Despite the company, Eve managed to slip away long enough to dismiss McNab and Peabody, gather their reports and file them for later view. She cornered Summerset and, after a nasty little conversation, convinced him it would be in his best interest to report to Dr. Mira's office at eleven a.m. for testing.
At the end of it, her head throbbed badly enough for her to resort to a dose of painkiller. Roarke found her in the bathroom, scowling at the pills palmed in her hand.
"It must be unbearable, for you to even consider a pill."
"It's been a long day," she said with a shrug, and dumped the pills back into their tube. "But I can handle it."
"We'll run a bath. You need to relax."
"I've got work."
"Eve." Firmly, he took her arms, turned her to face him. "This is the part of your job I hate most. The shadows it puts under your eyes, and in them."
"I don't have a lot of time on this one."
"Time enough to take an hour for yourself." Still watching her, he began to rub at the knots in her shoulders.
"I have to read the reports, extrapolate from them for the official record. I keep hitting walls." There were nerves in her voice, and hearing them irritated her. "I haven't been able to trace the tokens at all, and you hit it on the statue. Thousands of them available at God shops all over the known universe. Even at five hundred credits a pop, she's a popular lady."
She started to pull back, but his hands held her still. "I have to give Whitney something by tomorrow. I told Mira everything."
His hands paused, a fraction of a moment, then continued kneading her muscles. "I see."
"Maybe I should have asked you first, but I did what I felt was necessary."
"There's no need to apologize."
"I'm not apologizing." This time she shrugged him off. "I'm saying." She stalked into the bedroom. Even excellent coffee could start to burn a hole in the gut. Despite it, Eve jammed at the AutoChef to program a pot. "I'm doing what needs to be done, and one of those duties is to advise you to increase your personal security until this case is closed."
"I believe my security is more than adequate."
"If that was the case, this bastard wouldn't have slipped through it to shoot transmissions from this house, to arrange for hotel rooms with one of your credit accounts, to draw a woman over from Ireland in your name."
Roarke angled his head, nodded. "Point taken. I'll have a look, personally, at my electronic security."
"Fine, that's a start." She slopped coffee into a cup. "I'm putting a tag on Summerset."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I'm tagging him." The fury was bubbling, couldn't be stopped. "For his own welfare. The next time I find a body, I want him well alibied. I put a tag on him, fit him with a security bracelet, or cage him. I figure the first is the easiest choice."
"Perhaps it is." Roarke decided brandy would go down easier than coffee. "And do you intend to put a tag on me, Lieutenant?''
"If I thought one could stick, damn right I would. Since you'd peel it off within an hour, it would be a waste of time."
"Well." He lifted his snifter in salute. "We understand each other."
"I think we do." She drew a breath. "I contacted the ME. There were traces of a tranq in Jennie O'Leary's system."
Roarke stared into his brandy. "Had she been raped?"
"No, there were no signs of sexual assault, no indication of struggle. She was still tranq'd when he strung her up. But the token—there was another token—the ME found it in her vagina. Again, there was no bruising or indication of force or struggle. It would appear that the token was inserted while she was unconscious. I'm sorry, but I thought you'd want the details."
"I do, yes."
"The ME reports that you've requested—as the victim has no next of kin—to be given possession of the body when it's released."
"She'd want to go back to Ireland."