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“None whatsoever. Something light, I think. Ah, this.” He drew out a bottle, turned, chuckled at her scowling face. “Why don’t we have a bite to eat while we’re at it?”

“Remind me to rag on you later.”

He opened the bottle. “I’ll make a note of it.”

Chapter 7

She sipped wine, nibbled on caviar, and tried not to think how ridiculous it was. If anyone from Central caught wind of it, she’d never live it down.

Roarke did the same, and prepared to enjoy it. “Key in the screen names you want to watch for.”

“DanteNYC,” she said. “DorianNYC. Feeney’s running names ending with NYC, but—”

“Yes, we can run another search. You’ll end up with millions, I imagine, but we might get lucky.”

“What about the account name? He may cruise with other screen names, or ditch the old ones when he’s done.”

“Here, nudge over.” He scooted her chair a few inches to the left, then sat beside her. “Computer, run continuous search for all activity under account name La Belle Dame.”

BEGINNING SEARCH . . .

“Feeney said you had to go through the privacy blocks and account protocol in order to . . .” She trailed off, lifted her glass when Roarke merely quirked his eyebrows in her direction. “Never mind.”

“Computer, notify if and when activity under said account takes place, and locate source of activity.”

SEARCH IN PROCESS. NOTIFICATION WILL BE GIVEN. WORKING . . .

“It can’t be that simple.”

“Not usually, no.” He leaned over and kissed her. “Aren’t you lucky to have me? A rhetorical question, darling,” he said and stuffed caviar into her mouth. “Just let me put that consumer list on-screen.”

He did so manually, with a few deft taps on a keyboard. Eve watched them scroll on, blew out a breath.

“It could be worse,” she decided. “It could have been cheap wine, then we’d have, oh, a hundred times as many names.”

“More than that, I imagine. We can break these down into individual sales and restaurant orders. Now we’ll see what we can find on the Cabernet.”

“Is that your label, too?”

“No, a competitor’s. But there are ways. This will take a few minutes.”

Because she thought it slightly tacky for a member of the NYPSD to sit and watch a civilian severely bend the law, she rose and wandered closer to the wall screen. “Computer, display single male consumers on screen four.”

That whittled it down some more, she noted. She couldn’t and wouldn’t discount the restaurant, the female, and the joint accounts, but she’d start with the two hundred recorded sales to single men.

“Computer. Display, screen five, multiple purchases of product by single men. Better,” she mumbled as the number went down by another eighty-six.

“You got that data yet?”

“Patience, Lieutenant.” He glanced up, then just looked at her in a way that made her skin tingle and her thigh muscles go loose.

“What?”

“You’re such a study, standing there—all cop. Cooleyed and grim with your weapon strapped on. It makes my mouth water.” With a half laugh he went back to work. “Baffles me. Here you are, split on screen three.”

“Do you say that sort of thing to get me stirred up?”

“No, but it’s a pleasant side benefit. You’re also quite a study when you’re stirred up. My red edged out the competition’s red by a few hundred sales in the area over the past twelve months.”

“Big surprise,” she said sourly, and turned around to repeat the same breakdown. “Computer, cross and match, all consumer purchases of both brands in given time period. Less than thirty.” She pursed her lips. “I figured more.”

“Label loyalty.”

“We’ll start with these. Standard run, eliminate males over fifty for a start. Our guy, or guys, are younger. Then I have to refactor. Could be daddy who buys the wine, or uncle, or big brother. Or,” she added, glancing back at the screen with joint accounts. “Mom and Dad. But I don’t think so.” She began to pace. “I need Mira’s profile, but I just don’t think so. Seems to me it’s not romantic, it’s not sexual if your parent or parents buy the wine. Then you’re a child again and you’re, by Christ, a man