“You fell asleep at your desk. Small wonder as it’s nearly two in the morning. You were having a nightmare.”
“It wasn’t…” She took a moment to steady herself. “It wasn’t a nightmare, not really. It was just weird. Just a weird dream. I can walk.”
“I like this better.” Still carrying her, he stepped onto the elevator. “We’d have headed for bed sooner, but I got caught up.”
“I’m fuzzy.” She rubbed her face, but couldn’t scrape away the fatigue. “You get anywhere?”
“What a question. Three accounts so far. I suspect there are more. Feeney can take over with it in the morning. I’ve some work of my own to deal with.”
“What are—”
“Morning’s soon enough. It’s nearly here, in any case.” He stepped out of the elevator, took her straight to the bed. When he started to tug down her pants, she tapped his hands aside.
“I can do that. You might get ideas.”
“Even I have limits, broad though they may be.”
Still, when he slid into bed with her, he drew her close to his side.
She started to nag him into giving her some of the data. And the next thing she knew, it was morning.
He was having coffee in the sitting area, with the viewing screen split between stock reports and the morning bulletins. At the moment, she didn’t care about either. So she grunted what passed for a morning greeting and slogged off to the bathroom.
When she came out, she smelled bacon.
There were two plates on the table. She knew his game. He’d fill her in if and when she ate. To expedite it, she plopped down across from him, grabbed the coffee first.
“So?”
“Good morning to you, too. Such as it is. Forecast is for sleet, possibly turning to snow by midmorning.”
“The fun never ends. The accounts, Roarke.”
He pointed a finger at the cat, who was trying to belly over toward the food. Galahad stopped, and began scratching his ears.
“The accounts the lawyer gave you were closed. Timing coordinates with the cutoff. I found others, off shore and off planet. Numbered, of course, but with some finessing, I unearthed the certified names. Roberta True and Robin Lombardi.”
“Not very imaginative.”
“I don’t think imagination was her strong suit. Greed certainly was. She had close to a million in each. Tracing back, I’ve got the lawyer’s transfers. And another six figures transferred from an account under the names Thom and Carly Tween.”
“Yeah, I knew she’d been scalped some.”
“Also a chunk from a Marlee Peoples.”
“Peoples—that’s the doctor, pediatrician, in Chicago. I wasn’t able to reach her yesterday.”
“There’s more. I made you a list. Deposits that I’ve found so far go back about ten years.”
“Round about the time she’d have lost the pro-mom status. You got a kid in college, you keep the status until he’s done, or turns twenty-four.”
“A handy way to make up for the loss in income.”
“But she doesn’t buy a nice outfit for the party.”
“Sorry?”
“Stupid dream.” Eve shook her head. “Or not so. What the hell did she do with her money, anyway? Comes to New York, stays in an economy hotel.”