She was smiling still as she combed her fingers through his thick, black hair. “Everything okay with the Olympus Resort?”
“Adjustments, some delays. Nothing that can’t be dealt with.” The elaborate space station resort and pleasure center would open on schedule, because he wouldn’t accept any less.
He ordered the jets off, then took a towel to wrap around her when she would have used the drying tube. “I began to understand why you stay in here while I’m away. I couldn’t sleep in the Presidential Suite.” He took another towel, rubbed it over her hair. “It was too lonely without you.”
She leaned against him a moment, just to feel the familiar lines of his body against hers. “We’re getting so damn sappy.”
“I don’t mind. We Irish are very sentimental.”
It made her smirk as he turned to get robes. He might have had the music of Ireland in his voice, but she seriously doubted if any of his business friends or foes would consider Roarke a sentimental man.
“No fresh bruises,” he observed, helping her into her robe before she could do it for herself. “I take that to mean you’ve had a quiet few days.”
“Mostly. We had a john get a bit overenthusiastic with a licensed companion. Choked her to death during sex.” She belted the robe, scratched fingers through her hair to scatter more water. “He got spooked and ran.” She moved her shoulders as she stepped into the office. “But he lawyered up and turned himself in a few hours later. PA took it down to manslaughter. I let Peabody handle the interview and booking.”
“Hmm.” Roarke went to a recessed cabinet for wine, poured them both a glass. “It’s been quiet then.”
“Yeah. I had that viewing tonight.”
His brow furrowed, then cleared. “Ah, yes, you told me. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it home in time to go with you.”
“Feeney’s taking it really hard. It would be easier if Frank had gone down in the line of duty.”
This time Roarke’s brow quirked. “You’d prefer that your associate had been killed rather than, say, go gently into that good night?”
“I’d just understand it better, that’s all.” She frowned into her wine. She didn’t think it wise to tell Roarke she’d prefer a fast and violent death herself. “There is something odd, though. I met Frank’s family. The oldest granddaughter’s on the weird side.”
“How?”
“The way she talked, and the data I accessed on her after I got home.”
Intrigued, he lifted his wine to sip. “You ran a make on her?”
“Just a quick check. Because she passed me this.” Eve walked to the desk, picked up the note.
Roarke scanned it, considered. “Earth labyrinth.”
“What?”
“The symbol here. It’s Celtic.”
Shaking her h
ead, Eve eased closer to look again. “You know the strangest things.”
“Not so strange. I spring from the Celts, after all. The ancient labyrinth symbol is magical and sacred.”
“Well, it fits. She’s into witchcraft or something. Got herself the start of a top-flight education. Harvard. But she drops out to work in some West Village shop that sells crystals and magic herbs.”
Roarke traced the symbol with a fingertip. He’d seen it before, and others like it. During his childhood, the cults in Dublin had run the range between vicious gangs and pious pacifists. All, of course, had used religion as the excuse to kill. Or be killed.
“You have no idea why she wants to meet you?”
“None. I’d say she figures she read my aura or something. Mavis ran a mystic grift before I busted her for pinching wallets. She told me people will pay most anything if you tell them what they want to hear. More, if you tell them what they don’t want to hear.”
“Which is why cons and legitimate businesses are very much the same.” He smiled at her. “I take it you’re going, anyway.”
“Sure, I’ll follow through.”