Almost amused, Dallas leaned against her car. "What are you going to give me for that, Nadine? A handshake and a smile?"

"For that I'm going to give you everything my source has passed to me. Everything."

Now she was interested. "Including the source?"

"I couldn't do that if I had to. Point is, I don't. What I do have, Dallas, is a disc, delivered to me at the studio. On the disc are copies of police reports, including autopsies on both victims, and a couple of nasty little videos of two dead women."

"Fuck that. If you had half of what you're telling me, you'd have been on air in a heartbeat."

"I thought about it," Nadine admitted. "But this is bigger than ratings. Hell of a lot bigger. I want a story, Dallas, one that's going to cop me the Pulitzer, the International News Award, and a few other major prizes."

Her eyes changed, darkened. She wasn't smiling anymore. "But I saw what someone did to those woman. Maybe the story comes first with me, but it's not all. I pushed Simpson today, and I pushed you. I liked the way you pushed back. You can deal with me, or I can go out on my own. Your choice."

Eve waited. A fleet of taxis cruised by, and a maxibus with its humming electric motor. "We deal." Before Furst's eyes could light in triumph, Eve turned on her. "You cross me on this, Nadine, you cross me by so much as an inch, and I'll bury you."

"Fair enough."

"The Blue Squirrel, twenty minutes."

The afternoon crowd at the club was too bored to do much more than huddle over their drinks. Eve found a corner table, ordered a Pepsi Classic and the veggie pasta. Nadine slid in across from her. She chose the chicken plate with no-oil fries. An indication, Eve thought glumly, of the wide difference between a cop's salary and a reporter's.

"What have you got?" Eve demanded.

"A picture's worth several hundred thousand words." Nadine took a personal palm computer out of her bag – her red leather bag, Eve noted with envy. She had a weakness for leather and bold colors that she could rarely indulge.

Nadine popped in the disc, handed Eve the PPC. There was little use in swearing, Eve decided as she watched her own reports flick on-screen. Brooding, she let the disc run over Code Five data, through official medical reports, the ME's findings. She stopped it when the videos began. There was no need to check out death over a meal.

"Is it accurate?" Nadine asked when Eve passed back the computer.

"It's accurate."

"So the guy's some sort of gun freak, a security expert who patronizes companions."

"The evidence indicates that profile."

"How far have you narrowed it down?"

"Obviously, not far enough."

Nadine waited while their food was served. "There's got to be a lot of political pressure on you – the DeBlass end."

"I don't play politics."

"Your chief does." Nadine took a bite of her chicken. Eve smirked as she winced. "Christ, this is terrible." Philosophically, she shifted to the fries. "It's no secret DeBlass is front runner for the Conservative Party's nomination this summer. Or that the asshole Simpson is shooting for governor. Given the show this afternoon, it looks like cover-up."

"At this point, publicly, there is no connection between the cases. But I meant what I said about equality, Nadine. I don't care who Sharon DeBlass's granddaddy is. I'm going to find the guy who did her."

"And when you do, is he going to be charged with both murders, or only with Starr's?"

"That's up to the prosecuting attorney. Personally, I don't give a shit, as long as I hang him."

"That's the difference between you and me, Dallas." Nadine waved a fry, then bit in. "I want it all. When you get him, and I break the story, the PA's not going to have a choice. The fallout's going to keep DeBlass busy for months."

"Now who's playing politics?"

Nadine lifted a shoulder. "Hey, I just report the story, I don't make it. And this one's got it all. Sex, violence, money. Having a name like Roarke's involved is going to shoot the ratings through the roof."

Very slowly, Eve swallowed pasta. "There's no evidence linking Roarke to the crimes."

"He knew DeBlass – he's a friend of the family. Christ, he owns the building where Sharon was killed. He's got one of the top weapon collections in the world, and rumor is he's an expert shot."

Eve picked up her drink. "Neither murder weapon can be traced to him. He has no connection with Lola Starr."

"Maybe not. But even as a periphery character, Roarke sells news. And it's no state secret that he and the senator have bumped heads in the past. The man's got ice in his veins," she added with a shrug. "I don't imagine he'd have any problem with a couple of cold-blooded killings. But… " She paused to lift her own drink. "He's also a fanatic about privacy. It's hard to picture him bragging about the murders by sending discs to reporters. Somebody does that, they want publicity as much as they want to get away with the crime."

"An interesting theory." Eve had had enough. A headache was beginning to brew behind her eyes, and the pasta wasn't going to sit well. She rose, then leaned over the table close to Nadine. "I'll give you another one, formulated by a cop. Do you want to know who your source is, Nadine?"

Her eyes glittered. "Damn right."

"Your source is the killer." Eve paused, watching the light go out of Nadine's eyes. "I'd watch my step if I were you, friend."

Eve strode off, heading around behind the stage. She hoped Mavis was in the narrow cubicle that served as a dressing room. Just then, she needed a pal.

Eve found her, huddled under a blanket and sneezing into a tattered tissue.

"Got a fucking cold." Mavis glared out of puffy eyes and blew like a bullhorn. "I had to be crazy, wearing nothing but goddamn paint for twelve hours in goddamn lousy February."

Warily, Eve kept her distance. "Are you taking anything?"

"I'm taking everything." She gestured to a tabletop littered with over-the-counter drugs and touch-up cosmetics. "It's a fucking pharmaceutical conspiracy, Eve. We've wiped out just about every known plague, disease, and infection. Oh, we come up with a new one every now and again, to give the researchers something to do. But none of these bright-eyed medical types, none of the medi-computers can figure out how to cure the common fucking cold. You know why?"

Even couldn't stop the smile. She waited patiently until Mavis finished another bout of explosive sneezing. "Why?"

"Because the pharmaceutical companies need to sell drugs. You know what a damn sinus tab costs? You can get anticancer injections cheaper. I swear it."

"You can go to the doctor, get a prescription to eradicate the symptoms."

"I got that, too. Damn stuff's only good for eight hours, and I've got a performance tonight. I have to wait until seven o'clock to take it."

"You should be home in bed."

"They're exterminating the building. Some wise guy said he saw a cockroach." She sneezed again, then peered owlishly at Eve from under unpainted lashes. "What are you doing here?"

"I had some business. Look, get some rest. I'll see you later."

"No, stick around. I'm boring myself." She reached for a bottle of some nasty looking pink liquid and glugged it down. "Hey, nice shirt. You get a bonus or something?"

"Or something."

"So, sit down. I was going to call you, but I've been too busy hacking up my lungs. That was Roarke who came in our fine establishment last night, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, it was Roarke."

"I almost passed out when he walked up to your table. What's the story? You helping him with some security or something?"

"I slept with him," Eve blurted out, and Mavis responded with a fit of helpless choking.

"You – Roarke." Eyes watering, she reached for more tissue. "Jesus, Eve. Jesus Christ, you never sleep with anybody. And you're telling me you slept with Roarke?"