"I imagine. When?"
"I don't know when." A line formed between her eyebrows as she looked up at him. "If I knew when, why would I ask? Feeney said something about our Christmas party."
"December twenty-third. Yes, we're having a party."
"Why?"
"Darling Eve." He bent down and kissed the top of her head before he sat again. "Because it's the holidays."
"How come you didn't tell me?"
"I believe I did."
"I don't remember."
"Do you have your date book handy?"
Grumbling, she tugged it out of her pocket and plugged in the date. There, clear as crystal, was the information, followed by her initials to indicate she'd logged it in herself.
"Oh."
"The trees are being delivered tomorrow."
"Trees?"
"Yes. We'll have a formal one in the parlor, several in the ballroom upstairs. But I thought we'd have a smaller, more personal one in our bedroom. We'll decorate that one ourselves."
Her brows shot high. "You want to decorate a tree?"
"I do."
"I don't know the first thing about it. I've never decorated a Christmas tree before."
"Neither have I, or not in years. It'll be our first."
The warmth that moved through her now had nothing to do with a hot meal or vintage wine. Her lips curved. "We'll probably make a mess of it."
He took the hand she held out to him. "No doubt. Feeling better?"
"A lot, yeah."
"Do you want to tell me about tonight?"
Her fingers tightened on his. "Yeah, I do." She released his hand and rose because she would think more clearly on the move.
"He got another one," she began. "Same MO. Outside security cameras tagged him. The Santa suit, the big silver box with the fussy bow. He left her a pin, two birds in a circle."
"Turtledoves."
"Right – or close enough. I don't know what a damn turtledove looks like. No sign of forced entry, no sign of struggle. I imagine the tox report will show she was tranq'd. She'd been restrained, probably gagged as the unit wasn't soundproofed. There were some fibers on her tongue and in her mouth, but he didn't leave whatever he gagged her with behind."
"Sexually assaulted?"
"Yes, same as the first. There was a fresh temp tattoo on her right breast. My True Love. And he'd wrapped her up in red garland, painted her face, brushed her hair. The bathroom was the cleanest place in the apartment. I'm guessing he scrubbed it down himself after he was done cleaning himself up. She'd only been dead an hour by the time I got there. The anonymous call came in from a pay slot a half a block from her house."
He could see the frustration working back into her. Rising, he took her glass and his own. "Who was she?"
"A stripper, lap dancer, worked at the Sweet Spot – an upscale club on the West Side."
"Yes, I know where it is." When she turned, eyes narrowed, he handed her the wine. "And yes, it happens to be one of my properties."
"I really hate when that happens." When he only grinned at her, she blew out a breath. "Anyway, she had the afternoon shift, got off just before five. From what we can tell, she went straight home – she ran a scan on her AutoChef at six, just about the time the outside camera picked up this bastard going into the building."
Eve stared into her wine. "I'd say she missed dinner, too."
"He's working quickly."
"And having a jolly old time with it. Looks to me like he wants to make his quota by New Year's. I need to run her 'link, her finances, her personal records. I've got to check out the pin. I'm getting nowhere with the Santa suit or the garland. How the hell do I connect a sweet administrative assistant to a lap dancer?"
"I know that tone." With that he turned and moved to his console. "Let's see what we can do."
"I didn't say anything about you running scans."
He flicked a glance in her direction. "It was implied. What was her name?"
"It was not implied. Sarabeth – one word, no h – Greenbalm." She walked over to stand with him behind the console. "I was simply running through my thoughts out loud. The address is 23B West One Hundred and Twelve."
"Got it. What do you want first?"
"I can run her 'link in the morning. Go with either personal or financial."
"Financial would take you longer, let's start with that."
"No showing off," Eve warned, then laughed when he snaked a hand around her waist and pulled her against his side.
"Of course I'm going to show off. Subject, Sarabeth Greenbalm," he began, then nuzzled at Eve's throat. "Residing West One Hundred and Twelve." His hand slid up to cup her breast. "All financial records, latest transactions first."
Working…
"Now," he murmured, and turned Eve until their bodies meshed. "I should just have enough time to…" His mouth swooped down, drawing deeply from hers and sending the top of her head spinning somewhere near the lofty ceiling.
Data complete.
"Well." He nipped her bottom lip. "Maybe not quite enough time. Your data, Lieutenant."
She cleared her throat, exhaled. "You're good." Exhaled again. "I mean you're really good."
"I know." And because she was just a bit off balance yet, he sat, pulling her until she tumbled into his lap.
"Hey, I'm working here."
"Me, too." Swiveling her to face front, he began to nibble at the back of her neck. "I'll work on this, you work on that."
"I can't while you're…" She hunched her shoulders, stifled a chuckle, and tried to concentrate on the data on screen. "Rent's her biggest expense, followed by clothes. She's got most of them marked costume for taxes. Stop it!" She slapped at the clever fingers that had already unbuttoned her blouse to the navel.
"You don't need your shirt to read data," he said reasonably and began sliding it off her shoulders.
"Look, pal, I'm still wearing my clutch piece, so – " She sprang to her feet, making him mutter an oath. "Shit, shit. There it is. Son of a bitch. There's the link."
Resigned, he tucked away thoughts of seducing her and turned his attention to the screen. "Where?"
"There. Three thousand to Personally Yours by electronic transaction, six weeks ago."
Her eyes were hot now, not with passion but power, as she swung around to face him. "She and Hawley used the same dating service. That's not a coincidence. That's a connection. I need her matches," she murmured, then catching Roarke's inquiring look, she shook her head. "No, we'll do it the right way. By the book. I'll go in tomorrow and get them."
"It wouldn't take me long to access."
"It's not legal." She struggled to keep her face stern when that grin of his beamed at her. "And it's not your job. But I appreciate it."
"How much?"
She stepped back, stood between his legs, and looked down at him. "Enough to let you finish taking care of me." She sat, straddling him. "After I take care of you, that is."
"How about…" He fisted a hand in her hair and brought her mouth within a breath of his, "we take care of each other?"
"That's a deal."
CHAPTER FIVE
Settled in her home office with weak winter sunlight dribbling through the window wall at her back, Eve organized her data. She intended to feed a report to her commander by mid-morning and had several blanks she wanted to fill in first.
"Computer engage. Detail data on dating service enterprise known as Personally Yours located on Fifth Avenue in New York."
Working… Personally Yours, established 2052 in Fifth Avenue location, owned and operated by Rudy and Piper Hoffman.
"Stop, confirm. Business in question is owned by Rudy and Piper Hoffman?"
Affirmative. Rudy and Piper Hoffman, fraternal twins, age twenty-eight. Residence 500 Fifth Avenue. Continue scan on Personally Yours?
"No, search and report, full data on owners."
Searching…
While her computer juggled its chips, she rose to get a cup of coffee. Fraternal twins, she thought as the AutoChef filled her request. Brother and sister. She'd tagged them as lovers. And now, thinking back, remembering the way they'd touched, moved together, the looks exchanged, she wondered if both she and the computer were right.