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He had heard, of course, and had seen enough for himself already to know the reports and rumors of just what Roarke had accomplished weren’t exaggerated. He’d been dazzled by the home, but unprepared, he realized, for the sleek and rich lushness of the workspace.
It was huge, and the view out the three-sided window was as grand as the art chosen to enhance the atmosphere. The equipment alone, and he knew his electronics, was worth a fortune. And all of it—from the ocean of carpet, the acres of real wood, the glint of glass new and antique to the streamlined efficiency of the communication and information centers—belonged to the childhood friend he’d once run with down the stinking alleyways of Dublin.
“Want a drink? Coffee?”
Mick blew out a breath. “Coffee, my ass.”
“For me, then, as I’m working. But I’ll stand you to a glass of Irish.” Roarke moved to a polished cabinet, and opened it to reveal a full bar. He poured Mick a drink before programming the AutoChef for a single cup of coffee, strong and black.
“To larceny.” Mick lifted his glass. “It may not be what keeps you here these days, but by Christ, it’s what got you here.”
“True enough. What’ve you been up to today?”
“Oh, this and that. Seeing a bit of the town.” Mick wandered as he answered, poked his head through a doorway and whistled at the enormous bathroom. “All this is missing is a naked woman. Don’t suppose you could be ordering one of those up for an old friend.”
“I never dealt in the sex trade.” Roarke sat, sipped his coffee. “Even I had my standards.”
“That you did. ’Course, you never needed to buy a night of affection either, as us mortals did from time to time.” Mick came back, made himself at home in the chair across from Roarke’s.
It came to him, fully came, that there was much more than years and miles between them. The man who could command all Roarke commanded was far away from the boy who’d plotted thievery with him.
“You don’t mind me dropping in this way, do you?”
“No.”
“It occurs to me that it’s a bit like having a poor relation land on your threshold. An annoying embarrassment a man hopes to sweep outside and away again at the first opportunity.”
Roarke thought he heard a faint edge of bitterness in the tone. “I have no relations, Mick, poor or otherwise. I’m pleased to find an old friend.”
Mick nodded. “Good. And I’m sorry for thinking it might be otherwise. I’m dazzled, and in truth, not a little envious of what you’ve managed here.”
“You could say I’ve had a good run of luck. If you really want a tour, I can arrange one while I’m taking the meeting, give you a lift home after.”
“I wouldn’t mind, but I have to say you look more like you could use a couple pints in a pub. You’ve got trouble on you.”
“I lost a friend today. He was killed this afternoon.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. It’s a violent city. A violent world come to that. Why don’t you cancel your meeting, and we’ll find a pub and wake him proper.”
“I can’t. But thanks for the thought.”
Mick nodded, and sensing it wasn’t the time for old stories, drained his glass. “Tell you what, I’ll have that tour if you don’t mind. Then I’ve business of me own I’ve been neglecting. I’m going to try to swing it into a dinner meeting, if that doesn’t inconvenience you any.”
“Whatever works for you.”
“Then I’ll plan on that, and likely not be back to your place till late. Will that be a problem with your security?”
“Summerset will see to it.”
“The man’s a wonder.” Mick got to his feet. “I’ll stop by St. Pat’s in my travels today, and light a candle for your friend.”
chapter nine
Eve sat in the conference room and watched Jonah Talbot die. She watched, and she listened, to every detail again and again.
The concentration of an attractive young man at his desk, reading a story on his screen, making notes with the quick fingers of one hand on a spiffy little PC unit while something classical played on the speakers.
He’d played the music loud. He’d never heard his killer come in the house, walk through it, step into the home office.
