"She's not their child," Roarke put in. "Not biologically. She's the image of Deena Flavia."
"Breed them and sell them. Breed and sell. Sons of bitches. Manipulate the genes-make them perfect, made to order. Train, educate, program them. Then sell them."
He reached out, instinctively rubbing her shoulders. "Would she have wanted the child, do you think? Or just revenge."
"I don't know. Depends on what drives her harder. Maybe she figures on getting both."
The computer came back, listing all four names with connections to the locations in Argentina.
"Computer, start search and match images. Any graduate of Brookhollow Academy or College with current students. List all data on all results."
Working . ..
"Let it task," Roarke said softly. "Let's get some sleep. You'll need a clear head tomorrow. I assume you're going to New Hampshire." "Damn right I am."
She was up at dawn, and still Roarke was up and dressed ahead of her. With a grunted greeting she trudged into the shower, ordered jets on full at one-oh-one degrees, and boiled herself awake. She hit the drying tube, gulped down the first cup of coffee, and felt nearly human.
"Eat something," Roarke ordered, and switched from the finance reports on-screen to the morning media cast.
"Something," she repeated from inside her closet.
When she stepped out, he glanced at the clothes she'd grabbed and said, "No."
"No, what?"
"Not that outfit."
If the term aggrieved had an image beside its definition, it would have been her face. "Oh, come on."
"You plan to pay an official visit to an exclusive boarding school. You want to look authoritative."
She tapped the weapon holster she'd hung over the back of the chair "Here's my authority, Ace."
"A suit."
"A what?"
He sighed, rose. "You do know the concept, and you happen to own several. You want power, prestige, simplicity. You want to look important."
"I want to cover my naked ass."
"Which is a shame, I grant you, but you may as well cover it well. This. Clean lines, and the dull copper color adds punch. Wear it with this." He added a scooped-neck top in a kind of muddy blue. And go crazy, Eve. Wear a bit of jewelry."
"It's not a fricking party." But she pulled on the pants. "You know what you need? You need a droid, a dress-up droid. Maybe I'll buy you one for Christmas."
"Why settle when I already have the real thing?" He opened the jewelry vault in her closet and selected etched gold hoops for her her and a sapphire cabochon pendant.
To save time and aggravation, she dressed as ordered. But she balked when Roarke made a little circle in the air with his finger.
"Pushing your luck, pal."
"It was worth a try. You still look like a cop, Lieutenant. Just a very well tailored one."
“Yeah, the bad guys will be awed by my fashion sense." "You'd be surprised," he replied.
"I've got work."
"You can call up the search results right here and eat some breakfast. If a machine can multitask, so can you."