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Every time she saw it, her mind was of two conflicting parts. One told her she didn’t belong there. The other told her she belonged nowhere else.

She left the car at the base of the front steps, knowing Summerset would send it lumbering into the garage on principle. The pea-green city issue offended his sensibilities, she supposed, nearly as much as she did herself.

She jogged up the steps in her scarred boots and walked inside to the warmth, the beauty, and all the style money could buy and power could maintain.

Summerset was waiting for her, his thin face dour, his mouth in a flattened line. “Lieutenant. You surprise me. You’ve arrived home in a timely fashion.”

“Don’t you have anything better to do than to clock me in and out of here?” She stripped off her jacket, tossed it on the newel post to annoy him. “You could be out scaring small children.”

Summerset sniffed and to annoy her, picked up her damp leather jacket with the delicate tips of two fingers. He examined it with dark, disapproving eyes. “What? No blood today?”

“That can still be arranged. Roarke home yet?”

“Roarke is in the lower-level recreation area.”

“A boy and his toys.” She strode past him.

“You’re tracking wet on the floor.”

She glanced back, glanced down. “Well, that’ll give you something to do.”

Well satisfied with their evening exchange, Summerset went off to dry her jacket.

She took the steps, then wound her way through the pool house where wisps of steam danced invitingly over water of deep, secret blue. She thought fleetingly about stripping to the skin and diving in, but there was Roarke to deal with.

She bypassed the gym, the dressing area, and a small greenhouse. When she opened the door of the recreation area, the noise poured through.

It was, in Eve’s opinion, a twelve-year-old’s wet dream. Though she herself had long since ceased dreaming of toys by the age of twelve. Perhaps Roarke had, too, which was why, she supposed, he indulged himself now.

There were two pool tables, three multiperson VR tubes, a variety of screens designed for transmissions or games, a small holodeck, and a forest of brightly colored, noisy game stations.

Roarke stood at one, long legs comfortably spread, elegant hands on either side of a long, waist-height box with a glass top. His fingers were tapping rhythmically on what seemed to be large buttons. The top of the box was a riot of lights.

Cops and Robbers, she read and had to roll her eyes as a high-pitched siren began to scream. There was an explosion of what she recognized as gunfire, the wild squeal of tires on pavement, and blue and red lights crowned the vertical length of the box as it began to spin.

Eve hooked her thumbs in her front pockets and strolled over to him. “So this is what you do with your downtime.”

“Hello, darling.” He never took his eyes off the duo of silver balls that raced and ricochetted under the glass. “You’re home early.”

“Only temporarily. I want to talk to you.”

“Mmm-hmm. One minute.”

She opened her mouth to object, then nearly jumped as bells began to clang and lights shot like lasers. “What the hell is this thing?”

“Antique—prime condition. Just—fucker—just got it in today.” He bumped the machine lightly with his hip. “It’s a pinball machine, late–twentieth century.”

“Cops and Robbers?”

“How could I resist?” The machine ordered him to “Freeze!” in menacing tones, and Roarke responded by zipping his remaining ball up a chute where it banged and bumped against a trio of diamond shapes, then slid into a hole.

“Free ball.” He stepped back, rolled his shoulders. “But that can wait.” As he leaned down to kiss her, she slapped a hand on his chest.

“Hold on, ace. What do you mean by calling Feeney?”

“Offering my assistance to New York’s finest,” he said easily. “Doing my duty as a concerned citizen. Give us a bite of this.” So saying, he drew her against him and nipped at her lower lip. “Let’s play a game.”

“I’m primary.”

“Darling, you most certainly are.”

“On the case, smart guy.”

“That, as