Given the state of the equipment at her disposal at Cop Central, Eve saved herself considerable frustration and ran her initial background checks at home. Roarke loved his toys, and the computer and communications systems in her home office made the junk at Central look like something out of the second millennium.

Which it very nearly was.

Pacing her office with her second cup of coffee, she listened while her computer listed the official details of Areena Mansfield's life.

Areena Mansfield, born Jane Stoops, eight November, 2018, Wichita, Kansas. Parents, Adalaide Munch and Joseph Stoops, cohabitation union dissolved 2027. One sibling, male, Donald Stoops, bom twelve August, 2022.

She let it run through education data for form – all standard stuff as far as Eve could tell right through her enrollment in New York 's Institute of Dramatic Arts at the age of fifteen.

Got the hell out of Kansas first chance, Eve mused, and couldn't blame her. What did people do out there with all that wheat and corn, anyway?

Areena's professional credits started young. Teen model, a scatter of plays, a brief stint in Hollywood before a return to live theater.

"Yeah, yeah, blah blah." Eve wandered back to her machine. "Computer, search and list any criminal record, all arrests."

Working…

The computer hummed with quiet efficiency. Comparing it to the useless pile of chips she was cursed with at Central made her sneer.

"Gotta marry a billionaire to get a decent tool these days."

Search complete…

Possession of illegals, New Los Angeles, 2040.

"Now we're talking." Intrigued, Eve sat behind the desk. "Keep going."

Plea bargain resulted in probation with standard obligatory rehabilitation. Obligation satisfied at Keith Richards Memorial Rehabilitation Center, New Los Angeles.

Consumption of illegals with secondary charges of indecent exposure, New York City, 2044. Second rehabilitation ordered and satisfied, New Life Clinic, New York City.

No further criminal activities noted in subject file.

"That's good enough. What was her drug of choice?"

Working… File indicates Ecstasy / Zoner combination in both counts.

"That'll get you off, won't it?"

Please rephrase query.

"Never mind. Search and list cohabitation and/or marriage data."

Working… Formal cohabitation license issued in New Los Angeles for Areena Mansfield and Broderic Peters from June 2048 to April 2049, union mutually dissolved. Marriage license issued in London, England, for Areena Mansfield and Lawrence Baristol September 2053. Divorce petitioned, Mansfield v. Baristol January 2057, unopposed and granted. No children resulted from marriage or cohabitation unions.

"Okay. Search and list any professional credits in productions that involved Richard Draco."

Working… Off-Broadway production of drama Broken Wings, from May through October 2038. Subject and Draco, Richard, in secondary roles through run of play. Small-screen video production, Die for Love, starring subject and Draco, Richard, taped New Los Angeles, 2040. Video production, New York, Check Mate, starring subject and Draco, February 2044. London Arts production of drama, Twice Owned, starring subject and Draco, Richard, from February 2054 through June of that year.

"Interesting timing," Eve murmured, reaching over idly to scratch the ears of the plump cat that leaped onto her desk. As Galahad made himself comfortable directly in front of the computer screen, Eve watched Roarke stroll in through the door connecting their personal offices.

"You didn't mention Areena had an illegals habit."

"Had being the operative word. Is it relevant?"

"Everything's relevant. Are you sure her affection for illegals is past tense?"

"To my knowledge, she's been clean more than a dozen years." When he sat on the edge of the desk, Galahad slithered over to bump his head against Roarke's long-fingered hand. "Don't you believe in rehabilitation, Lieutenant?"

"I married you, didn't I?"

Because it made him grin, she angled her head. "You also didn't mention that she and Draco were in some productions together over the years."

"You didn't ask."

"The timing of two of their acting connections coincide down the line with her illegals convictions."

"Ah. Hmmm." Roarke sent Galahad into feline ecstasy with one slim finger over fur.

"How tight were they, Roarke?"

"They may have been involved. Gossip ran that way during their last project together in London. I didn't meet Areena until a few years ago when she was married and living in London. And I never saw her and Richard together until we were casting this play." He lifted a shoulder, helped himself to what was left of Eve's coffee.

"When I do my run on the victim, am I going to find illegals charges?"

"Probably. If Areena was still using, she was discreet and professional. No missed rehearsals, no temperamental scenes. I wouldn't use the term discreet in the same sentence with Draco, but he did his job. And if they were involved in a romantic or sexual fashion, they kept it behind locked doors."

"Nobody's ever discreet enough. If they were banging each other, someone knew. And if they were rolling around sweaty together or popping illegals, it adds some angles."

"Do you want me to find out?"

She got to her feet, leaned forward until her nose bumped his. "No. Now, if there's any part of that you didn't understand, let me repeat. No. Got it?"

"I believe I do. I have a meeting in San Francisco in a few hours. Summerset knows how to reach me if you need to."

Her scowl at the mention of Roarke's tight-assed aide de camp was instant and heartfelt. "I won't need to."

"I should be home before nine." He rose, sliding his hands up the sides of her body, then down again to her hips. "I'll call if I'll be any later."

She understood he was reassuring her she wouldn't be alone at night – alone where the nightmares chased her. "You don't have to worry about me."

"I like to."

He bent his head to give her a light kiss, but she changed the tone, the texture, by pulling him close, her mouth hot and greedy. Her hands were fisted in his hair, and her blood was up before she released him.

There was satisfaction in seeing his eyes had darkened and his breath quickened. "Well. What was that for?"

"I like to," she said and picked up her empty coffee cup. "See you." She gave him a smile over her shoulder as she went to the kitchen for a refill.

Eve screened her calls on her home unit, her palm unit, her vehicle, and her equipment in her office at Central. If her math held, she'd received twenty-three calls from reporters, which ran the gamut from charm, pleas, vague threats, and minor bribes, since midnight. Six of them, at varying locations and with increasing levels of frustration and urgency, were from Nadine Furst at Channel 75.

They might have been friends, which never failed to surprise Eve, but for both of them business was business. Nadine wanted an exclusive one-on-one with the primary investigator in the death of Richard Draco. Eve just wanted his killer.

She dumped each and every one of the calls from the media, signaled Peabody to stand by, and played the terse message from her commanding officer.

That one was simple enough. His office. Now.

It was still shy of eight A.M.

Commander Whitney didn't keep her waiting. His aide gestured Eve straight into his office where Whitney sat behind his desk, juggling his own communications.

His big hands tapped the surface of his desk impatiently, one lifting to jab a finger at a chair as she entered. He continued to man his tele-link, his broad, dark face betraying nothing, his voice calm and brisk.