The taste of her—lips, throat, breasts—filled him, as it always did, even as it stirred hunger for more. Her heartbeat under his hand, under his mouth, and her first sign of pleasure trailed off into a quiet moan.
She arched against him, strength and surrender. Opened for him, invitation and demand.
He slipped inside her—hot and wet and waiting—and it was he who moaned as she closed around him. Shadows in the dark, their bodies rose and fell together, a slow, silky rhythm to draw out the night.
Pleasuring her, pleasuring himself, he slipped his hands under her hips, lifted her. Gave her more.
She locked herself around him, rode the edge. And when she felt herself begin to fall, she said his name.
He lifted his head, saw the gleam of her eyes, open, on him. “Eve,” he said, and let himself fall with her.
Into the night, in the dark, he lay beside her, listening to her breathe. He knew the varied and sundry reasons a man would kill. But none were more fierce, none were more vital than to hold safe what he loved.
chapter four
Lieutenant Alan Mills caught Eve on her communicator as she was grabbing her second cup of coffee. Her first thought was that he looked as though he could have used a good jolt of caffeine himself.
His eyes were sleepy and irritable, a watery gray in a pale face.
“Dallas. Mills, here. You looking for me.”
“That’s right. I’m primary on the Kohli homicide.”
“Son of a bitch.” Mills snorted, sniffed. “I’d like a piece of the dickweed who did Kohli. What have you got?”
“This and that.” She wasn’t about to share investigative data with a man who looked like he’d yet to roll out of bed and had probably rolled into it with a little chemical enhancement, not strictly departmentally approved. “You and a Detective Martinez worked with Kohli on a task force over the past year. Max Ricker.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Mills rubbed his face. She could actually hear the scrub brush sound of his stubble against his palm. “Him and about a dozen other cops, and the slick bastard still oozed through the cracks. You think Ricker’s tied to this?”
“I’m covering my bases here. I need a picture of Kohli, then maybe I’ll get a picture of his killer. You got some time this morning, Mills, maybe you could hook Martinez and meet me at the crime scene. I’d appreciate any input.”
“I heard the case was being transferred to our house.”
“You heard wrong.”
He seemed to digest this information and not find it particularly to his liking. “Kohli was one of ours.”
“And now he’s mine. I’m asking for some cooperation on this. Are you going to give it to me?”
“I want a look at the scene anyway. When?”
“No time like the present. I’ll be at Purgatory in twenty minutes.”
“I’ll round up Martinez. Probably still taking her siesta. She’s a Mex.”
He ended transmission and left Eve regarding her communicator thoughtfully before she stuck it in her trouser pocket. “Gee, Mills. Nobody told me you were a complete and total asshole. Go figure.”
“The asshole is still going to want to prove he has harder balls than you,” Roarke commented. He’d stopped scanning the morning stock reports to watch her handle her colleague.
“Yeah, I got that.”
She snagged her weapon harness, strapped it on. In a way, Roarke thought, another woman clipped on earrings. He rose, slid a finger down the dent in her chin. “He’ll find out, very shortly, he’s wrong. No one has harder balls than you, Lieutenant.”
She checked her weapon, settled it. “Is that a compliment or a dig?”
“An observation. I’d like to take another look at the scene myself—for insurance purposes.”
For insurance purposes her ass, Eve thought. “Not today, pal. But I’ll try to clear it for you by tomorrow.”