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“It would turn the board of directors white with shock—and, family or not, this little Wineburg would have been out on his ass.”
“He didn’t look like the type to risk it, but you never know. Sex, he said. Just for the sex. He could have been one of the ones who had at Alice. Then he’s guilty or curious and comes by the viewing. The one thing he was, was scared. He saw something, Roarke. He saw someone murdered. I know it. If I’d gotten him in, I’d have pulled it out of him. I could have broken him in ten minutes.”
“Apparently, someone else thought so, too.”
“Someone who was right there. On the spot. Watching him. Watching the viewing.”
“Or watching you,” Roarke finished. “Which is more likely.”
“I hope they keep watching, because before long, I’m going to turn around and bite them on the throat.” She glanced up as the limo pulled up to the front of Cop Central. Vaguely embarrassed, she peered out, hoping no cops were loitering nearby. She’d be ragged on for days. “I’ll see you at home. Couple hours.”
“I’ll wait.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Go home.”
He simply leaned back, ordered the screen to engage and list the latest stock information. “I’ll wait,” he repeated and poured another brandy.
“Hardhead,” she muttered as she got out, then winced when someone called her name.
“Woowee, Dallas, going to slum with us working poor for awhile?”
“Bite me, Carter,” she muttered, and rushed inside before the delighted laughter forced her to break someone’s face.
An hour later, she was back, bone weary and sparking mad. “Carter just had it announced over the main that my carriage awaited anon. What an idiot. I don’t know whether to kick his ass or yours.”
“Kick his,” Roarke suggested and draped an arm around her. He’d switched from work to pleasure mode and had an old video on screen.
She caught the scent of expensive tobacco clinging to the air and wished she could claim it irritated her. But it soothed, along with his arm and the ancient black-and-white video.
“What is this?”
“Bogart and Bacall. First film together. She was nineteen, I think. Here’s the line.”
Eve stretched out her legs and listened to Bacall ask Bogie if he knew how to whistle. Her lips twitched. “Clever.”
“It’s a good film. We’ll have to watch it all the way through sometime. You’re tense, Lieutenant.”
“Maybe.”
“We’ll have to fix that.” He shifted, poured a stemmed glass full of straw-colored liquid. “Drink.”
“What is it?”
“Wine, just wine.”
She sniffed it suspiciously. He wasn’t above doctoring it, she knew. “I was going to work a little when we get home. I need my head clear.”
“You have to shut down sometime. Relax. Your head can be clear in the morning.”
He had a point. She had too much data in her head, and none of it was helping. Four deaths now, and she was no closer. Maybe if she backed off for a few hours, she’d see better.
“Whoever did Wineburg was quick and quiet. And smart, going for the heart. Hit the throat like Lobar, and you get blood all over you. Hit the heart, it’s over fast and with minimal mess.”
“Umm-hmm.” He began to knead the back of her neck. It was always a magnet for her stress.
“What were we, thirty, forty seconds behind? Fast, really fast. If Wineburg cracked, there could be another. I’ve got to get the membership list. There has to be a way.” She sipped at the wine. “What were you and Feeney talking about?”
“Mexico. Stop worrying.”
