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“And she made Lindy from Craft Services cry, something about the pasta. I swear, she gets meaner and crazier every day.”
“A few more weeks, we’ll be wrapped, and she’ll be out of our lives.”
“Until the rounds of publicity and promotion, the media tours, the premieres. Even the thought of... No. I’m stopping. Why am I thinking about that lunatic when my guy’s giving me a shoulder rub?”
He bent his head, kissed her between the shoulder blades. “Just relax.”
“I will. I am. In fact.” She turned around, reaching behind to set her glass beside his. “I have so many aches, so many places that need a good rub.”
“Poor baby.”
She laughed as she caught his hands to draw him to the bed. Then gave him a little nudge to send him down on his back. “I really think skin-to-skin’s the only answer,” she continued as she reached around, unhooked her bra.
“Anything I can do.”
“I’ve got some ideas on that.” She tossed the bra, unbuttoned her pants.
As she slid naked onto him, Eve felt the heat spread over the back of her neck. She had to fight an urge to shift her feet.
What had she been thinking, bringing this to Feeney? Viewing it with him. Maybe it was stupid, but she knew damn well he was as mortified and miserable as she was.
If they’d been watching bloody murder—axes hacking, blood spurting, blasters burning into flesh—neither of them would have blinked. But a naked woman, a half-naked man—okay, shit, altogether naked now—enjoying some playful sex?
Torture.
“Okay.” The sound of Feeney’s throat clearing was explosive. “End run,” he ordered. “That’s enough for the anal. No edits or compromises on either.” He didn’t look at her as he spoke, which made her profoundly grateful. “And both are second-generation copies.”
“Neither is the original?”
“That’s what I’m telling you.” Very carefully he resealed them for her.
“Asner.” Embarrassment faded away as she considered the probabilities. “The PI. Keeping the original, maybe to try a little squeeze of his own. Or maybe he just likes to watch.”
“You can watch a copy.”
“Yeah. He kept the original, and if he sold it, he could bill it that way.” She’d still have to search K.T.’s trailer, but she leaned heavy toward the PI. “Sell it to some gossip channel, or do a little double-dipping with the players. I need to have a conversation with A. A. Asner.” She gathered up the recordings. “Thanks, Feeney.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Cheeks still mortification pink, he hunched back over his work.
As she headed down to her office to gather what she wanted to take home, she pulled out her ’link to try Asner’s office.
Barbie’s squeaky voice informed her the offices were closed, gave her the hours of operation, and invited her to leave a detailed message.
“This is Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD. I need to speak with Mr. Asner as soon as possible. I have some routine questions regarding an active investigation.”
She left it at that. Asner had at least a hundred thousand, and might be tempted to rabbit if she pushed too hard.
Considering the time, how long the trip to the studio, the search might take—especially now that she intended to search Matthew’s trailer as well—she tried Roarke next.
“Lieutenant.” His face came on-screen. “What nice timing. I’ve just finished a meeting.”
“You had a meeting. What a shock.” She frowned at the background noise, the blurred view behind his pretty face. “Are you at transpo? Do you have to go somewhere?”
“No. I had to come back from somewhere. Cleveland, actually.”
“Okay. Listen, I’ve got to go back to the studio, do a search of the vic’s trailer and some other stuff. I’m going to be late.”
“You’re going to be late? What a shock.”
