"I can't prove it, but my guess is Ricker. It was like that when I got down to the garage. We seem to keep annoying each other." She started toward her closet.
"Why are you limping?"
She rolled her eyes but resisted banging her head against the wall. "I rapped my knee. Look, I want to get dressed, have a drink. I'll tell you about it." She started to tug off the robe, remembered the range of bruises and scrapes. "I ran into some trouble today, took a roll on the street. I'm a little banged up, so don't go crazy on me."
"I'll try to retain my sanity." His only reaction when she stripped was a sigh. "Very colorful. Lie down."
"No."
"Eve, lie down so I don't have to knock you down. I'll treat them, and it'll be done."
She grabbed out a shirt. "Listen, ace, I missed a very much desired ass-kicking round today. I can substitute you for my intended target." But when he took a step toward her, she tossed down the shirt. "All right, all right. I'm not in the mood to fight. But if you're going to play doctor, I want a drink."
She stalked to the bed, flopped onto her stomach, and said in a tone she hoped would irritate him a little, "Wine. White and cold."
"We're here to serve." He got the glass, slipped a pain blocker into it, knowing it would irritate her when she figured it out. He retrieved the medication for her injuries, set them down, and flipped her over.
"Sit up, and no whining."
"I don't whine."
"Rarely," he agreed. "But when you do, you make up for the lack of quantity with quality."
She picked up the glass while he ran the healing wand over the worst of the bruises. "Why don't you crawl up in here with me, doc?"
"I intend to, a bit later. That's how I collect my fee."
She'd finished half the glass before she noticed the effects. "What did you put in here?" she demanded. "You put a blocker in here." When she started to set the glass aside, he simply plucked it out of her hand, gave her hair a yank to pull her head back, and poured the rest down her throat.
She choked, sputtered. "I hate that."
"Yes, I know, but I so enjoy it. Turn over."
"Kiss my ass."
"Darling, I will, once you turn over."
She had to laugh. She rolled, forced to admit, at least to herself, that the worst of the pain had eased. Better yet, she decided with a sigh, when that wonderful mouth of his brushed over her butt. "Keep going," she invited.
"Later. I want these aches to settle down first."
"I feel okay."
"I want to make love with you, Eve." He turned her over again, gently this time, leaned over her. "Slowly, thoroughly, and for a very long time. I want you to feel much better than okay before that happens."
"I'm starting to feel really good." She reached for him, but he took her hands, tugged her up.
"Tell me what happened."
"Well, if you're not going to jump me, I'm getting dressed."
"The robe." He held it out. "You'll be more comfortable in something loose. And it'll be less for me to take off you later."
Finding it hard to argue with his logic, she put the robe back on, then walked to the AutoChef. "You want something?"
"Whatever you're having's fine."
She ordered pasta for two, going for the spicy sauce. She sat with him, began to eat to fuel herself for the night to come, and told him about her day.
He listened, and the fact that he made no comments while she spoke had the nerves dancing at the base of her neck. Even when the delicate pasta began to taste like paste in her throat, she continued to eat.
"I've got some angles I want to play, and it takes a load off knowing I have the full support of the chief of police. It did my heart good to watch him skewer Bayliss. Bloodlessly. You have to admire that."
"Eve."
She met his eyes, cold as winter, blue as an iced ocean. Odd, she thought, how facing down four armed men only hours before had merely kicked her adrenaline into gear. One look from Roarke was a great deal more potent.
"He's gone after you three times. However much you dislike it, disapprove of it, I will deal with him."
"Two times," she corrected. "The third was just my car, and the score's been in my favor every time. But," she continued, "I anticipated your reaction. It's not going to do any good, but I'm going to point out that given my job, I've been gone after before and will be again. This personal thing between the two of you shouldn't enter into it."
"You're mistaken." And his voice was terrifyingly mild.
"But since it does, I want you to work with me on this."
She could sense his underlying fury.
"Do you think you can placate me, Eve?"
"No. Hell, no. Stop staring at me that way. You're spoiling my appetite." She tossed down her fork. "I could use your help. I asked for it before this happened today, didn't I? All that's changed is he sent another goon squad after me, and I took them down. He's got to be royally burnt by that. If we go at this from the same angle, work together, we can both get what we want.
"Well, you won't get exactly what you want, which is, at my guess, eating Ricker's liver after you've roasted it on a spit over a slow fire. But we can get as close to that as the law allows."
"The law's your yardstick, not mine."
"Roarke." She put a hand over his. "I can get him without you, but it wouldn't be as quick and it sure as hell wouldn't be as satisfying. You could get him without me. Maybe quicker, and maybe more satisfying to you. But think about this: Wouldn't you rather picture him living a long, miserable life in a cage than just throwing the switch on him?"
He considered it. "No."
"You're a scary guy, Roarke. A very scary guy."
"But I'll work with you on this, Lieutenant. And I'll contemplate, depending on how that work goes, settling for that image. I'll do that for you. I promise you, it costs me more than I can tell you."
"I know that. So, thanks."
"Don't thank me until it's done. Because if it doesn't work your way, it will work mine. What do you need?"
She let out a breath. "First I need to know why IAB sent Kohli into Purgatory. What is there in the club or who is there they wanted? Bayliss said something today about Ricker's connection to it, but you told me you severed business with him over ten years ago."
"That's right, I did, taking some of his more lucrative accounts with me. I've sold them off since, or adjusted them. As for Purgatory, he has no connection to it. But he did. I bought it from him five years ago. Or I should say," he added when she gaped. "My representatives acquired it from his representatives."
"He owned the place? And you didn't tell me?"
"Lieutenant, I have to point out, you didn't ask."
"For God's sake," she grumbled and got to her feet to pace, to think.
"And at the time your Kohli was murdered, I didn't think of it, see a connection, or consider it relevant. It's been mine for a number of years and has been completely overhauled, remodeled, and re-staffed."
"If he used it for a front, it could be some of his people still come in. Do business."
"None that's ever been reported to me. If that's the case, it's very minor business."
"A cop died there. That's not minor."
"Point taken."
"Why did he sell it?"
"My research at the time indicated that it was becoming a little too warm. He often dispenses of businesses and property when they've outlived their usefulness to him. It's basic business practice."
"If he's got this hard-on for you, why did he sell it to you?"
"He didn't know until after the fact. I assume he was displeased, but the deal was done." He sat back, doing some thinking himself. "Possibly he put out word that there was outside business being done there, or had some of his people come in to do some. He may have hoped to take a swipe at me that way. I can see that. He'd have waited until the club was well established, until it was running smoothly, then tried to disrupt it. He's a patient man. A few years wouldn't have been any time to wait."
"And with his connections in the department, he'd have had a funnel for the rumors. IAB picked up on them, started looking into it, and put Kohli in. It plays. And it's looking more and more like the poor guy died for nothing."