J. Robb: Ceremony In Death

"That kid's a mess, Roarke. They've fucked with her in every way possible." Disgusted, she dug her hands into her pockets. "I probably could've handled it better, but I don't see how it would help to encourage her delusions. Spells and curses and shape shifters. Jesus."

"Darling Eve." He kissed her brow. "My own practical cop."

"The way she tells it, she was practically the bride of Satan." Grumbling, Eve started for the car, turned on her heel, and paced back. "I'll tell you how it went, Roarke. She wanted to play, wanted to dabble in the occult, and she ran into real bad news. She's a naive, pretty girl, and it doesn't take a crystal ball to see it. So she went to one of their meetings, or whatever the hell you call them, and they drugged her. Then they gang-raped her. Bastards. She's drugged and in shock and vulnerable to suggestions, and it's easy for a couple of professional cons to convince her she's part of their cult. Pull a couple of magic tricks out of their hat and fascinate her. Use sex to keep her in line."

"She got to you," Roarke murmured and touched her hair, brushing away the wet.

"Maybe she did. Damn it, did you look at her? She's well-named. Looks like that kid in the fairy story. Probably believes in talking rabbits, too." Then she sighed, struggled to put her emotions back into place. "But we're not in a fairy story here. She claims she walked in on a ritual murder. A little boy, she said. I've got to get her in to Mira. A shrink will be able to sort out the fact from fiction. But I believe that murder was fact, and if they killed one child, they've killed more. People like them prey on the helpless."

"I know." He reached out to rub the tension in her shoulders. "Close to home?"

"No. It's not like what happened to me. Or you." But there were enough echoes to unnerve her. "We're still here, aren't we?" She laid a hand on his but frowned into the shadows. "Why didn't Frank make a log of what she'd told him? Why the hell did he go solo on this?"

"Maybe he did make a log. A private one."

She blinked, stared at him. "God, how could I be so slow!" She clapped her hands on either side of his face and kissed him hard. "You're brilliant."

"Yes, I know." He jerked her back as a figure darted out of the shadows and over the ramp. "Black cat," he said, simultaneously uneasy and amused at himself. "Bad luck."

"Yeah, right." She started up the ramp, cocked her head as the cat sat at the side of Roarke's car, watching her out of bright and glittering green eyes. "You don't look hungry, ace. Too sleek and glossy for an alley cat. Too perfect," she realized. "Must be a droid." Still, she crouched, reached out to stroke. The cat hissed, arched, and swiped. Eve would have found her palm laid open if she hadn't been quick enough to dodge. "Well, that's friendly."

"You should know better than to offer your hand to strange animals – or droids." But he stepped in front of Eve to uncode the car and kept his eyes on the gleaming green of the cat's. When Eve was in the car, he spoke softly. The cat's fur bristled, its tail switched, then it leaped nimbly from the ramp to the street, and it was swallowed by the fog.

Roarke couldn't have said why he'd given the order to go in Gaelic. It had simply come out that way. He was still pondering it when he slid in beside Eve.

"Listen, Roarke, I can't tap Feeney for any E-work on this. At least not until the commander loosens up. I may have to go to the family for access to Frank's personal records, but if I do that, I'll have to tell them something."

"And you'd rather not."

"Not yet, in any case. So how do you feel about using your… skills to access Frank's personal unit and logs?"

His mood lifted as he started the car, guiding it down to street level. "That depends, Lieutenant. Do I get a badge?''

Her lips twitched into a smirk. "No. But you get to have sex with a cop."

"Do I get to pick the cop?" He only smiled when she punched his arm. "I'd pick you. Probably. And I suppose you want me to begin my unofficial consultation tonight."

"That's the idea."

"All right, but I want sex first." He tucked his tongue in his cheek as she chuckled. "How long do you think Peabody's going to be busy? Just joking," he said quickly, but shifted into autodrive just in case Eve got violent. "She did look quite appealing tonight though."

Laughing, he caught her fist in his hand, then snuck the other one up to her breast.

"Listen, pal, you're in deep enough without trying that. Engaging in any sexual act in a moving vehicle is in violation of inner city codes."

"Arrest me," he suggested and nipped her bottom lip.

"I might. When I'm done with you." She wiggled free and shoved him back. "And just for that smart-ass remark about my aide, no sex until after the consult."

He disengaged auto, then slid her a slow, smiling glance. "Wanna bet?"

She met that arrogant glance narrow-eyed. "Fifty credits, even odds."

"Done." And he whistled his way through the iron gates that led home.

"Pay up."

Eve rolled over, rubbed her bare butt, and wondered if she'd have rug burns. Still vibrating from the last orgasm, she closed her eyes again. "Huh?"

"Fifty credits." He leaned over, gently kissed the tip of her breast. "You lost, Lieutenant."

Her eyes blinked open and stared into his gorgeous and very satisfied face. They were sprawled on the rug of his private room, and their clothes, as best she could recall, were scattered everywhere. Starting at the stairway where he'd trapped her against the wall and had started to… win the bet.

"I'm naked," she pointed out. "I don't generally keep credits up my – "

"I'm happy to take your IOU." He rose, all graceful, gleaming muscles, and took a memo card from his console. "Here you are." Handed it to her.

She stared down at it, knowing dignity was as lost as the fifty credits. "You're really enjoying this."

"Oh, more than you can possibly imagine."

Scowling at him, she engaged the memo. "I owe you, Roarke, fifty credits, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve." She shoved the memo at him. "Satisfied."

"In every possible way." He thought, sentimentally, that he would tuck the memo away with the little gray suit button he'd kept from their very first meeting. "I love you, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, in every possible way."

She couldn't help it. She went soft all over. It was the way he said it, the way he looked at her that had rapid pulses beating under melting skin. "Oh, no, you don't. That kind of thing's how you took me for fifty." She scrambled up before he could distract her again. "Where the hell are my pants?"

"I haven't the faintest idea." He walked to a section of the wall, touched a mechanism. When the panel slid open, he drew out a robe. It was silk and thin and made her eyes narrow again.

He was always buying her things like that, and they always seemed to find their way to various parts of the house. Conveniently.

"That's not working attire."

"We can do this naked, but you'd certainly lose another fifty." When she snatched the robe out of his hand, he turned and took out another for himself. "This could take some time. We'll want coffee."

As she went to the AutoChef to get coffee, Roarke moved behind the console. The equipment here was first flight, and unregistered. CompuGuard couldn't track it nor block him from hacking into any system. Still, even with those advantages, finding a personal log that may or may not have existed was like separating individual grains of sand from a bucketful.

"Engage," he ordered. "More likely his home unit, wouldn't you think?"

"Anything on his unit at Cop Central would have been transferred, and official units record all logging. If he wanted to keep something to himself, he'd have used a private system."