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“Yeah, what did you do today, how’d it go, that sort of thing.”
“You’re in a mood,” he murmured, then shrugged. “I dealt with some financial reorganization.”
“What does that mean?”
“I bought some stock on its way down, sold some that I believe had topped off, studied the daily analysis of several companies and adjusted accordingly.”
“I guess that kept you busy.”
> “Enough, until about noon when I went into the office.” He wondered how long it would take until her eyes glazed over. “I had a holo-conference regarding the Olympus Resort. Cost overruns remain under the acceptable five percent. However, on a point-by-point project analysis, I find indications of a downturn in resource productivity that warrants closer study and a correction.”
Ninety seconds, he calculated, watching her eyes. He’d figured she’d drop off at sixty. “Then, I bought you a candy bar.”
“I liked that part.”
He broke off a chunk of his roll, buttered it. “Eve, did you marry me for my money?”
“You bet your ass. And you’d better hold on to it, or I’m history.”
“It’s very sweet of you to say so.”
That made her grin. “I guess we’re finished talking about your day.”
“I thought we were. What’s your lead?”
“Love. At least that’s where all the arrows are pointing right now.” She filled him in while she polished off her meal.
“Kenneth Stiles attacked Draco and beat him badly enough for medical intervention.” Roarke cocked his head. “Interesting, isn’t it, when you compare the two men. Draco was taller, considerably heftier, and certainly, on the surface, a great deal tougher. No indication that Stiles was injured?”
“None. I thought about that, too. It comes down to the pussy and the pissed. Draco being the pussy, Stiles the pissed.”
“And being the pissed cost Stiles several million dollars.”
“And he didn’t even end up with the girl.”
“Anja.”
“Peabody found a handful of Carvells in the city. Wrong age span, so we’re widening the scan. My gut tells me she has some of the answers.”
“Cherchez la femme.”
“What?”
“Find the woman,” he translated.
She lifted her glass in a quick toast. “You can count on it.”
• • •
“Anja.” He said the name softly, a bare whisper of sound. And heard the gasp of surprise and recognition that followed it. “Don’t say anything. Please. Just listen. I have to speak with you. It’s important. Not over the ‘link. Will you meet me?”
“This is about Richard.”
“It’s about everything.”
• • •
It took time. He was certain he was being watched and feared his own shadow. Stiles sat at the mirror in his dressing area and skillfully, painstakingly altered his appearance. He changed the color of his eyes, the shape of his nose, his jaw, the color of his skin. He covered his hair with a wig, a thick mane of deep brown. He supposed it was vanity that prevented him from using the more ordinary gray one.
