“You don’t take stupefying love into account.”
“Stupefying,” she said as he eased in behind her. “Not even love could make you stupid.”
“I’m in this boiling pot, aren’t I? Here now.” He rubbed the cream between his palms, then began to spread it over her shoulder.
“If I’m going to have a sore shoulder, I wish I’d gotten it kicking his ass.”
“You saved a baby.”
“Save the kid, lose the killer. But not for long. I’m going to get that fucker.”
“I have every faith. To continue,” he said as he increased the pressure slightly, working steadily into the muscle and joint. “Carter Young-Sachs is considered a bit of a git. His mother in particular indulged him, and he hasn’t seemed to have outgrown his youthful dependence on that indulgence, or his affection for doing whatever he pleases whenever he pleases. He enjoys women, and doesn’t mind paying for them. He also enjoys a wide and colorful variety of illegal substances.”
“He was high when I talked to him.”
“Which, again, shows his assumption he can do as he pleases with impunity—as he always has. He puts in time at the business—he’s required to be in the offices or on company business for twenty-five hours a week in order to receive his generous salary and benefits.”
“Twenty-five hours a week? It’s a wonder he’s not suffering from exhaustion.”
“Time, according to those in the know, is about all he puts in. He’s charming and personable when he chooses to be, attractive, enjoys sports, and does well when he’s doing no more than entertaining clients.”
“He knows less than jack about company business,” Eve put in. “Every question I asked, he had to refer to his Nordic goddess admin who he’s banging.”
“It’s difficult to resist a goddess.”
“She’s banging for love. He’s in it for the bang. His ex—and she’s a looker, with money and family connections—gave me the picture of a man who wants what he doesn’t have, or someone else does. He goes after it, gets it. Forgets it. Mira would probably say something about his inner child.
I just figure his inner child needs a good spanking.”
Whatever was in the cream, she thought, definitely did the job.
“I don’t know if he’s smart enough to screw around with the books, to skim or twist around some deal, plus he’d just figure he was entitled to it anyway. But I could see him ordering up a murder to get his hands on something that wasn’t his. Somebody else’s data, but only if he knew what the hell to do with it. That’s a puzzler.”
“The younger Biden in Young-Biden would know. He’s smarter, cagier, more ambitious, and I’m told fairly ruthless.”
“Yeah, that jibes with my information.”
“He also has a quick trigger on his temper. He enjoys the life he’s been born into, and why shouldn’t he, but at the same time, he comes across as someone never really satisfied. There’s a cold, cruel streak from my research there. Both in business and in his personal life.”
“You spent some time on this.”
“It’s not difficult to get people talking. Gossip is one of the fuels of business. I have some nibbles on some of the others in the files you gave me.”
“I’ll want those, but it’s going to come down to one of these four, or a combination of them.”
Cautiously, she rolled her shoulder, barely felt a twinge. “It’s better. A lot. Maybe you won’t have to do all the work after all.”
“I disagree. No point in overtaxing an injury. Relax.”
“I am relaxed.”
“Not enough.” Gently, he stroked his cream-slicked hands over her breasts. “Chuckie wasn’t the only one who flew.”
“What?”
“Watch the vid. You didn’t just go down, you flew back a few feet first. It must’ve been like catching a cannonball. Then after you hit, you lay there, obviously dazed—and sheet white—for a few seconds.” He pressed his lips to her shoulder as he stroked. “Then, my darling Eve, when the child started screaming in obvious shock and terror, you just looked annoyed, maybe a little puzzled. I could all but hear you think: Well now, what the hell do I do with this now that I’ve got it?”
“Did I think it with an Irish accent?”