"I'll return him, with hardly any wear. The mayor asked specifically to have a word with you," Louise said to Roarke. "I promised I'd deliver."
"Of course." Roarke set his untouched drink aside, skimmed a hand down Eve's back. "Politics must be played."
"You're telling me. Charles, you'll entertain Dallas for a few minutes, won't you?"
Eve had to fight the instinct to snatch Roarke's arm and yank him back. He could handle himself—nobody better. But he'd been no more than a foot from her side since they'd walked into the Regency. She'd wanted to keep it that way.
She watched his back as he moved across the ballroom with Louise.
"I have a message for you, Dallas."
"Huh? What message?"
"From Maria Sanchez. I'm to tell you you're solid, and for a cop, you're a pretty decent bitch." He sipped his champagne. "I assume those are compliments."
"More to you than me, I'd say. Odds are you gave her the best conjugal she's had since they locked her cage, and the best she'll have until it opens again."
"Let's just say that if it should ever be necessary, I'm sure I could use her as a reference. Actually, she was an interesting woman with a very simple outlook on life."
"Which is?"
"The fuckers are all out to get you, so you'd better get them first."
"Somebody ought to sew that on a pillow." When she lost sight of Roarke, her stomach clutched. "Ah, I can't quite see Louise. What was that color she was wearing?"
"I got him, Dallas," Feeney said in her ear. "He's covered on the cam, and Carmichael and Rusk moved in."
"Silver," Charles said with no little surprise. He'd never heard Eve express any interest in clothes. "She looks like she's wearing moonbeams."
"Got it bad, don't you, Charles?"
"A terminal case. I've never been happier in my life. Do you know what it is to find someone who accepts you for what you are, and is willing to love you anyway?"
She searched the crowd for Roarke, settled just a little when she found him. "Yeah, I guess I do."
"It makes you a better person. It makes you ... whole. And that's enough philosophizing for one night." He shifted, blocking her view of Roarke for a moment. "Those earrings are absolutely fabulous." He reached out to touch one, and had her earpiece registering the click of finger on metal like a dull gong. "Antique?"
"Yeah." She re-angled her body, tried to zero in on Roarke again. "They belonged to a soldier."
"They're perfect for you. Anything wrong?" He touched her cheek now, drew her attention back to his. "You seem a little on edge."
"Gigs like this make me itchy. People are starting to drift toward the tables. We'd better snag our dates."
"We're sitting together. We'll catch up with them at the table." He took her arm, was surprised to feel the muscles tense, almost vibrate. "You really are itchy."
Short of knocking him down, she wasn't going to shake Charles. And shoving her way through the milling crowd wasn't the way to keep a low profile. But there was a buzz in her blood that told her to get to Roarke, and get there now.
"There's something I need to tell Roarke, but I've lost his location."
The underlying tone of urgency in her voice had Charles looking over sharply. "All right, Dallas, what's going on?"
"Roarke's at three o'clock," Feeney told her. "Twenty feet from your position. Crowd's closed in, but Carmichael and Rusk still have him in sight."
"Dallas?"
"Not now," she hissed at Charles and pivoted to the right. It was raw instinct that pushed her forward. No logic, no reason, but a primal knowledge that her mate was threatened. She caught a glimpse of him through the spark and color. Of polite amusement on his face as he was cornered by a stick-thin society butterfly. She saw Carmichael get elbowed back by a tuxedoed couple who'd imbibed a bit too freely during cocktail hour. The annoyance on Carmichael's face as she jockeyed back into position.
She heard the orchestra strike up with a bright, jazzy tune. Heard the trills of laughter, the gossipy tones as people dished dirt, the shuffle and click of feet as more went on the move.