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The ferocity of the traffic reminded Eve of the time. The accounting firm would be closed for the day. She called up Cara Greene’s home address from her memo book, then tried her on the ’link. At the transfer to voice mail, she left a message to be contacted ASAP. On the off chance Greene was putting in some overtime, Eve tried the office ’link, and left the same message.
No point in going by to bang on the door of an empty apartment, she decided. She’d wait for the callback, or hunt Greene down in the morning.
Now she had to figure out the best approach with Roarke.
Keeping her mouth shut just wasn’t an option. Even if she wanted to play that game, he’d sense something. The guy had senses like a frigging hawk. And evading would lead, unquestionably, to lying. Lying would put her in the wrong.
Goddamn if she wanted to take the heat for this.
Straight out was probably the best way, she decided. Let him blow, let him spew, and seethe over the insult. He was entitled.
The problem was he was going to blow, spew, and seethe all over her. So she’d take the high road, she’d be the good wife and take the lumps. Then he’d have to apologize, maybe even grovel a little.
How bad could that be?
She was feeling fairly steady about the entire matter when she drove through the gates of home.
Considering various openings, she jogged through the bitter cold and into the warmth. The gilded light, the lightly spiced scent of the air were spoiled momentarily by the looming figure in black that was Summerset.
“I didn’t realize you were taking a few days off,” he began as the cat left its squat at his side to prance toward Eve.
“What are you talking about?”
“As you’ve returned home unbloodied, without any of your clothing torn, I assume you’ve spent the day in some leisurely pursuit.”
“Day’s not over yet.” She tossed her coat over the newel post. “I could end it pursuing your bony ass, but you’d be the one bloodied and torn.”
She picked up the pudgy cat and hauled him with her up the stairs. He purred like a jet copter as she idly scratched his ears, then dumping him on the sofa in the bedroom, she checked Roarke’s whereabouts on the house scanner.
“Where is Roarke?”
Roarke has not yet returned to the house this evening.
Bought some time, she decided, and stripped off her clothes to change into workout gear. The best way to clear her mind and tune up, she thought, was a good sweaty session in the gym.
To avoid Summerset, she took the elevator down, then programmed a hill climb on the cardio machine. She did a hard twenty minutes until her quads felt the burn, then switched to a flat-out sprint.
She was well into a series of upper-body reps on the weight machine when Roarke strolled in.
“Long day?” she managed, puffing out air.
“A bit.” He bent over, touched his lips to hers. “Getting started or finishing up?”
“Finishing. I’ve got enough in me for a spar if you’re looking for a workout.”
“I had mine this morning. I’m looking for a very large glass of wine and a meal.”
She studied his face. “Was a long day, then. Problems?”
“Irritations, mostly, and mostly eliminated. But now that I’m thinking of it, I wouldn’t mind a swim before that wine. If I had some company.”
“Sure.” She picked up a towel, scrubbed it over her face. Get it over or put it off until he mellowed out? Tough to know, she thought, but it seemed wrong to let him mellow then hit him with a sucker punch.
“Ah, there’s this thing.” To give herself another moment, she walked over, got a bottle of water from the minifriggie. “The double murder I’m investigating. The accounting firm element.”
“You got your warrant?”
“Yeah. That’s part of the thing.”
