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“Yeah? Well, now it’s burnt, and so are you.”
He held his hands out to show his cooperation, then used the back of one to swipe blood off his face. “What the hell’re you doing standing around the damn corner?”
“Just waiting for my ride.” She saw it cruise up, the mile-long black limo that actually made her stomach hurt with embarrassment. When Roarke lowered the back window, cocked his head, grinned, all she could do was scowl.
The beat cops huffed and puffed their way up to her. “We appreciate the assistance, ma’am. If you’d just—Lieutenant,” the cop panted when she badged him in turn. “Lieutenant. Sir. We were in pursuit of this individual as—”
“This individual made your pursuit look like a couple of old ladies hobbling back to their rocking chairs.”
“Fucking-A right,” said the individual.
“Shut up. You’re winded, sweating,” she continued. “And this guy was fresh as a daisy until his face met the sidewalk. This embarrasses me. Now if you’ve got your breath back, wrap him up.”
“Yes, sir. For the report, Lieutenant, the individual—”
“I don’t care. He’s all yours.” She strode toward the limo. “Lay off the crullers,” she called back, then climbed inside the shining black car.
12
“I WONDER,” ROARKE SAID CONVERSATIONALLY, “how the city of New York and its population manage without you personally patrolling its streets.”
She’d have come up with a smart remark, but he distracted her by handing her a cup of coffee. She reminded herself as she settled back that the windows were tinted. Nobody could actually see her stretched out in a limo with white rosebuds in crystal tubes while she drank coffee out of a porcelain cup.
So she did. “Why?” she asked. “Why did you pick me up in this ostentatious street yacht?”
“First, I don’t find it ostentatious, but convenient. And very comfortable. Second, I had a bit of work to polish off on the way over and didn’t want to drive myself. Third, you mentioned work, so if you need to do any, this is more comfortable than a cyber-café.”
“Maybe that’s logical.” She drank more coffee, closed her eyes a moment. And Roarke’s fingers brushed her cheek.
“Did the man sprawled on the sidewalk and under your boot get any licks in?”
“No. He never saw it coming. I’ve just got a lot in my head.”
Now he brought her hand to his lips. “Why don’t you let some of it out.”
She eyed him. “Was there a fourth reason we’re in this boat, and was that so you could put moves on me?”
“Darling, that would be the underlying reason for all my decisions.”
Because she could, she grabbed his lapel, yanked him over, and took his mouth in a kiss full of heat and promise. Then pushed him away again. “That’s all you get.”
“I’d prove differently, but it seems a little crass as we’re biding some time before attending a memorial.”
He could prove differently, she knew. And the hell of it was, she enjoyed when he did. She sat a moment, trying to put her thoughts back in order. “You got any crullers on tap?”
“You want a cruller?”
“No. Damn that Peabody. Anyway—”
Roarke held up a finger, pressed the intercom. “Russ, swing by a bakery, will you, and pick up a half a dozen crullers.”
“Yes, sir.”
No wonder her head was screwed up, Eve thought. A couple of minutes before she’d had her boot on some idiot’s chest while she dressed down a couple of lead-footed uniforms. Now she was gliding around New York drinking outrageously good coffee and getting crullers.
“You were saying?
” Roarke prompted.
