Celebrity in Death

at the marina where we located Asner’s car. Peabody and McNab found four possible connections between individuals who have boats here and Steinburger and others on the list.”
    “Holmes and Steinburger lived together, for a few months, at one time,” Roarke told her. “Apparently remain friends.”
    “Friendly enough I bet he knows where she keeps her boat, how to operate it.”
    “I wouldn’t be surprised. There was also a withdrawal of ten thousand from the B.B. Joel account the day after the ex-wife drowned. No transfer, but then some people will insist on cash in the hand.”
    “Fussy. Where does the money in this account come from?”
    “Working on that. Going back, small—under five thousand—deposits were made during the first months after the account was opened. Which was some twenty months prior to the partner’s supposed suicide. They graduated to larger amounts, but still under ten. He taps the account regularly. He may see it as a kind of petty cash drawer. Want a bit of something you’d prefer your accountant didn’t see? Tap.”
    “To the public, he lives a high life—power, glamour, shiny friends, juicy travel. But it’s a straight one. Maybe B.B. Joel likes the more sinuous.”
    She looked over at her boards. “Time to tie it together so it holds enough weight to convince Whitney and the PA.”
    “Eve,” he said when she turned to the ’link. “It’s past midnight. Who are you waking up?”
    “Peabody. We need a conference room in the morning, with Whitney, Reo if we can get her, Mira—” She paused, gave Roarke a thoughtful look.
    “I have several steps toward world financial domination scheduled in the morning, but—”
    “No, who wants to get in the way of that? Can you just copy everything to Feeney? I’ll bring him in, with his favorite boy.”
    “I’ll see to it.”
    There was a breathy pause on the ’link, then a husky “Peabody,” with blocked video.
    “Locate Violet Holmes,” Eve ordered.
    “Huh? Who? Oh. Sir?”
    Eve ignored the sound of rustling, a slurry male murmur, a quiet, groaning sigh. “Holmes—the boat. I want her location. Arrange a conference room, zero-eight-hundred. Be there. Bring McNab.”
    “Okay. What … Sorry, we were just—”
    “I don’t want to know what you were just. In fact, I’ll issue a thirty-day rip if you so much as hint what you were just. Holmes, conference room. Report to my office thirty minutes prior for an update.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Good work on the boat.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Go back to just,” Eve said and cut her off.
    She sent priority requests to the others she wanted at the briefing, but through message only.
    “In case they’re just?” Roarke wondered.
    “I’m ignoring that, because I’m not picturing that. I need to put this in solid order. I’m close, but I want to fine-tune.”
    “I’ll do the same so Feeney can easily intercept the pass.”
    “Appreciate it. I guess I just owe you.”
    He laughed, leaned down and kissed her head. “I’ll just have to collect another time. In the meanwhile, lay off the coffee.”
    She waited until he’d gone into his office to roll her eyes. But she reached for the water instead.

 
    WHEN HE FELT HER STIR BESIDE HIM, ROARKE rew her closer, rubbed her back.
    “Ssh,” he said. “Ssh now. Hold on to me and sleep.”
    She shivered a little, burrowed closer still.
    He’d lit the fire before they’d slipped into bed. Now, only a few hours later, it simmered in the hearth and tossed its gold-washed red light into the room.
    Quiet, warm, soothing. It’s what he’d wanted for her in sleep.
    Yet she clung, anchored to him against the dreams.
    He brushed his lips over her hair, wanting to will the tension in her body away, to erase those images and emotions that gave her so little peace.
    With his eyes closed, he continued to stroke her back in light, rhythmic movements designed to lull.
    In the dark, curled against him, her body seemed so fragile. It wasn’t, he knew. His Eve was strong, tough and athletic. He’d seen her take apunch—more than once—and execute one. He’d been on the receiving end of her fist, so could attest she packed some power.
    He’d tended her wounds, as she had his, and knew she healed well, healed fast. His resilient, hardheaded cop.
    But there were parts inside that tough, disciplined body that remained fragile—perhaps always would. And those vulnerable places pulled at him to protect, to comfort, to do anything he