"Thought that would get you." His mouth thinned as he brought up more data. "The primary—some dickhead named Rosswell attached to the one sixty-second—concluded the victim was killed by an irate John. It's his decision that the nature of the case is unclosable and not worth the department's time or efforts."
&
nbsp; "The one six-two? Same house as Bowers. Do they breed morons down there? Peabody," she snapped, but her aide already had her 'link out.
"Yes sir, contacting Rosswell at the one six-two. I assume you'll want him here as soon as possible for a consult."
"I want his sorry ass in my office within the hour. Good tag, Feeney, thanks. You get any others?"
"This was the only local that fit like crimes. I figured you'd want to move on it right away. I've got McNab running the rest."
"Let him know I want a call if anything pops. Can you feed this data into my office and home units?"
"Already done." With the faintest of grins, Feeney tugged on his ear. "I haven't had much fun lately. Mind if I watch you ream Rosswell?"
"Not a bit. In fact, why don't you help me?"
He let out a sigh. "I was hoping you'd say that."
"We'll do it in here. Peabody?"
"Rosswell will report in one hour, Lieutenant." Struggling not to look smug, she pocketed her 'link. "I believe we could say he's terrified of you."
Eve's smile was slow and grim. "He should be. I'll be in my office; tag me when he gets here."
Her 'link was ringing when she walked in. She answered absently as she hunted through her drawers for anything that might resemble food.
"Hello, Lieutenant."
She blinked at the screen, then dropped into her chair to continue the search when she saw it was Roarke. "Somebody's been stealing my candy again," she complained.
"There's no trusting cops." When she only snorted, his eyes narrowed. "Come closer."
"Hmm." Damn it, she wanted her candy bar. "What?"
"Where did you get that?"
"Get what? Aha! Didn't find this one, did you, you thieving bastard." In triumph she plucked a Gooybar from under a stack of yellow sheets.
"Eve, how did you bruise your face?"
"My what?" She was already ripping it open, taking a bite. "Oh, this?" It was the annoyance, barely audible under that musical voice, that made her smile. "Playing pool with the guys. Got a little rough for a minute. Now there are a couple of cues that won't ever be quite the same."
Roarke ordered himself to relax the hands he'd fisted. He hated seeing marks on her. "You never mentioned you liked the game. We'll have to have a match."
"Anytime, pal. Anywhere."
"Not tonight, I'm afraid. I'll be late."
"Oh." It still jolted her that he so routinely let her know his whereabouts. "Got an appointment?"
"I'm already there. I'm in New L.A.—a little problem that required immediate personal attention. But I will be home tonight."
She said nothing, knowing he'd wanted to assure her she wouldn't be sleeping alone, where the nightmares would chase her. "Um, how's the weather?"
"It's lovely. Sunny and seventy." He smiled at her. "I'll pretend not to enjoy it since you're not with me."
"Do that. See you later."