J. Robb - Betrayal in Death

"It happens." Yet another waiter slid a plate under her nose. On it was a lovely little pinwheel of grilled prawns. One of her favorites. She glanced at Roarke, caught his smile.

He had a way of making such small miracles happen.

"You have solid security," she said. "As tight as it gets under the circumstances. I'd prefer you'd selected a more private venue, one with less access."

Carlton nodded enthusiastically. "I tried to argue for that, Lieutenant. And my arguments fell on deaf ears." He sent Magda an affectionate look. "I can't bear to think just now of the costs of security and insurance, or I'd spoil my appetite."

"Old fogey." Magda winked at him. "The venue is part of the package. The elegant Palace Hotel – the very fact that the display can be viewed by the public before the auction just adds to the buzz. We've generated invaluable media attention, not only for the auction itself but for the Foundation."

"And an impressive display it is," Mick commented. "I wandered over there today and had a look at it."

"Oh, I wish you'd told me you wanted to see it. I'd have taken you through personally."

"I wouldn't want to impose on your time."

"Nonsense." Magda waved that away as the first course was cleared. "I do hope you plan to be in town for the auction."

"I hadn't been, to tell you the truth, but after meeting you and seeing it all myself, I'm determined to go and to bid."

While his guests chatted, Roarke signaled to the sommelier. As he shifted to order another bottle of wine, he felt a bare foot – a small, narrow bare foot – slide suggestively up his calf. Without a flicker, he finished his request, shifted back.

He knew Eve's foot, it was narrow but long, and she was just a bit too far away to be able to play with him under the table. One casual glance gave him the angle, and his lifted eyebrow was his only reaction as he noted the secret, catlike smile on Liza Trent's face as she began to nibble on her second course.

He debated ignoring the overture or being amused by it. Before he could decide, she looked up. The gleam in her gaze wasn't for him, but for Mick. She had, Roarke realized, simply missed her mark.

Interesting, he thought, as those bare toes tried to work their way under his cuff. And complicated.

"Liza," he said and had the pleasure of feeling her foot jerk like a spring. When he looked at her, coolly, he could see understanding and a faint embarrassment cross her features. Her foot slid away. "How is everything?" he asked pleasantly.

"Lovely, thanks."

Roarke waited until the meal was done, the dessert champagne consumed, and he was driving home with Mick.

He took out a cigarette, offered the case. For a moment, they smoked in companionable silence.

"Do you remember when we boosted that lorryload of smokes? Christ, what were we, ten?" Pleased with the memory, Mick stretched out his legs. "We went through near a carton between us that same afternoon – you, me, Brian Kelly, and Jack Bodine, and Jack, bless him, got sick as six dogs from it. And the rest we sold to Six-Fingers Logan for the prettiest of profits."

"I remember it. And that a few years later Logan was found floating in the Liffey missing all his digits, including the extra one."

"Ah well."

"Mick, what are you thinking of, fucking Vince Lane's woman?"

Mick acted shocked. "What are you talking about? Why I barely know…" He trailed off, shook his head, and laughed. "Christ, trying to lie to you's a waste of energy. You never bought a con in your bloody life. How'd you figure it?"

"She gave me a lovely little leg massage on her way to you. She has good feet, but poor aim."

"Women, not a discretionary bone in their beautiful little bodies. Well now, the fact of it is, I bumped into her today in your palatial hotel when I went to see the display. One thing led to another, and the another eventually led up to her suite. What's a man to do, after all?"

"You're poaching."

Mick only grinned. "And your point would be, lad?"

"Try to keep it inbounds until my business with them is finished."

"First time I've ever heard you make a fuss about a little side of sex. But I'll do that for you, for old time's sake."

"I'm grateful."

"It's not so much of a thing. A woman's just a woman, after all. Surprises me you haven't taken a nibble of Liza yourself. She's a tasty one."

"I have a woman. A wife."

Mick gave a careless burst of laughter. "Well, when has that ever stopped a man from taking a sample here and there. Hurts no one, does it?"

Roarke watched the gates of his home open, a graceful, silent motion. "Once, I recall the lot of us, you and Bri and Jack, Tommy, and Shawn as well – got half-pissed on home brew. And as we sat around the question came up as to what the one thing in the world would be we'd want and need most. The one thing we would give up anything else to keep. Do you remember that, Mick?"

"Aye. The brew put us in a philosophical state of mind on that occasion. I said I'd be more than satisfied by a great sea of money. For then I could buy all the rest, couldn't I? It seems to me Shawn, being Shawn, wanted a dick big as an elephant's, but he was more pissed than the rest of us, and wasn't considering the logistics of it."

He turned his head, studied his friend. "Now that I'm thinking of it, I don't recall you said anything, made that selection of the one thing."

"I didn't, no. Because I couldn't see what it might be. Freedom, money, power, going one bloody week without having the old man pound on me. I couldn't decide, so I didn't say. But I know it now. Eve. She's my one thing."

Since Eve arrived home first, she made up what she could of lost time by heading straight to her office and sending the transmission to Mavis.

Her incoming data light was on. She booted it up, and began to scan the files, standing behind her desk with her palms pressed on its top.

Stowe matched her profile, Eve mused. The woman was thorough and she was efficient. The official data was less than she'd hoped for, but the agent's side notations were illuminating.

Been copying the files for personal use all along, haven't you? Eve decided. I'd have done the same.

It appeared that Stowe had begun to take Feeney's tact of cross-referencing the victims by friends, family, business associates. All of those individuals had been questioned, a select few had been taken into an official interview as suspects.

Nobody played out.

Eve shifted documents, read on, then smiled thinly. It looked as though the FBI had run into some of the same tangled tape with Interpol as she had with the Bureau. Nobody wanted to share.

"One of the many reasons he keeps sliding through."

She sat back, considered. He knows something about law enforcement, she thought. Knows about the bumps and the ruts and the paperwork, the politics and the grandstanding.

He counted on it.

Do a job in one place, bounce to another, and work there or take a nice holiday until things chilled out again. Hit Paris, zip back to New York, take in the opera, do some shopping, contemplate the view from your penthouse terrace while the French cops are chasing their own tails.

A quick trip to Vegas II, a little gambling to amuse yourself, hit your target, and take a luxury shuttle back home before Interplanetary gets the data up.

She glanced up as Roarke walked in. "Maybe he can pilot."

"Hmmm?"

"You can't always depend on public transpo, even premier class. You got delays, equipment failures, cancellations, rerouting. Why risk it? Private plane or private shuttle. Maybe both. Yeah, I can put McNab on that. Be like picking a needle out of a… a hill of needles, but we could get lucky. How come the cat didn't follow you in?"