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“Mmm.”
“Sleeping in?”
“Not anymore.”
She laughed and scraped her teeth over his jaw. “Just lie back. I’ll do the work.”
“If you insist.”
She was warm and naked and still soft from the night. In the dark before light she moved over him like a dream, all scent and touch and shadow. Her lips and fingers stroked over him, stirring needs that were never quite still.
Her hands cupped his face. Her mouth sank to his.
She sighed into him. He heard something wistful in the sound, and as she lay over him, he traced his hands up and down her back, that long, lean line, as much for comfort as seduction.
His cop, he thought. So troubled. So torn. But here, they were safe and sure. Here, they were right.
He knew, she realized, and turned her face into his throat. He always knew. And the gift of having someone who did, who could, was overwhelming.
“I love you. Roarke. I love you.” Her mouth met his again, hotter now, with the first taste of urgency. “I love you. For all the times I forget to say it.”
The kiss slid back to sweetness. Her heart beat thick, beat steady against his.
In a long, slow movement, he rolled her to her back. He laid his lips on her collarbone as their legs tangled, as hers parted. He could see her now, the shape of her face, the gleam of her eyes. He slid into her, a satin glide of flesh to flesh. A quick and quiet catch of breath.
Again long, again slow, and deep, with her body rising toward his, with his falling toward hers. She shuddered, and groped for his hands. Their fingers linked; their mouths met.
Overhead, dawn broke.
It was still shy of seven when she studied the data Roarke and Jamie had accessed the night before. She frowned over it, chewed over it. Considered.
“Dukes goes down, all the way down. He has to know it. Essentially, he was the button man. Even without a confession, I’m handing the prosecutor a case he’d have to be a baboon to lose.”
“Then why do you look annoyed?”
“I just wonder if this guy knows he was the goat. All along. Whatever, whoever goes down, he takes the heaviest fall. He’s the name the media will trumpet, the image of the effigies burned once the crowd turns. If he hadn’t figured it out, I might be able to use that to convince him to point the finger at anyone I don’t have in the box.”
“And they will turn,” Roarke agree.
“Yeah they will.” She frowned. “Politics,” she said softly. “Hell of a game.”
She glanced over at Roarke. “I’m going to check out a couple things, then head in to start picking him apart. I want a good chunk of time with him before I pass him to Feeney and move onto Peachtree.”
“You’re doing Peachtree at Central?”
“His house. His involvement remains Code Five until he’s formally charged.”
“I want to observe the interviews.” He looked over from where he sat on the bedroom sofa, monitoring the stock reports on the mini-unit and the morning media report on the wall screen.
“What’s the point?”
“The point is closure. I gave way on the bust last night. I want this.”
“What’s the matter with you, Ace? You’re sprung. Job done, game over. You can spike the ball. You can go back to work and buy . . . Alaska or something.”
“I’ve as much acreage and interest in Alaska as I need for the moment. But if your heart’s set on a glacier just send me a memo. You can arrange it, Lieutenant. It’s a reasonable enough request.”
“For Dukes, yeah, but Peachtree—”
