Fatigue was a weight bearing down on her. She stopped resisting and fell under it.
She woke to sunlight and the scent of coffee. The first thing she saw was Roarke, with a mug of coffee in his hand.
“How much would you pay for this?”
“Name your price.” She sat up, took it from him, drank gratefully. “This is one of my favorite parts of the marriage deal.” She let the caffeine flow through her system. “I mean, the sex is pretty good, but the coffee . . . The coffee is amazing. And you’re all-around handy yourself most of the time. Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
She took his hand before he could rise. “I wouldn’t have slept easy last night without you being here.” She gave his hand a squeeze, then shifted toward the bedside ’link. “I want to call and check on Webster.”
“I’ve already called.” She wouldn’t want it cushioned, so he told her exactly what he knew. “He made it through the night. They nearly lost him twice and took him back in for more surgery. He remains critical.”
“Okay.” She set the coffee down to scrub her hands over her face. “Okay. He felt like he needed vindication. Let’s give it to him.”
Purgatory had taken on an edge. Glamour with a bright smear of sin.
“Fast repair work,” Eve muttered as she wandered through, scanning the trio of winding, open stairs with their treads edged with hot red lights. On closer study, she noted the banisters that curved down them were sleek and sinuous snakes, and every few feet, one was swallowing its brother’s tail.
“Interesting.”
“Yes.” Roarke ran one of his elegant hands over a reptilian head. “I thought so. And practical. Start up.”
“Why?”
“Humor me.”
With a shrug, she climbed the first three. “So?”
“Feeney? Do we register on weapon check?”
“You bet. Scanner shows police-issue laser on staircase one, and secondary weapon in ankle harness.”
Eve glanced up toward Control, and the hidden speakers where Feeney’s voice boomed. With a thin smile, she looked back at Roarke. “Why don’t you come on up for a weapon scan, ace?”
“I think not. Similar scanners are set in all entrances and exits, in the bathrooms, and privacy rooms. We’ll know what we’re up against in that area.”
“Boomers,” she said, coming down again. “Knives?”
“We can scan for explosives. Knives are trickier, though the metal detectors will take care of any fashioned from that material. An hour before opening, the entire building will be swept a final time, just as a precaution.”
“Where do you plan to hold the meet?”
“We’ve divided the area into twenty-two sectors. Each will have individual security, and all will line to the main control. I’ll have a privacy booth in sector twelve, there.”
He gestured to a table on the edge of the entertainment platform. She ran her gaze up over the gold and red poles that lanced up from the stage, the pie plate—topped columns, the human-sized gilded cages.
“Close to the action.”
“Well now, the show must go on. The booth’s been rigged specifically for our purposes. Audio and video will be transmitted directly to the control.”
“He’ll insist on a scan, probably a jammer.”
“Yes, he will, but the system design will override anything
he has.”
“You’re awfully cocky.”