Eve set the stuffed cat aside and gave Roarke a steely stare. “I figured she’d lawyered up with some of your suits. If they’re worth half of what you pay them, they’ll have the charges dropped within another twenty-four. It’d be better if they didn’t.”
“Why is that?”
“As long as whoever’s running this show thinks she’s in the squeeze, she’s safe and he won’t be as likely to blow. If he’s not already in the wind, and Reva shakes this loose, he’ll blow. Or they will.”
“They.”
“There’s got to be a team working on this. Someone for the murder, someone for the setup, someone for the hit on the security and data units at the gallery and studio. And somebody, I betcha, pushing all the buttons.”
“It’s so nice when we agree. I need to move this to the unregistered.”
“Why?”
“Come with me, and I’ll show you.”
“I’m working here.”
“You’ll want to see this, Lieutenant.”
“Better be good.”
The equipment unregistered with, and undetectable by, CompuGuard was in a secured room.
The wide wall of windows was screened against prying eyes, but let in the view of New York, with all its spires and spears rising into the night sky.
The black, U-shaped console was slick, and studded with dozens of controls. It reminded Eve, always, of some sort of futuristic spacecraft. So much so, she wouldn’t have batted an eye if the entire thing had floated up from the floor, then zoomed off, to wink away in some time warp.
He got a brandy from the fully stocked bar behind a wall panel, and because he intended for her to sleep shortly, poured her another glass of wine.
“I’m on coffee now.”
“Then it won’t hurt you to dilute some of the caffeine. And look what else I have.” He held up a candy bar.
Greed shot into her eyes before she could disguise it. “You have candy in here? I’ve never seen candy in here.”
“I’m just full of surprises.” Watching her, he waved the wrapped bar from side to side. “You can have the candy if you sit on my lap.”
“That sounds like something perverted old men say to young, stupid girls.”
“I’m not old, and you’re not stupid.” He sat, patted his knee. “It’s Belgian chocolate.”
“Just because I’m sitting on your lap and eating your candy doesn’t mean you can cop a feel,” she said as she folded into his lap.
“I’ll just have to live in hope that you’ll change your mind.
Which you may when you see what I’ve found for you.”
“Put up, or shut up.”
“That’s my line.” He nipped her ear, passed her the candy bar, then inserted a disc. Reaching over, he laid a palm on the console. “Roarke. Open operations.”
It hummed, more like a powerful animal waking than a machine booting up. Lights flashed on.
“Upload data.”
“If you’ve got data on the disc . . .” She swallowed a bite of candy. “ . . . Why do you need the unregistered? You’re already on record.”
“It’s not what I have, but what I intend to do with it. Digging around, I ran into a couple of blocks. Nothing unusual initially. Standard privacy blocks, all very usual and law-abiding. But when I nudged them a bit, I got this. Computer, display last task from disc on screen one.”