“In what way?”
“She manipulates, she maneuvers. She enjoys the adventure of conflict. And she has power, as truly beautiful women usually do. In her case, it was well honed even a dozen years ago, and I don’t imagine it’s lost its edge.”
“No,” Eve murmured. “She’s got a punch.”
“And added to it, she has a strong intellect.”
“How long were they together?” When he said nothing, she looked back at him. “Don’t tap dance around this. How long?”
“A number of months. Nearly a year.”
She had to turn back to the window because there was a pain now, just under her heart. “Long time. Why did it end?”
“They had planned a job—weeks of planning.” She may not have wanted wine, but he did. He wanted something to get him through this. “The mark was a wealthy man with a superb collection of art.”
Summerset moved to a painted cabinet and, taking a decanter, poured himself a short whiskey. “Magdelana’s part was to intrigue him, to develop a relationship. He was much older than she, and had a penchant for young, vibrant women. She would access information from the inside, the security, the routines, the placement of the artwork. They decided on a pair of Renoirs. Just the two. Roarke was, even then, not the sort to dip too deeply into one well. The day they were to complete the job—with her and the mark on his yacht—she eloped with the mark.”
“Bird in the hand.”
“Precisely. He had to scrap the job, of course, not being sure the information he had was valid, or that he wasn’t being set up. It cost him quite a bit, on several levels.”
“But he didn’t go after her, make her pay?” She turned back again. “He didn’t do that because he was more hurt than he was angry. Did he love her?”
“He was infatuated.”
Something twisted in her. “Worse. That’s worse.”
“Agreed.” He sipped. “He tolerated a great deal from her during the time they were together. She enjoyed risks, both personal and professional. You’ve seen her, she has a light. He was attracted to it.”
“She’s smart,” Eve managed. “Educated and smart. I did a run on her.”
“Naturally. Yes, she was a very intelligent young woman.”
“He’d admire that. He’d like that, even over the physical, that would count.”
He hesitated a moment. Summerset had seen her take a hit, on full, right in this very room. But the words he had to say would do more damage. “She knew art and music, and literature. He’d always been thirsty to know, to experience the things that had been denied to him as a young boy. She had a head for figures, and an appetite for, well, glamour, you could say.”
“And she liked to steal. That would have appealed to him.”
“She enjoyed taking. If he bought her a gift, she’d bubble over it for a time, but much preferred if he’d lifted it. And always, she wanted more, and got more without directly asking. She has a way. She’ll want more now.”
“She came by my office before I left.”
“Ah.” He looked down into his glass again, drank more. “She would, sprinkle a few dark seeds under the guise of smoothing the water.”
“Something like that. She wanted to twist me up, and I knew it. But she got the dig in, she got it done. She said he’d agreed to work with her on some business stuff. If she talked him into doing another job, or even just setting up the groundwork for her—Christ.”
“You can’t allow it.”
“I don’t allow Roarke. No one does.”
“You have influence, use it. She’s a blind spot for him, and always was.”
“All I can do is ask him straight out. I can’t fight with innuendoes and wiles.” The headache was grinding in her skull, and pain was twisting her gut. “The first are insulting to both parties, and I don’t have any of the second. Not on her level, that’s for fucking sure. In the end, it’s his choice. It always was. I’ve got work.”
She started out, stepped, and made herself turn around, meet Summerset’s eyes. “She’s a manipulator. I get that. She’s also beautiful, polished, sophisticated, smart. Smart enough, I’d bet your skinny ass, to settle happily with what Roarke’s got at his fingertips now. Basically, she’s just the type I’d think you’d do a happy dance if he flipped me for.”
She had to take a breath so her voice would stay steady. “She wouldn’t track blood into the house, she’d know just what dress to wear to the next dinner party. And she wouldn’t forget there was a goddamn dinner party because she was standing over a dead body. So, why tell me all this?”