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“Annoying, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” He was warm, he was beautiful, he was hers. She could have lapped him up like cream. And why not, she thought. Why the hell not?
“But since you’re awake.” She slid her hand down his body, found him hard and ready. “All the way awake. I’ve got a little job for you.”
“Do you?” Her mouth was already roaming over his face, just missing his lips in teasing little bites. To his considerable surprise, and considerable pleasure, her fingers got very busy. They closed around him, not teasing at all, as her tongue laved thirstily along his throat.
“Well then,” he managed. “Anything for the NYPSD. Christ!” He could all but feel his eyes roll back in his head. “Am I on the clock?”
Sometime later, feeling loose and limber, she came out of the kitchen with two mugs of coffee. It surprised her that Roarke still sat in the half-dark. The cat was on his lap now, and with the faintest of smiles on his face, Roarke stroked Galahad’s back.
“I think, for an expert consultant, civilian, you’ve loafed long enough.”
“Mmm-hmm.” He took the coffee she offered. “Shutting down early to sleep, morning sex, bringing me coffee. You’re very wifely these days. Are you taking care of me, Eve?”
“Hey, if you don’t want the coffee, I’ll drink it myself. And so what if I am? And don’t call me wifely. It pisses me off.”
“I do want the coffee, thank you very much. I’m touched and grateful you’d take care of me. And pissing you off by calling you wifely is one of my small pleasures.”
“Great. Now that we’ve got all that settled, get your ass up so we can do some work.”
chapter twelve
She made the first calls and reached the detective sergeant working the homicides in Cornwall. During their fifteen-minute conversation, she was given the facts of the case in a broad North Country accent, the names of the two victims who had been identified by fingerprint, and DNA matches through Feeney’s love child, IRCCA.
DS Fortique was cheerful and forthcoming and told her that after considerable tracking and backtracking they had finally tagged the identity of the hiker who had allegedly found the bodies and made the emergency call.
Fortique was perfectly willing to save Eve time and trouble by hauling the witness in and grilling him over a pair of two-foot silver wires.
Eve decided the British police were a great deal more cooperative than her own federal agents. She gave him back in kind by passing along the data on Yost’s shopping adventures in London. They ended transmission on good terms.
Her call to the silver shop netted her a full description of Sylvester Yost, who was fondly remembered for his discriminating taste, impeccable manners, and extensive cash purchases.
Another knot tied off, Eve thought, and shifted her search to hotels.
The New Savoy wasn’t quite as cooperative as the police or the merchants in London. She was passed from desk clerk to supervisor, from supervisor to hotel manager. And it seemed there she would stall.
The manager was a woman in her mid- to late fifties with hair the color of polished steel pulled ruthlessly away from a scrawny face that ended on a pointed chin. Her eyes were a surprising baby blue, and her voice, while remaining scrupulously polite, droned on and on over the same notes.
“I’m afraid I can’t accommodate you, Lieutenant Dallas. It is the policy, the firm policy of The New Savoy, to ensure its guests’ privacy as well as their comfort.”
“When your guests start raping and murdering they lose some of that privacy, don’t you think?”
“Be that as it may, I’m unable to give you any information on a guest. It’s entirely possible you’re mistaken, and I would have breached the code of The New Savoy and insulted a guest. Until you have the proper documentation, as well as international authorization that requires I make information available to you, my hands are tied.”
I’d like to tie your hands, Eve thought, then kick your skinny butt out the window of the top floor of your stupid hotel.
“Ms. Clydesboro, if I’m forced to wake up my commanding officer and an international liaison advocate at five-fifty in the morning they’re going to be very displeased.”
“I’m afraid that’s a difficulty you’ll have to surmount. Please feel free to contact me if you—”
“Now, listen, sister—”
“One moment.” Roarke, who’d stood in the adjoining doorway and had listened to the last thirty seconds of the exchange, crossed the room and took over the ’link. “Ms. Clydesboro.”
At least Eve had the satisfaction of watching the woman’s pruney face go pale and those milky blue eyes bulge. “Sir!”
“Give Lieutenant Dallas any and all data she requires.”
