“Confident, Lieutenant. I designed the system myself and have already tested it. Two of my hand-picked security will be onstage, performing, during the meet.”
“You’ve got security strippers?”
“Don’t hate them because they’re beautiful. If it’s necessary to deal with any of Ricker’s men, they’ll do so.”
“The deal didn’t include civilian hammers. We’ll have cops in every sector.”
He nodded pleasantly. “I could, of course, simply set up my personal security team without informing you of it. But as a temporary civilian attaché, I feel obliged to relay all pertinent information to the team commander.”
“Smart-ass.”
“I love you, too.”
“The bathroom’s are mag,” Peabody reported as she strode up. “Wait till you see, Dallas. The sinks are like little lakes, and there are like a million miles of counter. All this sexy art painted on the walls. And even sofas.”
She caught herself before Eve could reply, cleared her throat. “McNab and I completed our run-through, sir, and all security—audio, visual, and scans—are operational.”
“Your uniform jacket is improperly secured, Officer Peabody.”
“My . . .” She looked down, turned bright pink to the roots of her bowl-cut hair, and hastily began to secure the brass buttons McNab had so hastily undone.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Peabody, are you a damn rabbit? Go fix yourself up somewhere and put your hormones on hold for awhile.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
Peabody slunk away and left Eve scowling at Roarke. “Don’t think I don’t know what a big, fat kick you’re getting out of this. I told you this thing with McNab was going to screw up my aide.”
“As a recent liaison to the NYPSD, I found the conduct disgraceful.” He turned back, leading with the grin that made his face impossibly young, ridiculously beautiful. “Absolutely disgraceful. I think we should go do a run-through of the lounges personally. Right now.”
“Pervert.” She jammed her hands in her pockets and was about to walk away from him and up to Control when the main door opened. Rue MacLean stepped in.
She hesitated when Eve’s cold stare blasted her, then straightened her shoulders and crossed the room. They met in front of the bar where Kohli had served his last drink.
“Ms. MacLean.”
“Lieutenant. I’m perfectly aware of what you think of me, and you’re entitled to say it to my face.”
“Why waste my breath? I walked through a cop’s blood on this floor. That says enough.”
“Eve.” Roarke touched her shoulder. He turned to Rue. “You’ve seen Ricker?”
“Yes. He’s—”
“Not here.” He gestured to the side wall. The control panel, as the elevator it operated, was hidden in the mural depicting the fall of Adam. The door slid open to a small private car. They rode silently to the owner’s office.
Roarke moved to a friggie behind a smoked mirror, took out chilled bottles of spring water, poured. “Why don’t you sit down, Rue? Conversations with Ricker have a tendency to shake the spirit.”
“Yes, thanks.”
“Aren’t we polite?” Furious, Eve gestured away Roarke’s offer of water. “Aren’t we just delightful and civilized. You want to trust her, pal, that’s your privilege. Don’t expect the same consideration from me. She set you up.”
“That’s right.” Roarke put the glass in Rue’s unsteady hand. “And now she’s returning the favor. And not without risk.”
Roarke took Rue’s hand, and though she tried to jerk free, he calmly unbuttoned her cuff and rolled the sleeve up on the arm he’d noticed her favoring.
Dark, ugly bruises ran from wrist to elbow.
“He hurt you. I’m sorry.”