"I imagine he has the same conflict about you, every time you walk out of the house with that weapon strapped to your side. Whether or not you fight about it, you'll find a way to work through it together.

That's marriage."

"A lot of marriage is a pain in the ass." "Oh, it certainly is." "You fixed his buttons," Eve murmured. "What?"

Surprised she'd spoken aloud, Eve stopped and very nearly flushed.

"Nothing."

"Buttons? What-Oh! Dennis's sweater." Mira pressed a hand to her heart and laughed. "Yes, I suppose I did. He never pays attention to his clothes or to mine, for that matter. It still annoys me when I have a new outfit, look particularly good, and he doesn't see it."

"I like him." "So do I."

"I'll let you two get back to... things. Tell him thanks for the wine. I appreciate you taking the time like this." "You're always welcome here." She rose to walk Eve out.

"Dr. Mira?" "Yes?"

"What did your husband mean, that you were right about me?"

"He could have meant any number of things, but under those circumstances, I believe he meant I was right when I described you as brilliant, complicated, and valiant. Now I've embarrassed you." Gently, Mira touched her lips to Eve's cheek. "Go home and fight with Roarke."

She didn't want to fight. She just wanted him to fall into line for a change. Since the chances of that were nil, she outlined a couple of approaches on the drive home.

But when she walked into the house, there was a party going on.

She heard music, laughter, voices, and immediately felt her temples throb at the prospect of having to deal with people. Even the sound of her well- loved friend Mavis's wild giggles didn't stop the headache from coming on.

She imagined herself sneaking upstairs like a thief and hiding in a dark room with a locked door. Valiant, my ass, she thought. She took one cautious step toward the stairs when Summerset slithered into the foyer and caught her.

"Lieutenant. You have guests." "What, am I deaf?"

"Perhaps your hearing is defective as you were going in the opposite direction from the gathering in the parlor."

"Maybe I was just going upstairs to change or something." Because she knew it was weak, because he simply stood with that saber-thin sneer on his cadaverous face, she hunched her shoulders. "Oh, bite me," she muttered and headed into the parlor.

"There she is!" Mavis spun across the room, a little whirlwind with bunches of purple flowers arranged in strategic points over her body. Her hair was moonbeam silver tonight, with more flowers bursting out of it. She gave Eve an enthusiastic hug, then bounced on silver shoes with four-inch flower stalk heels.

"Leonardo and I were heading down to the Down and Dirty for some action, and swung by to see if you and Roarke were up for it. And look who we found." She spun around to grin at Phoebe and Sam. "I tagged Peabody, and she and McNab are going to meet us at the D and D. Roarke said maybe you wouldn't get home in time, but here you are."

"Here I am. I've got work, Mavis."

"Hey, take a couple hours to rock." She pulled Eve into the room.

"Start with my zinger. Leonardo, baby doll, where'd I put my zinger?"

At six and a half feet, the golden skinned love of Mavis's life was nothing like a baby doll. He was bare-chested but for a red satin X across his pecs that seemed to be holding up the fluid, shimmering pants that flowed from his waist to the toes of his red, crisscrossing sandals. Ruby studs forming a chevron at the corner of his left eye winked as he grinned and passed Mavis her glass.

"Good to see you, Dallas." He bent down, gave her one of his shy, butterfly kisses. "I'll get you a fresh zinger if you want."

"I'll pass, but thanks." She shot Roarke a grateful look when he turned down the volume of the music. "Sorry I'm later than I planned,"

she told him. "I had a stop to make on the way home."

"No problem." He came to her and under the guise of a welcome- home kiss, murmured, "Do you want me to get rid of them?" She nearly said yes, but it seemed petty and mean. "No. We can take an hour at the D and D if you're up for it."

He tipped up her chin. "You have something on your mind." "It'll keep."

"And a headache as well."

"It'll pass." And there was the possibility, however remote, that a few hours with friends might put him in the mood to cooperate. "So are we on?" Mavis demanded as she swung by with her zinger.

"Sure. Just give me a minute to go up and take care of some things."

"Frigid! Roarke?" Mavis tugged on his sleeve as Eve started out.

"Can we take the limo? It'd be so totally mag for all of us to pile in and ride down to the D and D in style."

As the Down and Dirty was a strip joint with as much class as a rabid squirrel, Eve figured they'd be making one hell of a splash arriving in a mile- long limo, with uniformed driver. She had to be grateful the thing was built like an armored tank.

She stripped off her weapon harness, strapped on an ankle holster, checked her smaller, off-duty clutch piece to be certain it was fully charged. For grooming purposes, she dragged her fingers through her hair and considered the job done.

She strode back out of the bedroom, then came up short when she saw Sam standing in the hall. "I didn't want to disturb you," he began. "But you have a headache. I felt it," he explained before she could speak. "I can help you with it."

"It's okay. It's nothing."

"I hate to see anything in pain." His expression was soft with compassion. "It'll only take a minute." "I don't like doing chemicals,"

Now he smiled. "I don't blame you. I'm a sensitive." He stepped toward her. "With a touch of the empath. It's here, isn't it?" He skimmed a fingertip down the center of her forehead, but didn't touch her. "And behind your eyes. It'll only get worse if you go out to a noisy club without tending it. I won't hurt you."

His voice was soothing and compelling. Even as she shook her head, he continued to speak, and drew her gently in.

"It's just a matter of touch, of concentration. Close your eyes, try to relax. Think of something else. You went to Chicago today." "Yeah." Her lids drooped closed as he brushed that fingertip over her brow. "To interview people at the prison."

"All that violent and conflicting energy. No wonder you have a headache."

His fingertips fluttered against her closed lids. Warmth. His voice murmured. Comfort. No man had ever offered her both of those things, but for Roarke. She let herself drift; it was almost impossible not to. And the thought passed through her head, the wonder of what it would be like to have a man, a father, give kindness instead of pain.

Sam drew the ache out, into his fingertips, his fingers, into his palm. It throbbed there, dully, pulsed like an echo in his forehead, before he let it spread and dissipate.

As it faded, it felt another, sharper pain. Deeper, it cut fast and violent into his center. With it, he had a flash. And saw into her mind, her thoughts, her memory, before he broke the link and blocked.

"Wow." She swayed a little from the sudden lack of support, though she hadn't been aware of leaning. She was aware that the headache was gone, and in its place a sensation of calm well-being. "Better than any damn blocker," she began as she opened hen eyes.

He was staring at her, his face drained of color, full of shock and sorrow. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"What? What's wrong? Does that deal make you sick?" She reached out to take his arm, but he gripped her hand. And now his were cold as winter.

"Eve, I never intended-such a strong mind. I should've realized. I was focused on relieving the pain. It's necessary to lower the block, very briefly, but I do light healing as a matter of course, and never intrude. I never meant to."

She stiffened. "What do you mean, intrude?"

"I didn't look, I promise you. It's against everything I believe to look into another person without express invitation. But you opened, and the image was there before I could block it. From your childhood."

He saw from her face she understood him. "I'm so very sorry."

"You looked in my head?"

"No. But I saw. And seeing, however unintentional, is still a betrayal of trust." She felt stripped and raw. Stepped back from him. "That's private."

"Yes, very private. I don't know what I can do to make this up to you, but-"

"You forget what you saw," she snapped. "And you don't talk about it.

Ever. To anyone." "You have my word I won't speak of it. Eve, if you want Phoebe and me to go-"

"I don't give a damn what you do. Just stay out of my head. Stay the hell out of my head." She strode away, had to force herself not to run. Instead she fought to compose herself before she went back down, into the parlor.

She couldn't think of anything she wanted more now than an hour at the D and D where she could smother out her own thoughts in horrible music played at a level to damage eardrums, to drink bad booze until misery was sunken and drowned.