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at everything, everyone.”
    “Including the Whitwoods, and the very dreamy Justin Rosenthall.”
    “Including.” Nadine, Eve calculated, was always a good source. “What do you know about Eton Billingsly?”
    “He’s a dick.”
    “I got that much.”
    “Is he a suspect?”
    “Nadine, it’s too early.”
    “Well, I hope he is, because he’s, as I said, a dick. Comes from money. Not quite on the Whitwood level, but he’s got a fat portfolio. He also seriously courted the lovely Arianna, who fell head over skirt for Rosenthall—who is not a dick. I don’t know much about him, but I can find out.”
    “I’m working on it.” Eve took another bite of cookie. Damn fine cookie. “What else do you want?”
    “You’re just back from closing a big one in Dallas. Isaac McQueen—the second time you took him down. It’s a hot story, Dallas. Him coming after you, abducting one of his former victims. I want you to come on Now and talk about it.”
    Eve set the cookie aside. Damn fine or not, her appetite dried up. “I’m not going to do that.”
    Before she could say anything else, Nadine held up a hand. “And I’m not going to press you. I had to ask.”
    “It’s not like you to give up so easy.”
    Nadine recrossed her legs. “A couple of years ago when you and I hooked up over the DeBlass case, I did a little research. I like to know who I’m working with.”
    Eve said nothing.
    “It’s not easy getting much background on you, but I know you were found in Dallas when you were a child, and you’d been . . . hurt. The reporter wants an interview, Dallas, but the friend won’t push. Friendship’s stronger than a story.”
    “Okay.” And it was.
    “When you get something on this new case, maybe you can give me a heads-up.”
    “Maybe I could. You should contact Bree and Melinda Jones,” Eve said as Nadine rose. “You should go to Dallas, where it happened, talk to them there.”
    “I intended to contact them.” Nadine angled her head. “An on-location special? That’s not bad. Some of it in the apartment where he kept Melinda Jones and the girl, some in the hotel suite where he came after you. No, that’s not half-bad. I’ve got to go.”
    At the door, Nadine paused, glanced back. “Dallas, anytime you want to talk to the friend, about any of it, the reporter will step back.”
    “I appreciate it.”
    Alone, Eve turned to her ’link and contacted another friend. She was shuffled directly to Dr. Louise Dimatto’s v-mail, left a message asking for a meeting.
    Rising, she programmed coffee, then began to set up her board. She’d work better with the visuals.
    When she finished, she started her report.
    “That’s particularly gruesome,” Roarke said from her doorway.
    Nadine had been right, Eve thought, in her summary of him. Oh, she’d left a few things out, but all in all. He did have the face of an angel, a fallen one, with the wings well-singed, but that only made him more compelling. That and those wildly blue eyes, the silky black hair. He wore one of his sharp business suits, but there was no asshole vibe here as with Billingsly.
    This was power, success, sex, and danger all rolled into one streamlined package with Ireland gilding his voice.
    Still.
    “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
    “I had business nearby, and took a chance I’d see my wife. And here she is. This is new,” he said, looking at her board again.
    “Caught it this morning. Oh, Justin Rosenthall and Arianna Whitwood say hi.”
    “Is that so?” He shifted his gaze back to her. “What would they have to do with this?”
    “That’s a question. How well do you know them?”
    “Not that well.” He ran a hand absently over Eve’s shoulder as he moved closer to the board. “Surface, socially, charitable foundation events sort of knowing. He’s intense without being preachy, and she’s dedicated without being tiresome. And they both put their time and effort into their particular cause.”
    “Eton