"No, sir."

"That wasn't a criticism, Lieutenant. Your instincts regarding Captain Bayliss were correct. If you hadn't followed them as you did, we might still, at this point, be unaware of his murder. As I admire your instincts, Lieutenant, I'm about to follow them myself. I've made Roarke a temporary civilian attache as regards the investigation of Max Ricker, concurrent with your investigation of these homicides."

"Chief Tibble-"

"You have an objection, Lieutenant?" Tibble spoke smoothly. If her head hadn't been busy exploding, she might have heard the whiff of humor in the tone.

"A number of them, beginning with the fact that the Ricker matter is not priority. I am on the point of analyzing new evidence and data that I believe will lead to an arrest in the matter of my current investigation. The connection to Ricker exists," she continued, "is key, but it has no bearing on these leads or on the anticipated arrest. The connection is, I believe more emotional than tangible. Therefore, the pursuit of Ricker is secondary, and it is my belief that this pursuit can and will be continued subsequent to interview with the suspect in the homicides. I request that any steps in the Ricker area be postponed until my current case is closed."

Tibble watched her. "You're now a target."

"Every cop's a target. The killer is attempting to shift my focus from him onto Ricker. I don't intend to accommodate him. And respectfully, sir, neither should you."

There was just enough heat in the last of her statement to cause Tibble's brows to lift. Just enough to have the corners of his mouth lift in what could never be mistaken for amusement.

"Lieutenant Dallas, in my observations of your work, I have never perceived your focus shifting one degree once set on course. But perhaps I've missed something, or perhaps these current matters are more than you can reasonably handle. If that's the case, I'll assign the Ricker matter to another officer."

"That's my second ultimatum in the last few hours. I don't like ultimatums."

"You're not required to like it. You're required to do your job."

"Chief Tibble." Roarke, voice quiet, interrupted. "We've taken the lieutenant off guard, after a difficult night. My presence here adds a personal level. I wonder if we might explain the reason I'm here before this goes any farther."

It was nearly out of her mouth, the pissy little snipe that would tell Roarke in no uncertain terms she didn't need him defending her. But Whitney got to his feet, nodded.

"I think we might take a breath here, calm ourselves down. I'd like some coffee, sir. With your permission, I'll get some for all of us while Roarke outlines the basic plan for Lieutenant Dallas's benefit."

Tibble gave a brief nod, gestured to Roarke, then sat back in his chair.

"As I've told you and have informed your superiors, I once had a brief business association with Max Ricker. An association," Roarke added, "which I severed upon discovering not all of Ricker's dealings were legal.

"We did not have a friendly parting of the ways. My ending of our association cost Ricker a considerable amount of money, and a number of accounts-clients. He's known to hold a grudge over much less, and to bide his time in seeking retribution. I can't say this worried me overmuch, until recently."

He glanced up at Whitney as the commander offered him a cup of coffee. Cop coffee, Roarke thought with an inward wince but took it just the same. "As you know, I purchased, through a representative, a property owned by Ricker. I remodeled, re-staffed, and renamed the club Purgatory. It does good business, legal business, but since the time of the murder of your associate, I discovered that Ricker has been using my property, and some of my staff, to do business of his own."

MacLean, Eve thought. She'd been sure of it.

"Illegals, primarily," Roarke added. "As he hardly needs one of my properties for this purpose, his goal was to build up these illegal activities, essentially under my nose, and eventually connect me to them. Causing me and my wife a great deal of trouble and discomfort."

"She sold you out." Eve felt fury bubbling in her throat. "Rue MacLean."

"On the contrary." He never missed a beat. "She discovered Ricker's infiltration and reported it to me only last night."

That was bullshit, Eve thought, but she'd let it pass for now. "IAB had a tip on it-no doubt through one of Ricker's sources-set Kohli up to sniff it out. He had a good nose. He'd have caught the scent."

"I believe he did. Sooner than Ricker might have wanted. He was only doing minor business. But killing a cop, having a cop killed in my place, changes the level."

"It wasn't Ricker." It was out thoughtlessly, almost defensively; then she made herself consider. "He lit the fuse," she murmured. "Connections inside the department, inside the One twenty-eight. He knew which buttons to push, which wounds to pour salt in. He couldn't have known what he was starting. Couldn't have anticipated that, but he's been sucking it in, just the same."

She paused, then continued at Tibble's gesture. "He'd have been distracted, angry, at the bust last fall. It shifted the balance. Martinez had him, all her data clicked. But Mills moved in and undermined the bust and the subsequent evidence. Ricker slid through, but the whole deal twisted him up."

"And with his need to prove he still had the power, he offset that annoyance by arranging for a cop in my place. His reasoning there will come out eventually. And really, does it matter? I can get him for you. Isn't that enough?"

Too much, she wanted to say. She was afraid it would be too much. "I can get him myself."

"I don't doubt it," Roarke admitted. "However, I can help you do it quickly, without taking your energies and your considerable skills away from your homicide investigation. Or taking them only minimally. Purgatory reopens at eight on Friday night. Ricker will be there at ten."

"Why?"

"To do business with me. Business I'll agree to do because I'm concerned about my wife's safety. Eve," he murmured, "surely you can swallow your pride long enough to let me set him up so you can kick his ass."

"He won't believe you."

"He will, yes. First because it's true, and second because I'll pretend it isn't and let him see through. He expects deceit because he's a liar himself. I'm bored, you see, toeing the line. Want a bit of excitement back. Then there's the money. So much money to be made when you don't worry about the refinements."

"You already own half the universe."

"Why settle for half when you can have all?" He took a sip of coffee, found it just as bitter and bad as expected. "He'll believe me because he wants to. Wants to believe he's won. And because he's not as clever as he once was, or as careful. He'd like me, at least, under his thumb so he can pick me apart at his leisure. We'll lead him to believe that can happen. When the deal's made, you'll have him."

"We'll put men in the club." Whitney picked up the plan. "And Roarke is arranging for his security system to record the entire discussion. His club manager will be acting as liaison, setting up the meet. I need you to brief Roarke on Kohli so that he can steer Ricker in that direction. If he had any involvement in that murder, I want him to go down for it."

"He'll know it's a setup," Eve insisted. "Why should he talk business off his own turf? He'll insist on having his men do a security sweep."

"He'll talk," Roarke corrected, "because he won't be able to resist. Because he still considers the club his turf. And he can do his sweep. He won't find what I don't want him to find."

She turned from him, got to her feet. "Sir, Roarke lacks objectivity in this matter, and he's not trained. It's probable that under these conditions Ricker will attempt to cause him physical harm. Most certainly a plan along these lines will put a civilian in serious jeopardy and could cause him considerable legal difficulties."