He grinned as he eased a hip onto the corner of her desk. “Sorry, I don't think I quite heard that.”

Her look, her voice, went dark. “I meant it about the square knot. I'm just saying the kid's easy with him, and he seems to know what to do with her.”

“Well, he raised one of his own, then took me on besides. He has a soft spot for troubled children.”

“He has no soft spots whatsoever, but he's good with the kid. So yay.” She dragged a hand through her hair. “I'll be talking with the Dysons again tomorrow. Depending on how things go, we could be moving her into a safe house with them in a day or two. Tonight, I'm going to focus on the housekeeper, see where that takes me. Need to send a memo toPeabody,” she remembered. “She's already hit the school, so she can swing by there in the morning, get the kid's work and whatever. Listen, let me ask you, why would you want, I mean, actually want to do the school thing if you had an escape hatch?”

“On that, I have absolutely no idea. Maybe it's like your work is to you, mine is to me. Somehow essential.”

“It's school. It's like prison.”

“So I always thought, too. Maybe we're wrong.” He leaned over, traced his finger down the dent in her chin. “Want some help with this?”

“Don't you have work?”

“A bit of this, a bit of that, but nothing I can't do while assistingNew York 's best cop.”

“Yeah, that was a good one. You know the security at the scene. Maybe you could tag Feeney at home, exchange data. See if you can figure out what kind of equipment these bastards needed to bypass. And where they might've come by it.”

“All right.” This time he brushed her cheek. “You've put in a long day already.”

“I've got another couple hours in me.”

“Save some for me,” he said, and walked into his own office.

Alone, she set up a second murder board, programmed a short pot of coffee, then ordered Inga's data onscreen.

She studied the ID photo. Attractive, but in a non threatening, homey sort of way. She wondered if Swisher had specified non threatening, nothing too young and pretty to tempt her husband.

Whatever the requirements, the match seemed to have worked. Inga had put plenty of years in with the Swishers. Enough, Eve noted, to see the kids grow up.

None of her own, Eve saw. One marriage, one divorce, full-time domestic since she was in her twenties. Though Eve couldn't understand why anyone would volunteer to clean up for someone else, she supposed it took all kinds.

Her financials were steady, reasonable considering her occupation, and her outlays within the normal range.

Normal, normal, normal, Eve thought. Well, Inga, let's go deeper.

An hour later she was circling her board.

Nothing, she thought. If there were hidden pockets, they were expertly concealed. Inga's life had been so utterly normal it was bordering on boring. She worked, she shopped, she took two vacations a year-one with the family she worked for, and the other, at least for the last five years, with a couple of other women to the same relaxation spa in upstateNew York.

She'd check with, and on, the other women, but nothing had popped out on them when she'd run their data.

The ex lived inChicago, had remarried, and had one offspring, male. He was a drone for a restaurant supply company, and had made no on-record trips toNew York in over seven years.

The idea that the housekeeper had heard or seen something dire while buying plums or cleaning supplies just seemed ludicrous.

But life was full of the ludicrous that ended in bloody murder.

She acknowledged Roarke when he came in. “Nothing jingles my bell on this one.” She nodded toward the screen. “Still a lot of legwork to do to cover the bases, but I think she's going down as innocent bystander.”

“Feeney and I are of the same opinion regarding the bypass equipment. It could have been homemade by someone expert in the field, with access to prime materials. If it was purchased, it had to come from military, police, or security sources. Or black market. It's not something you'd find in your local electronics store.”

“Doesn't narrow the field much, but it jibes.”

“Let's shut it down for the night.”

“Nothing much more I can do.” She ordered her machine to save, file, close. “I'm going to start here tomorrow, then leave Baxter and Trueheart on wit duty.”

“I'll take it to some of my R amp;D people tomorrow, see if anybody in my brain trust comes up with something more specific on the security system.”

“None of the vies had any military or security training-or as far as I've found, any connections thereto.” She pushed it around in her head as they walked toward their bedroom. “I can't find any link with organized crime, with paramilitary. As far as my data shows, they didn't gamble, fool around, were not overly political. The closest to an obsession I can get is the woman's devotion to nutrition.”

“Maybe something had come into their possession, even by accident, that had to be reclaimed.”

“Then if you're so damn good at B amp;E, you go in when the house is empty and you take it. You don't go in, kill everybody. The only thing taken from the house was lives. The Swishers are dead because someone wanted them dead.”

“Agreed. What do you say we have a glass of wine and relax for a bit?”

She nearly refused. She could just think, let it all wind around in her head awhile. Pace and let it play until something jiggled loose, or she was too damn fried to do anything but pass out for a few hours.

Their lives would never be like the Swishers'. She didn't want them to be, didn't think she could handle trying to navigate something quite that straightforward. But they did have a life. And lives deserved attention.

“I'd say you've got a pretty good idea. I've got to let it simmer.” She tapped the back of her head. “Since boiling it up front isn't doing the job.”

“How about this for a better idea?” He shifted so they faced each other and a dip of his head had his teeth closing lightly over her jaw.

“Getting me naked is your usual idea.”

“But with variation, and that's the key.”

It made her laugh. “Sooner or later even you have to run out of variations.”

“Now there's a challenge. Why don't we take that wine down to the pool, have a little water sport?”

“I'd say your ideas get better and-” She broke off, and sprinted when she heard Nixie scream.

6

SHE DIDN'T KNOW WHICH ROOM, SO COULD ONLY race toward the sounds of a child screaming. At a turn in the corridor, Roarke passed her. She kicked in so together they shot through an open door.

The bedroom was washed by soft light. The bed was a four-poster with a mountain of pillows and a lacy white spread. Someone- Summerset, she imagined-had placed yellow flowers, cheerful and bright, on a table by the window. As she bolted in, Eve nearly tripped over the cat, who was either in retreat or on guard.

In the middle of the sumptuous bed, the little girl sat, her arms lifted and crossed over her face as she shrieked as if someone was whaling on her with a hammer.

Roarke reached Nixie first. Later Eve would think it was because he was used to dealing with a female in the grip of nightmares, while she was simply used to having them.

He plucked Nixie straight up and into his arms, holding her, stroking her, and saying her name even when she struggled and slapped at him.

Eve had yet to speak or decide what best to do, when the elevator on the far wall whizzed open, and Summerset strode out.

“Natural,” he said. “Expected.”

“Mommy.” Exhausted from the fight, Nixie let her head drop on Roarke's shoulder. “I want my mommy.”

“I know, yes, I know. I'm sorry.”

Eve saw him turn his head to brush his lips over Nixie's hair. That, too, seemed natural. Expected.