“Is that your way of squirming out of the opera?”
Eve got in the car, stretched out her legs. “No, that’s just a little side benefit. Let’s run by her place, okay? She’s on Eightieth between Second and Third.”
“All right. But you have no excuse to squirm out of the cocktail party tomorrow night.”
“Cocktail party? What cocktail party?”
“The one I arranged fully a month ago,” he reminded her as he slipped in beside her. “To kick off the fund-raiser for the Art Institute on Station Grimaldi. Which you agreed to attend and to help host.”
She remembered, all right. He’d brought home some fancy dress she was supposed to wear. “Wasn’t I drunk when I agreed? The word of a drunk is worthless.”
“No, you weren’t.” He smiled as he skimmed from the visitors’ lot. “You were, however, naked, panting, and I believe very close to begging.”
“Bull.” Actually, she thought, folding her arms, he may have been right. The details were hazy. “Okay, okay, I’ll be there, I’ll be there with a stupid smile in some fancy dress that cost you too much money for too little material. Unless . . . something comes up.”
“Something?”
She sighed. He only asked her to do one of his silly gigs when it was important to him. “Police business. Only if it’s urgent police business. Barring that, I’ll stick for the whole fussy mess.”
“I don’t suppose you could try to enjoy it?”
“Maybe I could.” She turned her head and on impulse lifted a hand to his cheek. “A little.”
chapter eighteen
No one answered the buzzer at Nadine’s door. The recording requested simply that the caller leave a message, which would be returned at the earliest possible time.
“She could be in there brooding,” Eve mused, rocking on her heels as she considered. “Or she could be at some tony resort. She slipped her guard plenty over the past few days. She’s a slick one, our Nadine.”
“And you’ll feel better if you know.”
“Yeah.” Brow furrowed, Eve considered using her police emergency code to bypass security. She didn’t have enough cause, and she balled her hands in her pockets.
“Ethics,” Roarke said. “It’s always an education to watch you struggle with them. Let me help you out.” He took out a small pocket knife and pried open the handplate.
“Jesus, Roarke, tampering with security will get you six months house arrest.”
“Um-hmm.” Calmly, he studied the circuits. “I’m a bit out of practice. We make this model, you know.”
“Put that damn thing back together, and don’t—”
But he was already bypassing the main board, working with a speed and efficiency that made her wince.
“Out of practice, my butt,” she mumbled when the lock light went from red to green.
“I always had a knack.” The door slid open, and he tugged her inside.
“Security tampering, breaking and entering, private property trespass. Oh, it’s just mounting up.”
“But you’ll wait for me, won’t you?” With one hand still on Eve’s arm, he studied the living area. It was clean, cool, spare in furnishings, but with an expensive minimalistic style.
“She lives well,” he commented, noting the gleam on the tile floor, the few objects d’art on spearing clear pedestals. “But she doesn’t come here often.”
Eve knew he had a good eye, and nodded. “No, she doesn’t really live here, just sleeps here sometimes. There’s nothing out of place, no dents in the cushions.” She walked past him toward the adjoining kitchen, punched the available menu on the AutoChef. “Doesn’t keep a lot of food on hand, either. Mostly cheese and fruit.”
Eve thought about her empty stomach, was tempted, but resisted. She headed out across the wide living space toward a bedroom. “Office,” she stated, studying the equipment, the console, the wide screen it faced. “She lives here some. Shoes under the console, single earring by the link, empty cup, probably coffee.”
The second bedroom was larger, the sheets on the unmade bed twisted as if someone had wrapped and unwrapped themselves through a particularly long night.