As for Byson’s, they didn’t fit for her either. The source was Copperfield, not her fiancé.

International accounts, Eve thought. That had been Copperfield’s bailiwick. Smuggling was always popular. A glossy client fronting illegals, arms, people smuggling?

She replayed the conversations between the two victims, watched faces, tuned in to voices. Upset, she concluded, some shock, excitement, but not horror or real fear.

Wouldn’t there have been if what they’d found had involved loss of life?

It said white-collar crime to her. High-dollar, white-collar, and at least to their knowledge, nonviolent.

A thought occurred that had her getting up, walking to the door between her office and Roarke’s. But his was empty. Even as she frowned, he spoke from behind her.

“Looking for me?”

“Jesus, you make less noise than the damn cat.”

“Tubs of lard aren’t particularly stealthy. Come to bed.”

“I just wanted to – ”

“Twenty hours is enough.” Once again, he took her arm. “Did your warrant come through?”

“About a half hour ago. I’m just going to – ”

“Get back to it in the morning.”

“Okay, okay.” She agreed because if he could drag her off without her blocking the move, fatigue was slowing her reaction time. “I was just wondering, as a mogul and all, how many layers does one of your minions have to go through to get to you?”

“It would depend on the minion and the reason he or she wanted to get through to me.”

“But whatever, whoever, there’d be the Caro layer, right?” she asked, referring to his admin.

“Yes, in all probability.”

“Even if the minion made up a bullshit reason, Caro would know there was an appointment, a meeting.”

“Certainly.”

“And each one of those top guys at the firm would have a Caro.”

“There’s only one Caro, and she’s mine. But again, yes, they’d have an admin, and I’d assume an efficient one.”

In the bedroom, she pulled off her boots, then began to undress in a haze that told her whatever she’d had left had dropped out when she’d walked away from the work.

“Going there bright and early,” she mumbled. “Get my hands on those damn files. Asshole lawyers cost me a damn day. Like to kick their asses.”

“That’s right, darling.”

“I heard that smirk.”

She slid into bed, let him draw her in so they were close and warm. “Bought the baby shower present thing today.”

“Good.”

She had a little smirk of her own in the dark. “If Mavis goes into labor during the deal here, you have to drive her to the birth center.”

There was utter silence for a solid ten seconds. “You’re trying to give me nightmares. Very small of you.”

“Somebody told me today you take your fun where you find it.”

“Is that so? Well then.” His hand slid slickly under her nightshirt and cupped her breast. “Look what I found.”

“Sleeping here.”

“I don’t think so.” His thumb stroked over her nipple as his teeth nipped into the nape of her neck. “But go on to sleep if you must. I’ll just have my fun and ward off nightmares. Multitasking.”

As his mouth and hands were all very busy, she could state without question the man knew how to multitask. And the slow, steady simmer of arousal burned away at fatigue until she arched from the pleasure of it.

Her mind went quiet; her blood went hot.

She turned to him, reached for him, her mouth seeking his.

The taste of it, of her, seeped into him until he was drenched in her. With the long line of her pressed against him, her hands gliding, the feel of her seduced the seducer.

He wanted her skin, the rapid beat of the pulse in her throat, the firm curve of her breast. Soft and strong and warm. Her breath caught, released on a low sound of approval; her hips rose in both invitation and demand.

As she moved with him, trembled for him, the need inside him that was never quite tamed leaped free.

Yes, now, she thought. Right now.

It was flash and burn when he plunged inside her, the glorious shock of being taken. She could see his eyes, watching her, even as she flew over the crest. Over it and into a storm of speed and heat.

“With me,” she managed. “Come with me.”

When his lips crushed down on hers, and the storm reached its peak, she felt him fly with her.

Breathless, with her system starting its long slide back, she blinked up at the dark sky window over the bed. He lay over her, his weight pressing hers into the mattress, his heart drumming with hers.

She felt wonderfully sleepy again, as she imagined Galahad might if he came across an unexpected bowl of cream and gorged himself.

“Guess you never know where you’ll find the fun.”

His lips brushed her hair, then he shifted, drawing her back against him again. “I do.”

Snuggled against him, she fell asleep with a smile on her face.

When she woke, Roarke was in the sitting area of the bedroom, scanning the morning reports as was his habit. She smelled coffee, but headed in to shower first.

When she stepped out of the shower, the scent struck her again. Sniffing like a hound she turned and saw a thick mug of it sitting on the counter by the sink.

It made her smile, and go a little soft inside just as she had as she’d drifted into sleep. She took the first glorious hit of coffee naked and dripping, then left it to use the drying tube and pull on a robe.

Carrying the mug with her, she came out, went directly to him. Bending down, she gave him a kiss nearly as strong as the coffee.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I did consider joining you and getting your blood moving in a different manner, but I’m already dressed.” Still looking at Eve, Roarke shot out a finger to his left, and warned Galahad as the cat tried to belly his way toward a bowl of berries. “You look fairly well rested.”

“Sleepy sex then six solid. Not shabby.”

“Said with a smug smile, just to finish off your alliteration.”

“Hah. You’re a sharp, sexy son of a bitch. See, I finish my own alliterations.”

He had to laugh. “Now that you have, sit and have some breakfast, and I’ll tell you what I learned of your top accountants from a business associate.”

“What associate?” She lowered the coffee she’d started to drink. “When?”

“You wouldn’t know him, and shortly ago.”

“Tell me while I get dressed.”

“Eat.”

She heaved a sigh, but dropped down and scooped some of the berries into a smaller bowl. “Spill.”

“Jacob Sloan founded the firm with Carl Myers, the father of the current Carl Myers on the letterhead. Sloan has a very small handful of accounts he continues to oversee personally. He does, however, according to my source, take a very active part in the running of the firm.”

“His ball, he wants to watch where it bounces.”

“I’d say so, yes. Myers handles domestic, corporate, and individual – as did his father – more of the very top individual accounts. Robert Kraus – who was made partner about a decade ago – heads up the legal department, and oversees some of the cream of the foreign and international.”

Roarke nudged a bowl of what looked suspiciously like flakes of tree bark toward her.

“Does he, your associate, know how active any or all of them are in the day-to-day?”

“He tells me very. While they are a layered and multifaceted firm with various departments, department heads, and so forth, they hold a weekly partners’ meeting – that would be only the three of them – a daily briefing, and there are quarterly account reports and employee evals, which each partner is copied on. Very hands on.”

“And if so, difficult for one to slip something shaky by the other two.”

“It would seem, but difficult isn’t impossible or even improbable.”

“Sloan’s the top dog,” Eve muttered. “Probably the hardest for an account exec to get to, one-on-one. And the one who’d make the most sense to try to seek out if you hit on something that seemed off. At least if you believed he wasn’t in on it.”