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The eighth floor was a wide, airy office and reception area filled with clerks and drones and snazzily suited execs. It was done in navys and grays with the startling slap and dash of wild red flowers streaming along under the windows and around a central console.
She thought that Roarke had a thing about flowers in the businessplace—anyplace, really. His main headquarters in midtown was alive with them.
She'd barely stepped out, had yet to reach for her badge, when a tall man in a severely cut black suit came toward her with a polished smile.
"Lieutenant Dallas. Roarke's expecting
you. If you and your aide would follow me?"
A nasty part of her wanted to tell him to inform his boss to keep his pretty nose out of her business, but she sucked it in. She needed to talk to Lamont, and if Roarke had decided to be the line to him, it would take more time and energy than she had to waste to go around him.
She followed him through the cubicles, past snazzier offices, more flowers, and through open double doors to a spacious conference room.
The center table was a thick, clear slab, lined with matching chairs with deep blue cushions, seat and back. A quick glance showed it held all the comforts and over-the-top technology she expected from anything Roarke had his hand in or his name on.
There was a maxi AutoChef and cold box, a fully equipped communications center, a rather jazzy entertainment console, and a wide window with full security and sun shade.
On the enormous wall screen an animated schematic twirled and spun. The man at the head of the table turned his attention from it, lifted a cocky brow, and gave his wife a charming smile.
"Lieutenant, Peabody. Thank you, Gates." He waited until the doors were closed, then gestured. "Have a seat. Would you like some coffee?"
"I don't want a seat or any damn coffee," Eve began.
"I'd like some coffee." Peabody winced under Eve's withering stare. "On the other hand…"
"Sit," Eve ordered. "Quiet."
"Sir." She sat, she was quiet, but sent Roarke a sympathetic glance before she did her best to become blind, deaf, and invisible.
"Did I ask you to have me cleared?" Eve began. "Did I ask you to be here when I came in to interview Lamont? I'm in the middle of an extremely sensitive investigation, one the feds would like to snatch out from under me. I don't want your name in my reports any more often than absolutely necessary. You got that?"
She'd marched to him as she spoke and ended by jabbing a finger at his shoulder.
"God, I love it when you scold me." He only smiled when she hissed breath between her teeth. "Don't stop."
"This isn't a joke. Don't you have worlds to conquer, small industrial nations to buy, businesses to run?"
"Yes." The humor cleared out of his eyes, leaving them dark and intense. "And this is one of them. Just as the hotel where people died yesterday is one of them. If someone in my employ turns out to be connected in any way, it's my business as much as yours, Lieutenant. I thought that was understood."
"You can't blame yourself for yesterday."
"If I say the same to you, will you listen?"
She stared at him a moment, wishing she didn't see his side so clearly. "Did you question Lamont?"
"I know better than that. I rescheduled my morning, arranged for your clearance, and made sure that Lamont was in the lab. I haven't sent for him yet. I assumed you'd want to rail at me a bit first."
If she was that predictable, Eve decided it was time for some realigning. "I'll take that coffee before you send for Lamont."
He skimmed his fingers along the tips of her hair before turning to deal with it. Eve dropped down in a chair, scowled at Peabody. "What are you staring at?"
"Nothing. Sir." Deliberately, Peabody looked away. It was so fascinating to watch them together, she mused. An education in the tug-of-war of relationships. And the way they looked at each other when their minds came together. You could actually see it.
She couldn't imagine what it was like to be that connected. So meshed that the brush of fingertips over your hair was a simple and absolute declaration of love.
She must have sighed. Roarke angled his head as he set her coffee in front of her. "Tired?" he murmured, and laid a hand on her shoulder.
Peabody felt she was entitled to the lovely flush of heat and mild lust she experienced nearly every time she looked at that spectacular face of his. But she didn't think Eve would appreciate it if she sighed again. "Rough night," she said and dipping her head, concentrated on her coffee.
