The woman in the killer suit paused again, flashed her cool, perfect smile, then spoke into a hidden speaker. “Lieutenant Dallas, sir.”
“Send her in, Caro. Thank you.”
Again Caro pressed her palm to a slick black glass. “Go right in, lieutenant,” she invited as a panel slid open.
“Thanks.” Out of curiosity, Eve watched her walk away, wondering how anyone could stride so gracefully on three-inch heels. She walked into Roarke’s office.
It was, as she expected, as impressive as the rest of his New York headquarters. Despite the soaring, three-sided view of New York, the lofty ceiling with its pinprick lights, the vibrant tones of topaz and emerald in the thickly cushioned furnishings, it was the man behind the ebony slab desk that dominated.
What in hell was it about him? Eve thought again as Roarke rose and slanted a smile at her.
“Lieutenant Dallas,” he said in that faint and fascinating Irish lilt, “a pleasure, as always.”
“You might not think so when I’m finished.”
He lifted a brow. “Why don’t you come the rest of the way in and get started? Then we’ll see. Coffee?”
“Don’t try to distract me, Roarke.” She walked closer. Then, to satisfy her curiosity, she took a brief turn around the room. It was as big as a heliport, with all the amenities of a first-class hotel: automated service bar, a padded relaxation chair complete with VR and mood settings, an oversize wall screen, currently blank. To the left, there was a full bath including whirl tub and drying tube. All the standard office equipment, of the highest high-tech, was built in.
Roarke watched her with a bland expression. He admired the way she moved, the way those cool, quick eyes took in everything.
“Would you like a tour, Eve?”
“No. How do you work with all this . . .” Using both hands, she gestured widely at the treated glass walls. “Open.”
“I don’t like being closed in. Are you going to sit, or prowl?”
“I’m going to stand. I have some questions to ask you, Roarke. You’re entitled to have counsel present.”
“Am I under arrest?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Then we’ll save the lawyers until I am. Ask.”
Though she kept her eyes level on his, she knew where his hands were, tucked casually in the pockets of his slacks. Hands revealed emotions.
“Night before last,” she said, “between the hours of eight and ten P.M. Can you verify your whereabouts?”
“I believe I was here until shortly after eight.” With a steady hand he touched his desk log. “I shut down my monitor at 8:17. I left the building, drove home.”
“Drove,” she interrupted, “or were driven?”
“Drove. I keep a car here. I don’t believe in keeping my employees waiting on my whims.”
“Damned democratic of you.” And, she thought, damned inconvenient. She’d wanted him to have an alibi. “And then?”
“I poured myself a brandy, had a shower, changed. I had a late supper with a friend.”
“How late, and what friend?”
“I believe I arrived at about ten. I like to be prompt. At Madeline Montmart’s townhouse.”
Eve had a quick vision of a curvy blond with a sultry mouth and almond eyes. “Madeline Montmart, the actress?”
“Yes. I believe we had squab, if that’s helpful.”
She ignored the sarcasm. “No one can verify your movements between eight-seventeen and ten P.M. ?”