In Death 12 - Betrayal in Death

creamy seafood dish and nodded. "That would be frustrating, I'd think. Having done your job, then having the next phase circumvent it. It would feel like failure, wouldn't it?" He studied her kindly. "Does it happen often?"
    "It happens." Yet another waiter slid a plate under her nose. On it was a lovely little pinwheel of grilled prawns. One of her favorites. She glanced at Roarke, caught his smile.
    He had a way of making such small miracles happen.
    "You have solid security," she said. "As tight as it gets under the circumstances. I'd prefer you'd selected a more private venue, one with less access."
    Carlton nodded enthusiastically. "I tried to argue for that, Lieutenant. And my arguments fell on deaf ears." He sent Magda an affectionate look. "I can't bear to think just now of the costs of security and insurance, or I'd spoil my appetite."
    "Old fogey." Magda winked at him. "The venue is part of the package. The elegant Palace Hotel -- the very fact that the display can be viewed by the public before the auction just adds to the buzz. We've generated invaluable media attention, not only for the auction itself but for the Foundation."
    "And an impressive display it is," Mick commented. "I wandered over there today and had a look at it."
    "Oh, I wish you'd told me you wanted to see it. I'd have taken you through personally."
    "I wouldn't want to impose on your time."
    "Nonsense." Magda waved that away as the first course was cleared. "I do hope you plan to be in town for the auction."
    "I hadn't been, to tell you the truth, but after meeting you and seeing it all myself, I'm determined to go and to bid."
    While his guests chatted, Roarke signaled to the sommelier. As he shifted to order another bottle of wine, he felt a bare foot -- a small, narrow bare foot -- slide suggestively up his calf. Without a flicker, he finished his request, shifted back.
    He knew Eve's foot, it was narrow but long, and she was just a bit too far away to be able to play with him under the table. One casual glance gave him the angle, and his lifted eyebrow was his only reaction as he noted the secret, catlike smile on Liza Trent's face as she began to nibble on her second course.
    He debated ignoring the overture or being amused by it. Before he could decide, she looked up. The gleam in her gaze wasn't for him, but for Mick. She had, Roarke realized, simply missed her mark.
    Interesting, he thought, as those bare toes tried to work their way under his cuff. And complicated.
    "Liza," he said and had the pleasure of feeling her foot jerk like a spring. When he looked at her, coolly, he could see understanding and a faint embarrassment cross her features. Her foot slid away. "How is everything?" he asked pleasantly.
    "Lovely, thanks."
    Roarke waited until the meal was done, the dessert champagne consumed, and he was driving home with Mick.
    He took out a cigarette, offered the case. For a moment, they smoked in companionable silence.
    "Do you remember when we boosted that lorryload of smokes? Christ, what were we, ten?" Pleased with the memory, Mick stretched out his legs. "We went through near a carton between us that same afternoon -- you, me, Brian Kelly, and Jack Bodine, and Jack, bless him, got sick as six dogs from it. And the rest we sold to Six-Fingers Logan for the prettiest of profits."
    "I remember it. And that a few years later Logan was found floating in the Liffey missing all his digits, including the extra one."
    "Ah well."
    "Mick, what are you thinking of, fucking Vince Lane's woman?"
    Mick acted shocked. "What are you talking about? Why I barely know..." He trailed off, shook his head, and laughed. "Christ, trying to lie to you's a waste of energy. You never bought a con in your bloody life. How'd you figure it?"
    "She gave me a lovely little leg massage on her way to you. She has good feet, but poor aim."
    "Women, not a discretionary bone in their beautiful little bodies. Well now, the fact of it is, I bumped into her today in your palatial hotel when I went to see the display. One thing led to another, and the another eventually led up to her suite. What's a man to do, after all?"
    "You're poaching."
    Mick only grinned. "And your point would be, lad?"
    "Try to keep it inbounds until my business with them is finished."
    "First time I've ever heard you make a fuss about a little side of sex. But I'll do that for you, for old time's sake."
    "I'm grateful."
    "It's not so much of a thing. A woman's just a woman, after all.