“I’m a little wired,” she admitted.
“And if there was a single stone left for you to turn over tonight, I’d get you another pot myself, and join you.”
Maybe he would, she thought, maybe he’d just tranq her and be done. But he was right. She’d turned every stone available. Maybe she’d have a different perspective on what she’d found under one in the morning.
“Towing company takes calls 24/7,” she said as he pulled her from the room. “That’s what they do. Maybe Carmichael and Santiago will hit something tonight.”
“They’ll contact you if they do.”
“Once DeWinter puts her stamp on Little, and the other vic in her house, the FBI’s going to angle over, or start to.”
“Does that trouble you?”
“It irks on a purely – what’s it – visceral level. But the more resources the better. They’ve got people looking into Jayla, but their focus is north. They see New York as part of the pattern, not a destination.”
She noted when they entered the bedroom, Galahad had beaten them and was now sprawled dead center in the bed.
“The more resources the better,” she repeated, sliding her hands into her pockets, trying to pace off some of the excess energy. “We wouldn’t be this far on Little without Banner, and we wouldn’t have him confirmed – and he damn well is – without DeWinter and Morris.
“And the towing angle, that’s good. Wouldn’t have that without your criminal perspective.”
“Always happy to help.” He turned her around, released her weapon harness.
She shrugged out of it. “The locals didn’t want that connection – the local connection. They wanted Jansen to have gotten his head caved in by some homicidal hitcher. It’s all over their reports.”
“Hmm.” Roarke turned her around again, unbuckled her belt.
“As for Little, smoother if that was just his bad luck.”
He tugged her sweater over her head.
“Same with Fastbinder in West Virginia. Guy takes a wrong step, does a header into a crevice. Tragic, sure, but people aren’t hammering the local law about tracking down a couple killers.”
Roarke backed her to the bed, hefted her onto the platform, nudged her to sit.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m here to help, remember.” He lifted one of her legs, pulled off her boot.
“You’re working on getting me naked.”
“The reward for the help.”
“You looking for another payment?”
“I’d planned to run an account, but under the circumstances.” He pulled off the other boot.
“I am a little wired.” She boosted up her hips as he tugged her trousers down and away. “Might as well put the caffeine to some use.”
“And if I burn it out of you, you might shut up long enough for us to both get some sleep.”
With the flat of his hand, he covered her face, gave her a gentle shove back.
And with a throaty growl, Galahad padded to the far corner of the bed, turned his back to them.
“How does he know we’re not just going to sleep?”
“Animal instinct,” Roarke supposed, pulling off his own sweater before he levered over her.