"No."

"What do you do with your free time, Mr. Lamont?" "My -- my free time?"

She smiled again. The change in rhythm had thrown him off, as she'd intended. "Hobbies, sports, entertainment. Roarke doesn't work you twenty- four/seven, does he?"

"I -- No." His gaze flicked to Roarke, then back. "I... play a little handball."

"Team or solo?"

He lifted his hand, rubbed it over his mouth. "Mostly solo." "Your father made bombs during the French War," she continued. "Did he work team, or solo?" "I -- he worked for the SRA -- the Social Reform Army. I guess that's a team."

"I a.s.sumed he freelanced, worked for the highest bidder."

Color rushed back into Lamont's face. "My father was a patriot."

"Sabotage for causes. Terrorists often call themselves patriots." She kept her voice mild, but saw the shimmer of anger in his eyes for the first time. "Do you believe in sabotage for causes, Lamont? In the slaughter and the sacrifice of the innocent for a just and righteous cause?"

He opened his mouth, closed it again, then took one long breath. "War is different. During my father's time, our country had been seized by exploitive bureaucrats. The second revolution in France was necessary to give its people back the power and justice that are their right."

"So..." Eve smiled a little. "I take that as a yes."

"I don't make bombs for causes. I make them for mining, for the demolition of old buildings. Empty buildings. For military testing. Contracts," he said, smoothly now. "Autotron is a respected and reputable company."

"You bet. You like making boomers?"

"We don't make boomers here." The tone was slightly scathing now and subtly more French. "Our devices are highly sophisticated, technologically advanced. We produce the best on the market."

"Sorry. You like making sophisticated, technologically advanced devices?"

"Yes. I enjoy my work. Do you enjoy yours?"

A little c.o.c.ky now, Eve noted. Interesting. "I enjoy the results of mine. How about you?" "I believe in utilizing my skills."

"Me, too. Thank you, Mr. Lamont. That's all."

The little smile that had begun to form faded. "I can go?"

"Yes, thank you. End record, Peabody. Thanks for the use of the room, Roarke."

"We're always pleased to cooperate with the police at Autotron." He lifted a sleek eyebrow in Lamont's direction. "I believe Lieutenant Dallas is finished with you, Lamont. You're free to return to your work."

"Yes, sir." He rose, stiffly, and walked from the room. Eve sat back. "He was lying."

"Oh yes," Roarke agreed. "He was."

"About what?" It came out before Peabody could stop it.

"He recognized the name Ca.s.sandra, and he knew about Fixer."

Contemplatively, Eve scratched her chin. "He was a little shaky at first, but he started to warm up. He doesn't care for cops."

"A common emotion," Roarke pointed out. "Just as it's a common mistake to underestimate certain cops. He thought he was stringing you quite nicely toward the end."

She snorted, rose. "Amateur. Peabody, order a shadow for our friend Lamont.

Roarke, I'll want you to -- "

"Pull his work files, review his equipment and materials lists, any requisitions, and run a fresh inventory." He rose as well. "That's already being done."

"Show-off."

He took her hand, and because watching her work put him in the mood, nibbled on her knuckles before she could s.n.a.t.c.h it away. "I'll be keeping an eye on him."

"Keep your distance," she ordered. "I want him to think he pulled off the interview. Peabody..." She turned, then cleared her throat when she caught her aide dreaming into s.p.a.ce. "Peabody, snap to."

"Sir!" She blinked, leaped to her feet, and nearly upended her chair. Seeing Roarke's clever mouth linger over Eve's fingers had made her wonder just what McNab would have in store for her later.

"Stay on planet, will you? I'll be in touch," she added to Roarke."

"Do that." He moved to the door with them, then caught Peabody's arm to hold her back a step. "He's a lucky man," he murmured. "Huh? Who?"

"Whoever you were just dreaming about."

She grinned like an idiot. "Not yet, but he's going to be." "Peabody!"

Peabody rolled her eyes and double-timed it to catch up with Eve. "Take the jet, Lieutenant," Roarke called after her.

She glanced over her shoulder, saw him, tall, gorgeous, in the center of the wide doorway. She wished she'd had the time and the privacy to stride back and give those marvelous lips one quick little bite. "Maybe." She shrugged and made the turn for the elevator.

She took the jet -- as much to keep Peabody from pouting as to save time.

She'd been right. It was brutally cold in Maine. Naturally, she'd forgotten her gloves, so she stuffed her hands in her pockets as she stepped off the plane and into the bitter wind.

An airport official in cold-weather coveralls hustled over, handed her a vehicle coder. "What's this?"

"Your transportation, Lieutenant Dallas. Your vehicle is in the green parking area, level two, slot five." "Roarke," she muttered and jammed the code into her pocket along with her frozen fingers.

"I'll show you the way." "Yeah, do that."

They moved across the tarmac and into the warmth of the terminal. The private transportation sector was quiet, almost reverently so, as opposed to the constant noise, b.u.mping bodies and food and gift hawkers that crowded the public areas.

They rode the elevator down to green, where Eve was shown a sleek, black air-and-road number that made the all-terrains the illegals detectives drove look like kiddie cars.

"If you'd prefer another make or model, you're authorized for any available unit," she was told.

"No. Fine. Thanks." She waited until he'd walked away before she seethed.

"He's got to stop doing this." Peabody ran a loving hand over the glistening fender. "Why?"

"Because," was the best Eve could come up with, and she uncoded the door.

"Map out directions to Monica Rowan's address." Peabody settled in, rubbed her hands together as she scanned the c.o.c.kpit. "Air or road?"

Eve spared her a steely look. "Road, Peabody."

"Air or road, I bet this baby moves." She leaned forward to study the on-board computer system. "Oh wow, she is loaded." "When you finish being sixteen, Officer, map out the d.a.m.n route."

"You never stop being sixteen," Peabody murmured, but followed orders.

The in-dash monitor responded immediately with a detailed map of the best route.

Would you like audio prompts during this trip? They were asked in the computer's warm, silky baritone. "I think we can handle it, ace." Eve cruised toward the exit.

As you wish, Lieutenant Dallas. This trip comprises ten point three miles.

Your estimated time to complete at this time of day on this day of the week, at the posted speed limits, is twelve minutes, eight seconds.

"Oh, we can beat that." Peabody shot Eve a quick grin. "Right, Lieutenant?"

"We're not here to beat anything." She drove decorously through the parking garage, into and around airport traffic, and through the gates. Then there was a stretch of highway, long, wide, open.

h.e.l.l, she was human. She punched it.

"Oh man! I want one of these." Peabody grinned as the scenery blurred and flew by. "How much do you think this honey goes for?" This model retails for one hundred and sixty-two thousand dollars, excluding tax, fees, and licenses. "Holy s.h.i.t."

"Still feeling sixteen, Peabody?" With a quick laugh, Eve swung onto their exit. "Yeah, and I want a raise in my allowance."

They hit the commuter high-rises, strip malls, and hotel complexes that edged the suburbs. Traffic thickened on the road and overhead, but remained well-mannered and well-s.p.a.ced.

That made Eve immediately miss New York with its nasty streets, rude vendors, and snarling pedestrians.