He laughed, and this time it was easy and rich. "Jesus, Dallas, which way do you want it? I have sex with her, I'm a bastard. I don't, I'm a bastard. Roarke was right."

"What do you mean, Roarke was right?"

"You can't figure women." He took a drink of his wine. "She's a friend. It just happened that way. I don't have many friends who aren't clients or in the business."

"Watch yourself. They start to multiply when you're not paying attention. It complicates your whole damn life."

"You're a good friend. One more thing," he said and gave her foot an easy pat. "I mostly like you, too, Lieutenant Sugar."

The nightmare came. She should have expected it. Areena's talk of dreams and blood and terror triggered it. But even knowing, she could never stop it once it slid into her mind.

She saw him come into the room. Her father. That nasty little room in Dallas, so cold, even with the temperature gauge stuck on high. But seeing him, smelling him, knowing he'd been drinking, but not drinking enough, had sweat popping out on her chilled arms.

She dropped the knife. She'd been so hungry, so hungry it had been worth the risk of finding a snack. Just a little piece of cheese. The knife fell out of her hand, took days, years, centuries to reach the floor. And in the dream, the clatter of it was like thunder that echoed. Echoed. Echoed.

Across his face as he walked to her, the red light from the sign washed red, then white, then red.

Please don't please don't please don't.

But it never did any good to beg.

It would happen again and again and again. The pain of his hand smashing almost casually across her face. Hitting the floor so hard it rattled her bones. And then his weight on top of her.

"Eve. There now. Eve, come back to me. You're home."

Her breath burned in her throat, and she struggled, bucking, shoving against the arms that held her. And Roarke's voice seeped into the dream, warm, calm, lovely. Safe.

"That's right. Hold on to me." He gathered her closer in the dark, rocking her as he would a child until her shudders quieted. "You're all right now."

"Don't let go."

"No." He pressed his lips to her temple. "I won't."

When she woke in the morning, the dream only a vague smear on her mind, his arms were still around her.

Eve beat Peabody into Central. It was deliberate, and it cost her a full hour's sleep that morning. She hoped to file her updated report, then move on, before her aide showed up. If she was lucky, there would be no discussion involving Charles Monroe.

The detective's bullpen was buzzing. It turned out that Detective Zeno's wife had given birth to a baby girl the night before, and he'd celebrated by bringing in two dozen donuts. Knowing detectives, Eve snagged one before the unit fell on them like hyenas on scavenged meat.

"Who won the pool?"

"I did." Baxter grinned around a cinnamon twist with raspberry jelly. "Six hundred and thirty smackeroos."

"Damn it. I never win the baby pool." Consoling herself, Eve snagged a cruller. Taking the first bite, she grinned at him. Good old Baxter, she thought. He could be a pain in the ass, but he was meticulous and sharp with details.

He was just perfect. "Looks like this is your lucky day."

"No shit. I've had my eye on this new auto-entertainment system. The six bills plus is going to go a long way toward putting that baby in my ride."

"That's great, Baxter, but I mean it's really your lucky day." She pulled a clear file of discs out of her bag, those gathered from the uniforms and detectives who'd logged witness names the night of the Draco homicide. "You get the grand prize. Run standard backgrounds and probabilities on these individuals, re Draco. We got close to three thousand names here. Grab a couple of detectives, a few uniforms if you need them, and get statements. Let's see if you can cut that number in half by the end of the week."

He snorted. "Very funny, Dallas."

"I have orders from Whitney to tag somebody for this duty. Tag, Baxter. You're it."

"This is bullshit." When she dropped the file on his desk, his eyes wheeled. "You can't dump this nightmare on me, Dallas."

"Can, have, did. You're dropping crumbs, Baxter. You should remember to always keep your area clean."

Pleased with the morning's work, she headed for her office with his curses following her.

The door was open, and the sounds of riffling came clearly into the hall. Eve pressed her back to the wall, danced her fingers over her weapon. The son of a bitch. She had him this time. The sneaking candy thief's ass was hers at last.

She charged into the room, leading with her fist, and caught the intruder by the scruff of the neck. "Gotcha!"

"Hey, lady!"

She had six inches and a good twenty pounds on him. Eve calculated she could squeeze him through her skinny window without too much trouble. He'd make an interesting smear on the pavement below.

"I'm not going to read you your rights," she said as she bounced him against the file cabinets. "You won't need them where you're going."

"Call Lieutenant Dallas!" His voice piped out like a rusty flute. "Call Lieutenant Dallas."

She hauled him around, stared into his jittery eyes, doubled in size behind microgoggles. "I am Dallas, you candy-stealing putz."

"Well, jeez. Jeez. I'm Lewis. Tomjohn Lewis, from Maintenance. I got your new equipment."

"What the hell are you talking about? Let me smell your breath. You got candy breath, I'm going to pull out your tongue and strangle you with it."

With his feet dangling an inch from the floor, he puffed out his cheeks and blew explosive air in her face. "Cracked wheat waffles down to the Eatery, and – and the fruit cup. I ain't had candy. Swear to God."

"No, but you might want to consider a stronger mouthwash. What's this about new equipment?"

"There. Right there. I was just finishing the transfer."

Still holding him off the floor, she turned her head. Her mouth fell open seconds before she dropped Lewis in a heap and leaped on the industrial gray shell of the computer. "Mine. It's mine."

"Yes, sir, Lieutenant sir. She's all yours."

With her arms possessively circled around the unit, she looked back at him. "Look, maintenance boy, if you're toying with me, I'll bite your ears off and make them into stew."

"I got the order right here." Moving cautiously, he reached in his pocket for his logbook, punched in the code. "See, here, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, Homicide Division. You got yourself a new XE-5000. You requisitioned it yourself."

"I requisitioned it two goddamn years ago."

"Yeah. Well." He smiled hopefully. "Here she is. I was just hooking her to the mainframe. You want I should finish?"

"Yeah, I want you should finish."

"Okay. Have it done in a wink, then get right out of your way." He all but dived under the desk.

"What the hell kind of name is Tomjohn?"

"It's my name, Lieutenant. You got your complete owner's manual and user's guide in that box over there."

She looked over, snorted at the foot-high box. "I know how it works. I have this model at home."

"It's a good machine. Once you're linked to the main, all we gotta do is transfer your code and data from your old equipment. Take about thirty minutes, tops."

"I got time." She skimmed her eyes over her old unit, dented, battered, despised. Some of the dents had been put into it by her own frustrated fist. "What happens to my old equipment?"

"I can haul it out for you, take it down to recycle."

"Fine – no. No, I want it. I want to take it home." She'd perform a ritual extermination, she decided. She hoped it suffered.