She nodded. Here, she thought, was a man who believed murder was, given the right circumstances, a viable option. Or, at least, the result of it something worthy of a personal toast. And he could, would, take the time, use his own money without hesitation, to help a friend.
“I’ll see if Peabody wants to put some hours in.”
It was closing in on two A.M. when she sent Peabody off to bed, and thought about heading toward her own. The door between her office and Roarke’s was closed now. And the light over it indicated he was still in there.
Working, she thought. Very likely carving away at business he’d had scheduled for the next day. So he could clear his time for her.
She paced back and forth in front of the door. She wished she could tap someone else. Wished she had another source with half his skill and half his resources she could call on so that they could avoid picking their way over this boggy ground of opposing beliefs.
Picking their way hell. Neither of them had the patience to walk daintily. Some things were bound to get crushed underfoot.
She couldn’t afford to worry about it.
She rapped briskly, pushed open the door. “Sorry, just letting you know I’m turning in. Briefing’s at nine.”
“Mmm-hmm.” He continued to study the data on his monitor. “Counteroffer, four point six million, USD. Firm. Terms, ten percent escrowed on verbal agreement, forty on signing, remainder at settlement. Acceptance by . . .” He glanced at his wrist unit. “. . . noon tomorrow, Eastern, or negotiations are ended. Transmit.”
He swiveled away, smiled at her. “I’ll be along shortly.”
“What are you buying?”
“Oh, just a little villa in Tuscany with a rather nice vineyard that’s been mismanaged.”
“Sounds like a lot of dough for a little villa and a mismanaged vineyard.”
“Don’t worry, darling. We can still afford those new curtains for the kitchen.”
“You know, I don’t have to pretend an interest in the stuff you do if you’re going to crack wise when I do.”
His smile only widened. “You’re absolutely right. How rude of me. Would you like to see the cost projections for the rehab? Then there’s the vintner’s report and the financials from the—”
“Bite me.”
“Can I take a raincheck on that? I’d really like to finish this up. If things go well, I think we might be able to squeeze out the coin for a new parlor sofa as well.”
“I’m going to bed before I spring a rib laughing at all your funny jokes. Nine, ace. Sharp.”
She swung away, then cursed viciously as her desk ’link beeped. “What now?”
She stormed across the room, snarled into the ’link. “Dallas. What?”
“Always such a pleasure to see your cheerful face, Dallas.” Nadine Furst, on-air reporter for Channel 75 fluttered her lashes.
“No comment, Nadine. No fucking comment. Go away.”
“Hold it, hold it! Don’t cut me off. First, just let me say my feelings are crushed that you didn’t notice I wasn’t around for the excitement today. I just got back in town twenty minutes ago.”
“And you called me at two in the morning to let me know you’re home safe and sound?”
“Second,” Nadine said coolly. “When going through my mail, messages, deliveries that accumulated during my absence, I came across this.” She held up a disc. “The contents are very, very hot, and, I think, of professional interest to you.”
“Somebody sends you a sex vid, call Vice.”
“It’s from a group calling themselves The Purity Seekers.”
“Don’t use your computer,” Eve snapped. “Shut it down now. Don’t touch it. Don’t run that disc again. I’m on my way.”
“Listen—”