"Turn the temp down and face my wrath." She put her hands on either side of his face, lifted his head. Grinned. "We'd better get the hell out of here. The water level's rising."
Once they managed to pull themselves up, she headed for the drying tube. Roarke grabbed a towel.
"Really, where is everybody?"
"Last I checked, Phoebe was having a fine time playing in the greenhouse. Sam and Summerset had their heads together in the kitchen over some recipe. They've bonded like glue over herbs and sauces and whatever. I'm told they're going out with Peabody for the evening, so you don't have to worry about entertaining them."
She stepped out of the tube, took the robe he offered, then watched him hook a towel loosely at his hips. "Feeney and I are flying to Chicago tomorrow, taking a shot at Dockport. And no," she said before he could speak, "we're not taking one of your fancy transpos. We'll use the shuttle, like regular people."
"Up to you. Any new leads?"
"Nothing that's firming up for us yet." She followed him into the bedroom, hunted up a pair of jeans. "Found out that Pettibone's first wife and the commander's wife are tight. Makes it a little tricky, even though she's not high on my list. I've got to do a second-level search on the financials of the main players."
He glanced up as he hooked fresh trousers, met her scowl. "I didn't say a thing."
"I can hear you thinking, pal, and no. I've got authorization for second level, and that's as deep as I'm going right now. I don't need you using your unregistered equipment or dipping any deeper. We're moving along well enough playing this by the book."
"Do you ever ask yourself who wrote that book?"
"The long arm of the law. If you've got any free time, I wouldn't mind your take on the financials. You see numbers differently than I do."
"Lieutenant, I always have time for you."
* * *
He gave her two hours, even settled for eating pizza in her office as they studied the financial affairs of Pettibone's family and the top execs and accounts in his business. Deposits, withdrawals, transfers, bills, and bonuses. "Nothing sends up any flags for me," Roarke said at length. "You've got a couple of business associates who could use better advice on their portfolios, and that account in Tribeca should be doing a bit more per annum, so I wouldn't be surprised if a bit is going in someone's pocket here and there. Nothing major, but if it were mine, we'd be plugging the holes."
"How much do you think is being skimmed?" "Eight, nine thousand maybe, and that's only this year. Petty ante. Not enough to kill for."
"People kill for pocket change, Roarke."
"Not enough, I should say, to hire a professional. You might want to chat with the manager there, but I'd say you'd be doing it more for form. He hasn't enough to afford a pro's fee, barely enough for an amateur, and he hasn't shifted any real money out of his personals, or the flower shop to manage it. He'll have a minor gambling problem, or a fancy piece on the side."
"A fancy piece."
He glanced over. "Well now, side pieces tend to be fancy as a rule, don't they? Still, I'd opt for the gambling as I don't see any purchases that indicate he's got a woman. No hotel bills or out-of-the-way restaurant charges for dinner for two, no out-of-town trips where a man might sneak off with a woman not his wife."
"Seems to me you know an awful lot about how a man keeps that fancy sidepiece."
"Does it really? I'd say no more than your average man, and of course in a purely intellectual, even academic sense."
She picked up another slice of pizza. "Isn't it a good thing I agree with you, all around?"
"It's a great relief to me."
"I'll have a talk with the guy with sticky fingers." She rose, eating pizza as she paced. "It should be about money. It's the logical motive. But it doesn't feel like it's about money. Why does she come back to New York and target a man she's never met?"
"Maybe she had met him, or at least was planning to before she was interrupted nearly ten years ago."
"He was married ten years ago," Eve began, then paused to let it all sink in. "But maybe he was restless about the marriage even then. Maybe there are signs of that kind of dissatisfaction that a wife, a family, close friends don't see. But an outsider, one who looks for discord might spot it. He could have been on her list as a possible, someone she was researching with the idea of luring him away from his wife and into a relationship, then marriage. He'd have been a real challenge to her because he's basically a very decent, very honest man. Could she corrupt him?"
Considering, Eve turned back. "That would have appealed to her. We never pinned down how long she kept each of her targets in her sights. She may very well have been keeping Pettibone for a future mark, then she's caught, tried, imprisoned. While she's out of the picture, he divorces his wife, ends up with a fresh new wife. Maybe she killed him just because she never got the chance to play out her hand before."
"If that theory holds, you'd have no link."
"No, but I'd have a fucking motive. If she's not killing for money, then she's already got money, because she needs the lavish life. And maybe she killed just because she missed the rush. She had the money from the East Washington victim, but she hasn't touched it. I checked on that. So she's got other income and it's been sitting, waiting for a decade. I find it, I find her."
"If I were stashing money away for a rainy day, it would be in numbered accounts, various institutions, various locations." He washed down pizza with some excellent cabernet Sauvignon. "Both in and out of the country, both on and off planet. Not too much in any one pot," he added when Eve frowned at him. "In that way, if you can't easily or safely get to that particular pot, there's always another."