." He climbed out of the car. "Shall I open it for you?" He gestured at the police seal on the club's entrance door.

"Don't start with me." Struggling not to rise to the bait, she strode to the door, uncoded the seal. "If you screw around, I promise I'm calling a couple of big, burly uniforms and having them remove you from the scene."

"But darling, it's so much more arousing when the police brutality comes from you."

"Keep it up, smart guy." She shoved open the door. The light was dim through the windows, and she could still smell the unpleasant aroma of spilled liquor and stale blood that mixed with the chemical stench of sweeper dust.

"Lights on," she ordered. "Main bar area."

Those that were still operational brightened and cast a cool white light over the destruction.

"Doesn't look any better today, does it?" Roarke scanned the room, felt the little stir of temper.

"Close the door." She said it quietly, took a breath, and did what she did best. She put herself in the middle of murder.

"He comes in, after closing. He's been here before. He has to know the place, the setup, the security. Maybe he worked here, but if he did, and was on last night, he left with everyone else. Nobody's going to tag him as being alone here with Kohli."

She moved around and through the debris, toward the bar. "He sits down, asks for a drink. Friendly, casual. They've got business to discuss, something to talk over. That needs privacy."

"Why doesn't he have Kohli disarm the security cameras?" Roarke asked.

"He's not worried about the cameras. He's going to take care of them. After. Just a friendly after-hours drink, a little conversation. Nothing that's going to set off Kohli's cop vibes. If he had any. Kohli gets himself a beer, stays behind the bar. He's comfortable. Eats some nuts. He knows this guy. They've probably had a drink together before."

She glanced up, checking out the locations of the cameras. "Kohli's not worried about the security cams either. So either they're not talking about anything that's going to jam him, or he has turned them off. All the while, this guy's sitting here thinking about how to make his move. He comes behind the bar, helps himself to a drink this time."

She walked behind the bar, seeing it in her head. Kohli, big, strong and alive, wearing his Purgatory uniform. Black shirt, black slacks. Sipping at a beer, popping some bar nuts.

"The blood's pounding in his head, and his heart's thumping like a drum, but he doesn't let it show. Maybe he makes a joke, asks Kohli to get something. Just enough to make him turn his back for an instant. Long enough for him to grab the bat and swing."