“Subsequent task, display data on faculty, administration, and support staff of Sarah Child Academy, in alpha order, on wall screen one.”

Acknowledged. Data displayed on wall screen one…Primary task complete. No matches…

“Yeah, that would’ve been too easy. Using the same lists, cross-reference search for family relations, former spouses or cohabs.”

Acknowledged. Working…Secondary task is now complete. Choice of display?

“Display on comp screen.” Sitting back with her coffee, she studied the data.

There was nothing hot. A couple of hand slaps here and there-the ever-popular illegals possession for personal use, a four-year-old shoplifting charge. No violent crimes, no cage time for any.

Before she began on the data on her wall screen, she closed her eyes and let her mind wind back through what she knew, what she wanted to know.

Poison in the hot chocolate. Thermos unattended and accessible at several points during the morning. Habitual.

“Wait.”

She sat up, eyes narrowed, then tried another angle. She contacted Lissette Foster. “Lieutenant Dallas,” she said. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I have a couple of questions. You made the hot chocolate yourself, every morning.”

“Yes, I told you. I made it for him.”

“You ever drink it?”

“No. Too many calories,” she said wearily. “I used some real chocolate along with the soy milk and the powdered mix. He didn’t know.”

“Sorry?”

“Chocolate’s so expensive. He didn’t know I bought it, added it in like my mother always did. He liked it so much, said no one made it like I did. It was the half ounce of real chocolate I mixed in every morning.”

“Anyone else know about that addition?”

“My mother. She taught me how to make it. I mentioned it at work, I’m sure. Sort of bragging about it. I think I might have told Mirri. It was just a little secret from Craig. He wouldn’t have wanted me to spend the money on him.”

“I noticed the mix in your kitchen, and the stash of liquid chocolate inside a box of Vital Fem.”

Now Lissette smiled, just a little. “He’d never poke around in my vitamins, so I kept the chocolate there.”

“We sent the mix and the liquid to the lab. Anyone else know where you kept them?”

“The mix, maybe. Not the chocolate. You think…”

“The lab will determine if any of the ingredients were tampered with. Was anyone in your apartment the weekend before your husband’s death?”

“No.” She rubbed her eyes wearily. “I don’t think so. I was out for a while on Saturday, shopping. But Craig was home. He didn’t mention it.”

“Does anyone have a key, a spare? Your code.”

“Mirri does, for emergencies. But-”

“Okay. Your building doesn’t have security cameras or a doorman.”

“We couldn’t afford one that ran to those. It’s a nice neighborhood. We never had any trouble.”

“All right, Mrs. Foster. I appreciate the time.”

So here’s a what-if, Eve mused. What if person or persons unknown accessed the Foster apartment, knowing the habits. Poisoned the powder. Maybe Craig had a visitor he hadn’t told his wife about.

Or…Maybe it didn’t have to be the day before, she thought. Maybe he’d lucked out a few times, hadn’t gotten any of-or not enough of the poison.

She pulled up her lab report, read off the contents of the go-cup. There was no real chocolate listed.

So the killer hadn’t known about Lissette’s secret recipe.

Considering, she rose and walked to her murder board. She studied her victim, the shots of the scene. Tapped her fingers on her thigh as she studied the thermos.

Nothing special about it, she decided. Just your average go-cup, jumbo size. About fifty bucks. Solid black, with the vic’s first name scripted in silver across the body. Looked new.

Used it every day, every working day for over a year. Why did it look brand-new?

Maybe it was new. She’d already speculated on that one, and now she was stepping over her own feet. Damn it.

“Faster,” she murmured. “Simpler. For fifty bucks, you could switch the good stuff with the bad in three seconds. You don’t have to pour out the original chocolate, pour in the killing drink. You just take the whole damn thing, shove the good in your briefcase or pack, leave the bad.”

Smarter, she thought. Not as messy.

She pulled out the sweeper’s report, already knowing she wouldn’t have missed such a vital listing if a second engraved thermos had been found in the building.

“Computer, run probabilities on the following options as pertains to case number HP-33091-D. Poison was added to vic’s go-cup on the morning of his death. Option next, vic’s go-cup was switched with an identical one containing the poison, again on the morning of his death. Which option has the highest probability?”

Acknowledged. Working…

Eve added more coffee to her mug, paced around the board. Sat back at her desk.

Probabilities on both options have no viable difference with current data…

“Big help.” And it would matter, she decided. It would matter just how.

With the absence of the real chocolate in the poisoned drink, the theory of the mix being tampered with inside the Foster apartment was out of the running.

Adding it on the spot was easier, more efficient. Still a risk factor involved.

But just replacing the whole shot, now that was smart, most efficient, most foolproof.

They’d do a more thorough search of the school the next day. But if she were to bet, she’d lay her money on the killer taking Craig’s cup as a souvenir. Or certainly disposing of it well off school grounds.

She called up the physical description of the cup, started a search for retailers in the city and online who sold that specific brand and model, with personalization option.

There were more than twenty retail stores in Manhattan alone offering that specific item, and three times that through online vendors.

But it was a break, she thought. Whether or not the cup itself played, she knew the drink had been made by the killer. Someone who didn’t know Lissette’s secret ingredient.

She was reaching for her coffee again when she saw Roarke in the doorway.

“Lieutenant.”

“Hey.”

They watched each other, warily, as he came into the room. “I’d hoped not to be this late.”

“Happens.”

Cross-referencing task complete. No matches found.

“Sometimes the world’s not as small as you want it to be,” she commented, and picked up her coffee.

“Long day for you.”

“Back at you.”

He sat on the corner of her desk, his gaze level with hers. “Are we at odds here, Eve?”

She hated, hated, that she just wanted to lay her head down on the desk and weep. “I don’t know what we are.”

He reached out, skimmed his fingertips over her hair. “You pushed some button on me this morning. Irritated the hell right out of me. Don’t you trust me, then?”

“Do you think I’d be sitting here if I didn’t?”

“That being the case, there should be no problem between us.”

“Nothing’s that simple.”

“I love you, absolutely. Nothing’s simple about it, but it’s complete. You never kissed me good-bye this morning.” He leaned down, brushed his lips over hers.

She couldn’t help it, the love simply welled up. “Bye,” she murmured, and made him smile.

He brushed her lips again, warm and sweet. “Hello. I’ll wager you haven’t had any dinner.”

“I’m spinning my wheels on this investigation. Haven’t thought much about food.”

“Think about it now.” He took her hand, linked their fingers, and used the other to scratch the cat when Galahad bumped his head against Roarke’s arm. “You’re looking tired, Lieutenant, and hollow-eyed the way you do when you haven’t eaten or gotten enough sleep. I’ll punch in burgers, that usually tempts you. And you can tell me about the case.”

He didn’t want to discuss the morning, she thought, or his meeting with Magdelana. He was nudging it all aside, very smoothly. But it had to be discussed. Had to be front and center.