Naked In Death

"Have we established it was mine?"

"Who has access to your collection?"

"I do. Only I do."

"Your staff?"

"No. If you recall, lieutenant, my display cases are locked. Only I have the code."

"Codes can be broken."

"Unlikely, but possible," he agreed. "However, unless my palm print is used for entry, any case that is opened by any means triggers an alarm."

Goddamn it, give me an opening. Couldn't he see she was pleading with him, trying to save him? "Alarm's can be bypassed."

"True. When any case is opened without my authorization, all entry to the room is sealed off. There's no way to get out, and security is notified simultaneously. I can assure you, lieutenant, it's quite foolproof. I believe in protecting what's mine."

She glanced up as Feeney came in. He jerked his head, and she rose.

"Excuse me."

When the doors shut behind them, he dipped his hands into his pockets. "You called it, Dallas. Electronic bid, cash deal, delivered to an EPS. The head snoot at Sotheby's claims this was an unusual procedure for Roarke. He always attends in person, or by direct 'link. Never used this line before in the fifteen years or so he's dealt with them."

She allowed herself one satisfied breath. "That checks with Roarke's statement. What else?"

"Ran an undercheck on the registration. The Ruger only appeared on the books in Roarke's name a week ago. No way in hell we can pin it on him. The commander says to spring him."

She couldn't afford to be relieved, not yet, and only nodded. "Thanks, Feeney."

She slipped back inside. "You're free to go."

He stood as she stepped backward through the open door. "Just like that?"

"We have no reason, at this time, to detain or inconvenience you any further."

"Inconvenience?" He walked toward her until the doors snicked shut at his back. "Is that what you call this? An inconvenience?"

He was, she told herself entitled to his anger, to his bitterness. She was obliged to do her job. "Three women are dead. Every possibility has to be explored."

"And I'm just one of your possibilities?" He reached out, the sudden violent movement of his hands closing over her shirt, surprising her. "Is that what it comes down to between us?"

"I'm a cop. I can't afford to overlook anything, to assume anything."

"To trust," he interrupted. "Anything. Or anyone. If it had leaned a little the other way, would you have locked me up? Would you have put me in a cage, Eve?"

"Back off." Eyes blazing, Feeney strode down the corridor. "Back fucking off."

"Leave us alone, Feeney."

"Hell I will." Ignoring Eve, he shoved against Roarke. "Don't you come down on her, big shot. She went to bat for you. And the way things stand, it could have cost her the job. Simpson's already prepping her as sacrificial lamb because she was dumb enough to sleep with you."

"Shut up, Feeney."

"Goddamn it, Dallas."

"I said shut up." Calm again, detached, she looked at Roarke. "The department appreciates your cooperation," she said to Roarke and, prying his hand from her shirt, turned and hurried off.

"What the hell did you mean by that?" Roarke demanded.

Feeney only snorted. "I got better things to do than waste my time on you."

Roarke backed him into a wall. "You're going to be free to book me for assaulting an officer in about two breaths, Feeney. Tell me what you meant about Simpson?"

"You want to know, big shot?" Feeney looked around for a place of comparative privacy, jerked a head toward the door of a men's room. "Come into my office, and I'll tell you."

She had the cat for company. Eve was already regretting the fact that she'd have to turn the useless, overweight feline over to Georgie's family. She should have done so already, but found solace in even a pitiful furball's worth of companionship.

Nonetheless, she was nothing but irritated by the beep of her intercom. Human company was not welcomed. Particularly, as she checked her viewing screen, Roarke.

She was raw enough to take the coward's way. Leaving the summons unanswered, she walked back to the couch, curled up with the cat. If she'd had a blanket handy, she'd have pulled it over her head.

The sound of her locks disengaging moments later had her springing to her feet. "You son of a bitch," she said when Roarke walked in. "You cross too many lines."

He simply tucked his master code back in his pocket. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't want to see you." She hated that her voice sounded desperate rather than angry. "Take a hint."

"I don't like being used to hurt you."

"You do fine on your own."

"You expect me to have no reaction when you accuse me of murder? When you believe it?"

"I never believed it." It came out in a hiss, a passionate whisper. "I never believed it," she repeated. "But I put my personal feelings aside and did my job. Now get out."

She headed for the door. When he grabbed her, she swung out, fast and hard. He didn't even attempt to block the blow. Calmly he wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand while she stood rigid, her breathing fast and audible.

"Go ahead," he invited. "Take another shot. You needn't worry. I don't hit women – or murder them."

"Just leave me alone." She turned away, gripped the back of the sofa where the cat sat eyeing her coolly. The emotions were welling up, threatening to fill her chest to bursting. "You're not going to make me feel guilty for doing what I had to do."

"You sliced me in two, Eve." It infuriated him anew to admit it, to know she could so easily devastate him. "Couldn't you have told me you believe in me?"

"No." She squeezed her eyes tight. "God, don't you realize it would have been worse if I had? If Whitney couldn't believe I'd be objective, if Simpson even got a whiff that I showed you any degree of preferential treatment, it would have been worse. I couldn't have moved on the psych profile so fast. Couldn't have put Feeney on a priority basis to check the trail of the weapon to eliminate probable cause."

"I hadn't thought of that," he said quietly. "I hadn't thought." When he laid a hand on her shoulder, she shrugged it off, turned on him with blazing eyes.

"Goddamn it, I told you to bring an attorney. I told you. If Feeney hadn't hit the right buttons, they could have held you. You're only out because he did, and the profile didn't fit."

He touched her again; she jerked back again. "It appears I didn't need an attorney. All I needed was you."

"It doesn't matter." She battled control back into place. "It's done. The fact that you have an unassailable alibi for the time of the murder, and that the gun was an obvious plant shifts the focus away from you." She felt sick, unbearably tired. "It may not eliminate you completely, but Dr. Mira's profiles are gold. Nobody overturns her diagnostics. She's eliminated you, and that carries a lot of weight with the department and the PA."

"I wasn't worried about the department or the PA."

"You should have been."

"It seems you've worried enough for me. I'm very sorry."

"Forget it."

"I've seen shadows under your eyes too often since I've known you." He traced a thumb along them. "I don't like being responsible for the ones I see now."

"I'm responsible for myself."

"And I had nothing to do with putting your job in jeopardy?"

Damn Feeney, she thought viciously. "I make my own decisions. I pay my own consequences."

Not this time, he thought. Not alone. "The night after we'd been together, I called. I could see you were worried, but you brushed it off. Feeney told me exactly why you were worried that night. Your angry friend wanted to pay me back for making you unhappy. He did."

"Feeney had no right – "

"Perhaps not. He wouldn't have had to if you'd confided in me." He took both her arms to stop her quick movement. "Don't turn away from me," he warned, his voice low. "You're good at shutting people out, Eve. But it won't work with me."