“Come, walk outside with me,” Roarke told her. “Just you and I, and you can say whatever you need to say. But away from here. You’ll upset Bart’s parents if this keeps up.”

“Fine. I’ve got plenty to say.”

As Roarke took her out, Eve gave them a moment. It was just enough time for Benny to elbow his way through the crowd.

“What’s going on? What did you say to her?”

“Very little. She needs to blow off some steam. It’ll be better blown outside where it doesn’t upset anyone else.”

“God.” He scrubbed his hands over his face, then watched, as Eve did, as Cill paced and pointed, threw up her hands. And Roarke stood, listening. “She’s better off mad,” Benny said at length. “I’d rather see her pissed off at you, at everything, than so damn sad.”

“Does she know you’re in love with her?”

“We’re friends.” His shoulders stiffened.

“It would be hard working with someone every day, as closely as you work together, and having those feelings. It’s a lot to hold in.”

“We’re friends,” he repeated. “And that’s my personal business.”

“Lieutenant Dallas.” Tight-lipped, Var strode up. “This isn’t right. You can’t come here now and interrogate us, anyone. This is for Bart. His parents deserve… What’s Cill doing out there with Roarke?”

“Blowing off some,” Benny said. “No, come on.” He took Var’s arm as Var turned toward the door. “Let her work it out. Let’s not do this today, okay? Let’s just not do this today.”

“You’re right. Okay, you’re right.” Var closed his eyes, dragged both hands through his skullcap of hair. “Look, can’t you leave us alone today?” he asked Eve. “Just leave us alone while we get through this. It’s not like we’re going anywhere.”

“I’m not here to hassle you. I came to pay my respects to Bart’s parents as I was the one who had to tell them he was dead.”

“Oh hell.” Benny let out a long breath. “Sorry. I guess… sorry.”

“We’re the ones who have to be here for them now, and for each other. We get you’re doing what you have to do. Well, Benny and I do,” Var corrected with another glance through the glass. “It’s going to take Cill a little longer. It’s personal for her. It’s routine for you, we get that.”

“Murder’s never routine.” She glanced back at the screen, at Bart. “It’s always personal. He’s mine now, every bit as much as he’s yours. Believe me when I say I’ll find who killed him. Whatever it takes.”

She walked away thinking she’d planted the seeds. Now she’d see how long it took them to sprout.

She went out to her car, leaned against it and watched Roarke and Cill. He was doing the talking now. Or most of it. Cill shook her head, turned away with her hands pulling at her hair until the tidy plait frayed.

But she was winding down, Eve judged, and within a few moments was weeping against Roarke’s chest.

Eve waited them out, wished fleetingly for coffee as she started a search for property using the warehouse and the four apartments to triangulate. She glanced up as Roarke walked to her.

“So, how’s your day so far?” she asked him.

“Up and down. You’re still a bitch, by the way. But she’s decided I’m not a heartless fuck using Bart’s death for my own gain.”

“Good thing I pride myself on my bitchery. I don’t know how many things light her fuse, but once it’s lit, it’s short.”

“Yes. I should tell you I felt obliged to let her know we had a project nearly ready for marketing that’s similar to theirs.”

“I bet she loved hearing that.”

“I always considered you champion of creative swearing, but I believe she’d give you a run.” Like Eve, he studied the building, the shapes and movements behind the glass. “When I managed to cut through some of the blue, I gave her some details. You wouldn’t understand,” he added. “It’s technical.”

“And I don’t speak geek. Why? Why did you tell her?”

“When I was in, we’ll say, the habit of stealing, I didn’t mind being accused of it. My people have worked very hard on this project, and don’t deserve to have that work diminished. She’s a very bright woman, and with the details I gave her understands full well we’re ahead of their curve, not only on timing, but on certain elements. That doesn’t diminish their project, or their work. I have more resources, more people, and she understands that as well. Just as she understands if it had been my goal, I could’ve swallowed U-Play long ago.”

“And she’s smart enough to remember who Bart sometimes went to for advice, and who sold them that building.”

“Competition makes the game more fun, and more meaningful. In a few years, they’ll give me plenty of game.” He reached up, skimmed a finger down the dent in her chin. “And how is your day panning out?”

“Searches are still ongoing. It’s a lot. I’m going back to Central to tug a new line. As pissed as they all were about the search, none of them actively tried to stop or stall it.”

“Which makes you think whoever killed Bart already removed anything incriminating.”

“Or thinks so.” Movements behind glass, she thought, weren’t always the same as those in the shadows. “But it made me wonder if there’s another work area, a more private one. One where someone could hack and practice and plot and plan without sending up any flags.”

“A place for unregistered. I thought of that as well. Then again, some people are inherently honest.”

“Present company excepted.”

He smiled at her. “Murder’s the ultimate in dishonesty, isn’t it? So yes, there may very well be another place. Well, good hunting.” He flicked her chin again, kissed her mouth. “I’ve work of my own. Don’t forget Nadine’s party,” he added as he walked to his own car.

“I can remember more than one thing at a time.”

He uncoded his locks, smiling at her over the roof. “What time does it start?”

“Tonight.”

“Eight. I’ll see you at home.”

“Wait. Shit. I promised Peabody a limo if she’d stop talking about her shoes.”

“Naturally. I’ll take care of it.”

“It’s your own fault,” she called out. “You make it too easy.”

“Darling Eve, there’s enough hard in the world.”

She couldn’t argue. She glanced back at the warehouse, thought of flowers and food and tears. There was plenty of hard in the world.

She was deep into the search for a second space, playing with alternate names, anagrams, hidden meanings while running her own scenarios on secondary when Peabody tagged her.

“We finished up here, and I’ve checked in with the other teams. Flagged electronics are on their way in for analysis.”

“I want that diary.”

“McNab’s working on it. He’s decided it’s his personal mission to get past her journal security. We’re going to head home from here, if that’s okay. We’re already cutting it a little close.”

“Cutting what?”

“Prep time for Nadine’s party. Oh, and thanks again for the limo!” Peabody added as Eve thought, Shit, damn, fuck. “Summerset contacted me with all the info. So, we’ll see you at the do.”

“Yeah, right.” Eve cut Peabody off, saved all current data, ordered the whole works copied to her home office unit.

And fled.

She wasn’t late, she told herself as she slammed the brakes in front of the house. She had plenty of time since she didn’t take hours to primp in front of a damn mirror. Besides, nobody got to one of these deals on time.

Which made no sense to her. Why have a time, then ignore it?

Social functions were unwieldy and strange, and had their own set of rules that were even more unwieldy and strange.

She burst into the house, started to curl her lip at Summerset, then stopped and stared. He wore black-big surprise-but not his usual gear. He wore formal black, tuxedo black with a white shirt that looked as stiff as his neck.

“You might save the excuses for another time,” he began. “You’ll need all you have left to transform yourself.”