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“No, it was your money.”
“Only because you gave it to me.”
“Which, darling Eve, makes it yours.”
“Now it’s Louise’s, so it doesn’t really matter. I don’t like it here.” She rolled her shoulders when they reached the rear of the clinic. “It’s a run-down area, poor—and that’s not what I mean. It’s got a strong whiff of criminal underbelly. But you know, there’s just no sense of character, or atmosphere. You feel like if some asshole came up to mug you, he’d have that accent, or cowboy boots, maybe the hat. How is that intimidating?”
“I do so completely adore you, and your chauvinistic New York mind.”
A small, dark woman darted through the door. “Officer?”
“Lieutenant Dallas. I’m working with Detectives Walker and Jones. You had a patient, claiming she’d been raped last October—outside the Circle D. Sarajo Whitehead. Those detectives caught her case, and Melinda Jones came in as counselor.”
“Yes, I remember. Have you caught the rapist?”
“He doesn’t exist. She faked it.”
“I sincerely doubt—”
“Don’t. You can check with the detectives you know. This is a very dangerous woman who is working with a very dangerous man. You know Melinda Jones.”
“Yes, very well.”
“They have her.” As Hernandez stared, Eve pushed on. “The faked attack was staged to make contact with Melinda, to connect. This woman lured Melinda out last night, and abducted her. We need everything you can tell us.”
“God, oh my God. I’m going to contact Bree. I can’t just take your word.”
“Go ahead.”
Eve waited while Hernandez used her ’link, waited through the shocked words, the shakiness.
“I’m going to get you her files,” Hernandez said when she clicked off. “I’ll give you everything I have. I believed her. Her injuries weren’t that severe, but her emotional state . . . I believed her.”
“No reason you shouldn’t have,” Eve said. “She’s good at what she does.”
8
File in hand, Eve got back into the car.
“Back to the cop shop?” Roarke asked her.
“Have to. What I want to do is get to the hotel, set up my space, organize what I have, and think.” She scowled into space for a minute. “I’m a team player.”
Roarke said, “Hmmm.”
“I am,” she insisted.
“When necessary, yes.” He flicked her a glance. “Especially if you’re in charge of the team.”
“Okay, I’ll cop to that—and that it’s hard swallowing I’ve got to check with Ricchio—his house—the feds, figure out who to work with and how. Jones is sharp, but she can’t be objective on this. None of them can. Maybe I can’t either.”
“You have to adjust without having any time to adjust.”
“There isn’t any time.”
“Exactly.”
“And he knows that. He’s playing with that. Yeah. Yeah.” She tapped her fingers on her thigh as she chewed that over. “The longer I’m off my rhythm, the longer he has to screw with me.”
