"Probably more than our share." He relocked the case. "Coffee?" he said smoothly.

Eve strapped on her weapon and eyed her husband. He was enjoying a light breakfast in the sitting area of their bedroom. The morning news was playing on the wall screen and the stock reports skimmed by in a puzzling series of codes and figures on the tabletop unit.

The cat, Galahad, lounged beside him, with one of his dual-colored eyes aimed hopefully at a slice of Irish bacon neglected on Roarke's plate.

"How can you look like you've just come home from a week's vacation in some pamper spa?" she demanded.

"Clean living?"

"My ass. I know you were up till after three, drinking whiskey and telling lies with your pal. I heard his looney laugh as the pair of you stumbled upstairs."

"He might have been a bit unsteady at the end of it." He turned to her, his eyes blue and clear and rested. "A few fingers of whiskey's never been known to set me under. I'm sorry we woke you."

"It couldn't have been for long. I never heard you come to bed."

"I needed to pour Mick into his first."

"What are you going to do with him today?"

"He has business of his own, and will make his way about well enough. Summerset can tell him where I'll be if he wants to know."

"I thought you'd probably work from here today."

"No." He watched her over his coffee cup. "Not today. Stop worrying about me, Lieutenant. You have enough on your plate."

"You're the main course."

He laughed at that and rose to kiss her. "I'm very touched."

"Don't be touched." She gripped his arms once, firmly, to make her point. "Be careful."

"I'll be both."

"Will you at least use a driver? And the limo." The limo, she knew, was reinforced and could withstand a hailstorm of boomers.

"Yes, to set your mind at ease."

"Thanks. I've got to get going."

"Lieutenant?"

"What?"

He cupped her face in his hands, gently touched his lips to her forehead, her cheeks, her mouth. "I love you."

Everything inside her shifted, shimmered, settled. "I know. Even though I'm not a French redhead with a rich daddy. How much did you take her for?"

"In what area?"

She laughed, shook her head. "Never mind." But at the door she stopped, looked back at him. "I love you, too. Oh, and Galahad just copped your bacon."

She strode down the hall, but caught the mild exasperation in Roarke's voice. "Haven't we discussed that sort of behavior?" It made her smirk a little as she took the steps in a jog.

At the bottom, lurking as she thought of it, was Summerset. He held her leather jacket between one long thumb and one bony finger. "I will assume you'll be home for the evening meal unless I hear to the contrary."

"Assume all you want." She took the jacket, but glanced back up the stairs as she shrugged into it. "I need you a minute."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Stuff the attitude back up your pointy nose," she suggested, but she kept her voice lowered. She aimed a finger at the front door, then swung it open. "Come on."

"I have several tasks on this morning's schedule," he began.

"Quiet." She shut the door behind him, drew in a breath of sweet spring air. "You've been with him for a long time, and you know all there is to know. First give me your take on Mick Connelly."

"I'm not in the habit of gossiping about houseguests."

"Goddamn it." She rapped a fist on his chest, an impatient gesture that caused Summerset to show his teeth. "Do I look like I want a cozy gossip here? Somebody wants to shake Roarke. I don't know why, I don't know the bottom line, but someone's looking to cause him trouble. Give me your take on Connelly."

Summerset's eyes, which had gone black as onyx at the fist to his chest, narrowed. Considered her. "He was wild as they all were. They were wild times. My understanding was he had a difficult home life, but then all of them did. Some worse than others. He came around when Roarke settled in with me. Polite enough, if rough around the edges. Hungry, but they were all hungry."

"Did he ever square off with Roarke?"

"There were words and fists at one time or another between all of them. Mick would have cut off his fingers for Roarke. Any of them would. Mick looked up to him. Roarke took a beating for him once, from the cops," Summerset added with a sneer. "When Mick fumbled a pass off after a pocket dip."

"Okay. All right." She relaxed a little.

"This is about the chambermaid."

"Yeah. I want you to use that yard-long nose of yours for something other than looking down at inferiors. Sniff around, past and present. If you catch a whiff of anything, anything that's off, contact me. You can monitor Roarke without putting his back up. He expects you to know where he is. Make sure you do."

Summerset put a hand on her arm to stop her from turning away. "Is he in any sort of physical jeopardy?"

"If I thought he was, he wouldn't get out of the house even if I had to drug him and put him in restraints."

Forced to be satisfied with that, Summerset watched her go down the steps to where her increasingly dilapidated city-issue vehicle was parked.

Eve imagined the steam gushing out of her ears as she marched through the detective's bull pen and on to her office. Her 'link light was blinking busily from messages and her computer was beeping from fresh incoming data.

She ignored both and began riffling through her drawers.

"Sir? McNab – "

"I want a riot laser," Eve snapped at Peabody. "Full body armor." She yanked a six-inch combat knife from its leather sheath and watched, with glee, as its wicked serrated edge caught the sunlight through her little window.

Peabody's eyes popped. "Sir?"

"I'm going down to Maintenance, and I'm going locked and loaded. I'm taking those piss-brain sons of bitches out, one by one. Then I'm going to haul what's left of the bodies into my vehicle and set it on fire."

"Jesus, Dallas, I thought we had a red flag."

"I've got a red flag. I've got one." Her eyes wheeled to Peabody. "I've got under fifty miles on my ride since those lying, cheating, sniveling shitheads said it was road ready. Road ready? Do you want me to tell you about road ready?"

"I would like that very much, Lieutenant. If you'd sheathe that knife first."

With one last oath of disgust, Eve rammed the blade home. "It starts bucking on me while I'm sitting at a light. Just sitting and it's kicking like a…"

"Mule?"

"Probably. I run the diagnostic, and you know what it does? It brings up the dash map with directions to the morgue. Is that some sick joke?"

Peabody's lips quivered. She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. "I couldn't say, sir."

"Then it coughs and stalls, and I get it going again. Two blocks and it's lurching. You know, lurching like…"

"Frankenstein's monster?"

Out of steam now, Eve dropped into her chair. "I'm a lieutenant. A ranked officer. Why can't I get a decent vehicle?"

"It's a sad state of affairs. Sir, if I might suggest, rather than going down with a riot laser, you could try a case of beer. Get on the good side of a couple of the crew down there. Make nice."

"Make… nice! I'd rather swallow a live snake. You call down. Tell them I need my vehicle up and running within the hour."

"Me?" Peabody's eyes pricked with what might have been tears. "Oh, man. Before I go off to debase myself, I should tell you that we tightened the line on the wire, and the luggage."

"Why the hell didn't you say so?" Instantly Eve swung to her computer.

"I don't know what got into me, Lieutenant. Standing here like a chatterbox." When that didn't get a rise, Peabody huffed out a sigh and went back to her cubicle to bargain with Maintenance.