"Oh yes," Roarke agreed. "He was."
"About what?" It came out before Peabody could stop it.
"He recognized the name Cassandra, and he knew about Fixer." Contemplatively, Eve scratched her chin. "He was a little shaky at first, but he started to warm up. He doesn't care for cops."
"A common emotion," Roarke pointed out. "Just as it's a common mistake to underestimate certain cops. He thought he was stringing you quite nicely toward the end."
She snorted, rose. "Amateur. Peabody, order a shadow for our friend Lamont. Roarke, I'll want you to—"
"Pull his work files, review his equipment and materials lists, any requisitions, and run a fresh inventory." He rose as well. "That's already being done."
"Show-off."
He took her hand, and because watching her work put him in the mood, nibbled on her knuckles before she could snatch it away. "I'll be keeping an eye on him."
"Keep your distance," she ordered. "I want him to think he pulled off the interview. Peabody…" She turned, then cleared her throat when she caught her aide dreaming into space. "Peabody, snap to."
"Sir!" She blinked, leaped to her feet, and nearly upended her chair. Seeing Roarke's clever mouth linger over Eve's fingers had made her wonder just what McNab would have in store for her later.
"Stay on planet, will you? I'll be in touch," she added to Roarke.
"Do that." He moved to the door with them, then caught Peabody's arm to hold her back a step. "He's a lucky man," he murmured.
"Huh? Who?"
"Whoever you were just dreaming about."
She grinned like an idiot. "Not yet, but he's going to be."
"Peabody!"
Peabody rolled her eyes and double-timed it to catch up with Eve.
"Take the jet, Lieutenant," Roarke called after her.
She glanced over her shoulder, saw him, tall, gorgeous, in the center of the wide doorway. She wished she'd had the time and the privacy to stride back and give those marvelous lips one quick little bite. "Maybe." She shrugged and made the turn for the elevator.
• • •
She took the jet—as much to keep Peabody from pouting as to save time. She'd been right. It was brutally cold in Maine. Naturally, she'd forgotten her gloves, so she stuffed her hands in her pockets as she stepped off the plane and into the bitter wind.
An airport official in cold-weather coveralls hustled over, handed her a vehicle coder.
"What's this?"
"Your transportation, Lieutenant Dallas. Your vehicle is in the green parking area, level two, slot five."
"Roarke," she muttered and jammed the code into her pocket along with her frozen fingers.
"I'll show you the way."
"Yeah, do that."
They moved across the tarmac and into the warmth of the terminal. The private transportation sector was quiet, almost reverently so, as opposed to the constant noise, bumping bodies and food and gift hawkers that crowded the public areas.
They rode the elevator down to green, where Eve was shown a sleek, black air-and-road number that made the all-terrains the illegals detectives drove look like kiddie cars.
"If you'd prefer another make or model, you're authorized for any available unit," she was told.