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"We could go back the way we came." But there was a glint in his eye as he stood. "Or we can have some fun with it."
"I don't want any fun."
"I do." He took her hand to help her to her feet, then reached out to grip a rope and pulley. "Do you know what today's matinee was?"
"No."
"A revival of that longtime children's favorite, Peter Pan. Hold tight, darling."
"Don't." But he'd already pulled her close and in automatic defense, her arms locked around him. "I'll kill you for this."
"The pirates look great swinging to stage on these. Inhale," he suggested, then with a laugh swung free.
She felt a rush of wind that took her stomach and flung it behind her. Before her glazed eyes, she watched color and shape fly. The only thing that stopped her from screaming was pride, and even that was nearly used up as they flew over the orchestra pit.
Then the crazy man she was somehow married to closed his mouth silkily over hers. A hot little ball of pure lust burned along with terror, and both managed to jelly her knees so they buckled clumsily when her boots hit the stage.
"You're dead. You're meat."
He kissed her again and chuckled against her mouth. "It was worth it."
"Nice entrance." Feeney, his face rumpled and weary, walked toward them. "Now, if you kids have finished playing, we've got two more of these bastards still armed."
Eve elbowed Roarke aside and managed to stand on her own. "Civilians out?"
"Yeah, we're clear there. If they stick to deadline, we should make it. Cutting it damn close, but—"
He broke off as the rumble sounded below and the stage shook beneath their feet. Above, lights and cables swung wildly.
"Oh hell, oh shit." Eve slapped her communicator into her hand. "Malloy? Anne? Report. Give me a report. Anne? Do you copy?"
The answering buzz had her gripping Feeney's shoulder, then there was a crackle. "Malloy here. We had it contained. No injuries, no casualties. The timer went and we had to contain and detonate. Repeat, no injuries. But this understage area is one holy mess."
"Okay. All right." Eve rubbed a hand over her face. "Status?"
"We got them all, Dallas. This building's clean."
"Report to the conference room at Central when you're secured here. Good work." She broke transmission, spared Roarke a quick glance. "You're with me, pal." She offered Feeney a brief nod before striding off. "We'll need all security data on this building, a complete list of personnel—techs, performers, maintenance, managerial. Everyone."
"I ordered that for you when I learned the target. It should be waiting for you at Central."
"Fine. Then you can go back to buying the planet and stay out of my hair. Give me the chip."
He lifted a brow. "What chip?"
"Don't be cute. Let me have the impact chip or whatever it's called."
"Oh, that chip." With the appearance of cooperation, he took out his handkerchief, unfolded it. And revealed nothing. "I seem to have lost it somewhere."
"Like hell. Give me the goddamn chip. Roarke. It's evidence."
Smiling blandly, he shook the handkerchief, shrugged.
She moved in until her toes bumped his. "Give me the damn thing, Roarke." She hissed it out. "Before I order you strip-searched."
"You can't do that without a warrant. Unless, of course, you'd like to do it yourself, in which case I'd be more than delighted to waive a few of my civil rights."
"This is an official investigation."
