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“Dr. Mira can see you tomorrow, at nine. She’ll need to do a consult first, and a physical exam before she agrees to hypnotherapy.”

“Yes, good.” She squared her shoulders as if adjusting to a weight, or shrugging one off. “That makes sense. Will you—could you be there?”

“If and when the hypnosis is approved, yes. Up until you’re set to go under, you can change your mind.”

Clasping a hand over the crystals dangling from her neck chain, Celina shook her head. “No, I won’t. I thought this through, up and down and sideways before I contacted you. I won’t change my mind. We’re going to move ahead. I can promise you, I won’t turn back now.”

Eve dashed in the house, slammed the door at her back. “I’m late,” she snapped before Summerset could speak. “But here’s the thing, I’m not always late, but you’re always ugly. Who’s got the real problem?”

Since she finished the question at the top of the stairs and kept going, she wasn’t annoyed with any reply he might have made.

She stripped off her jacket as she hit the bedroom door. Released her weapon harness and tossed it on the sofa. Yanked off boots by hopping one-footed toward the bathroom, and had her shirt off when she heard the water running.

Damn, he’d beaten her home after all.

She peeled off the rest. “Turn that water temp up.”

“Done. I adjusted when I heard the graceful patter of your delicate feet stomping about in the bedroom.”

Knowing Roarke wasn’t above being hysterically amused by having her scream after jumping into cold water, she stuck her hand in the spray first.

“Trusting soul,” he said, grabbing her hand and hauling her in. “Let’s stay home and make hot, wet love in the shower.”

“Forget it.” She elbowed him aside, pumped soap into her hand. “We’re going to dinner. We’re going to sit around somebody else’s house and make stupid conversation and eat food we don’t even get to pick for ourselves and pretend not to wonder exactly where in the apartment McNab and Charles punched each other out.”

“I can hardly wait.” He pumped shampoo and began to lather it into her hair.

“What are you doing?”

“Saving you time. What have you done here?”

She hunched her shoulders. “Nothing.”

“You have. You’ve been whacking at your hair again.”

“It was in my eyes.”

“Back here?” He tugged. “Fascinating. Does the NYPSD know they have a cop with eyes in the back of her head? Has the CIA been notified?”

“I can do this myself.” She pulled back, scrubbing vigorously at her hair while glaring at him. “Don’t tell Trina.”

He smiled, wolfishly. “And what would my silence be worth to you?”

“You want a quick hand job?”

“See, you’re being deliberately crude to put me off.” He tapped her chin. “Oddly enough, it doesn’t work.”

“She’ll know anyway,” Eve muttered, and stuck her head under the jets. “She’ll know, the next time she gets her hands on me. And she’ll make me pay. She’ll pour goo all over me, and lecture, and paint my nipples blue or something.”

“What an interesting picture that creates in my fevered brain.”

“I don’t know why I did it.” She jumped out and into the drying tube. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“Tell it to the judge,” Roarke advised.

They weren’t very late, Peabody thought. And when you had two cops—two currently overworked, sleep-deprived cops—being on time wasn’t even in the realm.

Besides, she’d wanted to take as much time as she could squeeze out to make sure she looked her best. Since McNab had given her a big, “Oh, baby!” she figured she’d pulled it off.

He looked pretty adorable himself. His hair was all shiny and slick, and his cute little butt was nice and snug against the seat of black pants—saved from being too conservative by the fluorescent silver stripe running down each leg.

She had her hostess gift—a clutch of fairly fresh tiger lilies she’d snagged from a vender near her subway stop—and they’d been cleared through the lobby to the elevator.

“Now, you’re going to play nice, right?”

“Of course I’m going to play nice.” He fiddled with the collar of his silver shirt and wondered