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“ ‘Our memory is long,” ’ Eve murmured. “It would have to be. Apollo was broken more than thirty years ago.”

“You’ll note the constant use of the plural pronoun, the short declarative sentences followed by political jargon, propaganda, accusations. There’s nothing new in that part of it, nothing original. It’s recycled, and a great deal older than three decades. But don’t take this to mean they’re not advanced in the ways and means in which they operate. Their foundation may be tired and trite, but I believe their intentions and capabilities are vital.

“They came to you,” she continued, “because they respect you. Possibly admire you—soldier to soldier. Because when they win, as they believe they will, victory will have a more satisfying taste if their opponent was worthy.”

“I need their target.”

“Yes, I know you do.” Mira closed her eyes a moment. “A symbol. Again, it would be something worthy. A place of excess, they said, and foolishness. Where mortals gawk at mortals. Perhaps a theater.”

“Or a club, an arena. It could be anything from Madison Square to a sex joint on Avenue C.”

“More likely the first than the second.” Mira set her coffee aside. “A symbol, Eve, a landmark. Something that would have impact.”

“The first hit was an empty warehouse. Not much impact.”

“It was Roarke’s,” Mira pointed out and watched Eve’s eyes flicker. “It got your attention. They mean to keep your attention.”

“You think they’ll target one of his properties again.” Eve pushed to her feet. “Well, that narrows it down. The man owns most of the damn city.”

“Does that bother you?” Mira began, then caught herself and nearly chuckled. “Sorry, knee-jerk psychologist’s question. I think it’s a good possibility since they’ve targeted you that they may focus on Roarke’s properties. It’s certainly not conclusive, no more, really, than what you’d term a hunch. But you have to look somewhere.”

“All right, I’ll contact him.”

“Concentrate on important buildings, something with tradition.”

“Okay, I’ll get started.”

Mira got to her feet. “I haven’t given you much help.”

“I didn’t give you much to work with.” Then Eve jammed her hands in her pockets. “I’m not really in my area here. I’m used to dealing with straight murder, not the threat of wholesale annihilation.”

“Are the steps that different?”

“I don’t know. I’m still feeling my way around. And while I am, somebody’s got their finger on the button.”

She tried Roarke in his home office first, and got lucky. “Do me a favor,” she said immediately. “Work at home today.”

“For any particular reason?”

Who was to say, she thought, that the sumptuous lobby, the theaters and lounges in his midtown office building didn’t make it the target?

And, if she told him that, he’d be down there in a heartbeat, doing a search and scan personally. She wouldn’t risk it.

“I don’t like asking, but if you could keep on that project we were dealing with last night, it would help a lot.”

He studied her face. “All right. I can shift some things around. I’ve got an auto-search going in any case.”

“Yeah, but you get things done faster when you’re working them yourself.”

He lifted a brow. “I believe that was very nearly a compliment.”

“Don’t get puffed up about it.” She leaned back, tried to look casual. “Look, I’m kind of pressed right now, but can you shoot me some data here?”

“Of what kind?”

“Your properties in New York?”

Now both eyebrows winged up. “All?”

“I said I was pressed for time,” she said dryly. “I don’t have a decade or so to deal with this. Just the really jazzy ones. Jazzy old stuff.”

“Why?”

Why? Shit. “I’m just doing a cross-check. Loose ends. Routine.”

“Darling Eve.” He didn’t smile when he said it, and she began to drum her fingers on the desk.

“What?”

“You’re lying to me.”

“I am not. Jesus, ask a guy for some basic data, data which as his wife I’m entitled to, and he calls you a liar.”

“Now I know you’re lying. You don’t give two damns about my properties, and you hate when I call you my wife.”

“No, I don’t. It’s this