With a light laugh, Areena picked up a glass of wine and, sipping, began to pace. The silk whispered around her legs. "A pretty compliment wrapped in barbed suspicion. And well delivered."

"I'm not here to pay you compliments."

"No." Areena's eyes lost their light of humor. "No, of course not. The simple answer to your underlying question is that I keep to myself a great deal. It comes, I suppose, from spending too much of my youth at parties, in groups. You'll have learned about my indiscretions, my difficulties with illegals. That's behind me now."

She turned back, lifted her chin. "It wasn't easy to put it behind me, but I did. In doing so, I lost a number of what I once considered friends. I ruined relationships that mattered to me because of addictions, lost those that shouldn't have mattered when I beat the addictions. And now I'm at a point in my life where my career needs all my attention. It doesn't leave much time for socializing or for romance."

"Were you romantically involved with Draco?"

"No. Never. We had sex a lifetime ago, the sort hearts and minds have nothing to do with. For some time, we've had nothing in common but the theater. I came back to New York, Lieutenant, because I wanted this play, and I knew Richard would shine in his part. I wanted that. There'll never be another like him onstage. God."

She squeezed her eyes shut, shivered. "It's horrible. Horrible. I'm more sorry to have lost the actor than the man. I'm sorry to know that about myself. No, I can't be alone." She sank down on the sofa. "Can't bear it. I can't sleep. If I sleep, I wake up, and my hands are covered in blood. Richard's blood. The nightmares."

She lifted her head, and her eyes swam as they met Eve's. "I have horrible nightmares every time I lie down, they leap into my head, and I wake up sick, wake up screaming, with his blood all over me. You can't imagine. You can't."

But Eve could. A small, freezing room, washed in the dirty red light from the sign across the street. The pain, the sheer hideousness of the rape, of the bone he'd broken in her arm when she'd fought him. The blood, his blood everywhere, slicked on her hands, dripping from the blade of the knife as she crawled away.

She'd been eight. In her nightmares, Eve was forever eight.

"I want you to find who did this," Areena whispered. "You have to find who did it. When you do, the nightmares will stop. Won't they? Won't they stop?"

"I don't know." Eve forced herself to step forward, forced herself to step away from her own memories and stay in the present. Stay in control. "Tell me what you know about the illegals. Who were his contacts, who supplied him, who played with him?"

In the kitchen, Charles sipped his wine, and Roarke made do with the reasonably decent faux coffee the AutoChef offered.

"Areena's having a difficult time," Charles began.

"I imagine she is."

"There's no law against paying for comfort."

"No."

"My job is as viable as hers."

Roarke inclined his head. "Monroe, Eve has no personal vendetta against licensed companions."

"Just against me, in particular."

"She's protective of Peabody." With his eyes clear and direct, Roarke sipped again. "So am I."

"I'm fond of Delia. Very fond. I'd never hurt her. I've never deceived her." On a sound of disgust, Charles turned away to stare through the window at the lights. "I lost my chance to have a relationship outside my job – to have a life outside my job – because I deceived a woman. Then because I cared enough about her to be honest. I've come to terms with that. I am what I am."

He turned back, and his lips curved. "And I'm good at what I do. Delia accepts that."

"Perhaps. But women are the oddest creatures, aren't they? A man never really knows. And that, I think, is part of their continual appeal. A mystery's more interesting, isn't it, before it's completely solved."

With a half laugh, Charles looked over his shoulder, and Eve walked through the door.

She couldn't have said, precisely, why it annoyed her to see Charles and her husband sharing a moment of what couldn't be mistaken for anything but male amusement. But since it did, she scowled at Roarke.

"Sorry to break up the boy talk, but could you keep Areena company for a moment while I speak to Charles?"

"Of course. The coffee's reasonably good."

She waited until he'd walked out, then moved to the AutoChef more to give herself a moment to settle than out of a desire for hotel coffee. "When did Ms. Mansfield make the appointment for your services?"

"This afternoon. About two, I believe."

"Isn't that late notice for you?"

"Yes."

Eve pulled the coffee out, leaned back against the wall, with the steam rising from her cup. "No bookings tonight?"

"I rearranged my schedule."

"Why? Areena indicated you hadn't met before, socially or professionally. Why go to that trouble for a stranger?"

"Because she doubled my fee," he said simply.

"What did she buy? Straight sex? An overnighter?"

He paused, stared down at his wine. When he lifted his gaze again, his eyes had gone cool. "I don't have to answer that. And won't."

"I'm investigating a homicide. I can pull you in for an interview at Central."

"Yes, you can. Will you?"

"You're making this sticky." She set the coffee down, paced up and down the narrow space between the wall and the counter. "I have to put you in my report as it is. That's bad enough. But you make me take you in, formalize this, it's right up Peabody 's nose."

"And neither of us want that," he murmured, then sighed. "Look, Dallas, I got a call. A client of mine gave my name to Areena as someone who could give her a comfortable evening. She was obviously upset. I'd heard about Draco, so I didn't have to ask why. She wanted a companion for the night. Dinner in, conversation, sex. To compensate for my inconvenience, she doubled my usual overnight fee. It's simple."

"Did you talk about Draco?"

"No. We talked about art, we talked about theater. She's had three glasses of wine and half a pack of herbals. Her hands stopped shaking about twenty minutes before you got here. She's an emotional wreck who's trying to hold on."

"Okay. I appreciate it." She jammed her hands in her pockets. " Peabody 's going to see the report."

He could feel his own hackles rise. "Delia knows what I do."

"Right." It stuck in her craw like barbed wire.

"She's a grown woman, Dallas."

"Grown, my ass." She gave up and kicked the wall. "She's out of her league with an operator like you. Damn it, her family's Free-Agers. She grew up out in bumfuck somewhere." A vague gesture took care of the Midwest. "She's a good cop. She's a solid cop, but she's still got blind sides. And she's going to get really pissed off when she finds out I said anything to you about it. She'll jam that stick up her ass and freeze me out, but damn it – "

"She matters," he shot back. "She matters to you. Doesn't it occur to you that she could matter to me?"

"Women are a business to you."

"When they pay me to be my business. It isn't like that with Delia. For Christ's sake, we don't even have sex."

"What? She can't meet your fee?" As soon as it was out, she hated herself. Hated herself more when she saw those cool eyes register simple hurt. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. That was wrong. That was way off."

"Yeah, it was."

Suddenly tired, she scooted down and sat on the floor with her back against the wall. "I don't want to know this stuff. I don't want to think about this stuff. I like you."

Intrigued, he lowered to the floor, his back to the counter so their knees almost brushed. "Really?"

"Yeah, mostly. You've been seeing her since before Christmas, and you haven't… What's wrong with her?"