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“I know what time it is.” She bared her teeth when he stepped in front of her to block the staircase. “Let’s understand each other, pal. I hate you, you hate me. The difference is I’ve got a badge. Now get the hell out of my way or I’ll haul your bony ass in for obstructing an officer.”
Dignity coated him like silk. “Do I take that to mean you’re here, at this hour, in an official capacity, Lieutenant?”
“Take it any way you want. Where is he?”
“If you’ll state your business, I’ll be happy to determine Roarke’s current whereabouts and see if he’s available to you.”
Out of patience, Eve jammed an elbow in his gut and skirted his wheezing form. “I’ll find him myself,” she stated as she bounded up the stairs.
He wasn’t in bed, alone or otherwise. She wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that, or what she would have done if she’d found him twined around some blonde. Refusing to think about it, she turned on her heel and marched away toward his office, with Summerset hot on her trail.
“I intend to file a complaint.”
“File away,” she shot back over her shoulder.
“You have no right to intrude on private property, in the middle of the night. You will not disturb Roarke.” He slapped a hand on the door as she reached it. “I will not allow it.”
To Eve’s surprise, he was out of breath and red-faced. His eyes were all but jittering in their sockets. It was, she decided, more emotion than she’d believed him capable of.
“This really puts your jocks in a twist, doesn’t it?” Before he could prevent it, she hit the mechanism and the door slid open.
He made a grab for her, and Roarke, who turned from his study of the city, had the curious surprise of watching them grapple.
“Put a hand on me again, you tight-assed son of a bitch, and I’ll deck you.” She lifted a fist to demonstrate. “The satisfaction would be worth my badge.”
&n
bsp; “Summerset,” Roarke said mildly. “I believe she means it. Leave us alone.”
“She’s exceeded her authority—”
“Leave us alone,” Roarke repeated. “I’ll deal with this.”
“As you wish.” Summerset jerked his starched jacket back into place and strode out—with only the slightest of limps.
“If you want to keep me out,” Eve snapped on her march toward the desk, “you’re going to have to do better than that flat-assed guard dog.”
Roarke merely folded his hands on the desktop. “If I’d wanted to keep you out, you would no longer be cleared through gate security.” Deliberately, he flicked a glance at his watch. “It’s a bit late for official interviews.”
“I’m tired of people telling me what time it is.”
“Well then.” He leaned back in the chair. “What can I do for you?”
chapter nine
Attack was the emotional choice. Eve could justify it as the logical one as well.
“You were involved with Yvonne Metcalf.”
“As I told you, we were friends.” He opened an antique silver box on the desk and took out a cigarette. “At one time, intimate friends.”
“Who changed the aspect of your relationship, and when?”
“Who? Hmmm.” Roarke thought it over as he lighted the cigarette, blew out a thin haze of smoke. “I believe it was a mutual decision. Her career was rising quickly, causing numerous demands on her time and energy. You could say we drifted apart.”
“You quarreled?”
“I don’t believe we did. Yvonne was rarely quarrelsome. She found life too . . . amusing. Would you like a brandy?”
