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“Lieutenant. How can I help you?”
“I want to speak with Ms. Quigley. Mr. Copley, too.”
“I’m afraid Mr. Copley isn’t at home at this time. Ms. Quigley has an appointment shortly.”
“Then I’ll try not to keep her long.”
“Of course. Please come in. I’ll let her know you’re here. Make yourselves comfortable,” she added, leading them into the living area. “May I serve you anything?”
“We’re good.”
Eve waited until the droid left the room. “You know she’s already told Quigley who was at the door. Why do they always act like they haven’t?”
“It’s a procedure. It’s a nice old building,” he observed. “Very well rehabbed.”
“Taste and money?”
“It would take both, and an admirable respect for the character of the brownstone.”
He turned, as she did, at the quick click of heels. “Lieutenant, I wasn’t expecting . . . Roarke.” Natasha’s smile flashed out as she clicked over, extended a hand. “We met, very fleetingly, several years ago, at an art show in London.”
“It’s lovely to see you again.”
“Please, sit down. I didn’t put it together when I spoke with you before,” she said to Eve. “I suppose the upset over everything fogged my focus. Eve Dallas, Roarke’s wife—and the star of The Icove Agenda.”
“Marlo Durn’s the star of that. I’m a cop.”
And you’re a liar, Eve thought. She’d made the connection already. Why pretend otherwise?
“Of course. I heard Nadine Furst is working on a second book based on one of your cases. I’ll look forward to reading it even more now that we’ve met. Even under the circumstances.”
“Where’s your husband?”
Natasha blinked once at the flat tone, but kept her smile in place. “JJ’s golfing. He and Lance and two of their friends have
a regular game every fourth Sunday, in Florida. They took the corporate shuttle this morning. He’ll be back by six, if it’s important.”
“You’ll do. The last time we spoke you expressed considerable concern about your husband learning of your affair with Ziegler.”
“I . . .” The faintest flush—embarrassment, anger, a combination, rose into her cheeks. “I was forthright with you, Lieutenant. I’d prefer not to discuss it again.”
“If you know Nadine’s book, the vid, you’re aware Roarke often serves as an expert civilian consultant.”
“You can rely on my discretion, Natasha.” Roarke spoke smoothly, and with the lightest touch of sympathy.
“I appreciate that, of course. Still, it’s very uncomfortable. It wasn’t an affair, though I pretended it was to, well, sugarcoat it for myself. It was a business transaction, on both sides, which I engaged in during a difficult time in my marriage. I’m certainly not proud of it.”
“You were concerned if your husband knew, he’d end the marriage. Yet this wouldn’t be the first time either of you engaged in affairs.”
The color deepened. “I don’t see what that has to do with Trey’s death, or my current marital status.”
“It’s harder for me to believe he’d toss it all out over . . . a business transaction, given the history.”
“The history is precisely why. We’ve made mistakes, we’ve both been unfaithful in the past. We promised each other we’d never do so again.”
“Felicity Prinze.”
She saw it, immediately. Natasha knew.
