“A sword.” It took her a couple of beats, then she shook her head. “No.”
Laughing, he gave her hair a tug. “But I had you there for a moment, didn’t I then? The warrior and the thief would suit us well enough. But…” He kissed her hand again. “We hardly need costumes for that.”
“Just lie,” Eve repeated as they walked back into her office.
“Let’s call it prevaricate.”
“Whatever works.”
“Now you’ll see to your updates. I’ll see to a meal.”
Once she updated her board, she sat at her command center to write up the interviews she’d conducted on the way home.
As she worked, Roarke set out domed plates. He opened the balcony doors to the evening air, then walked over to study her board.
“The costumes are certainly precise replications. There’s considerable skill there, I’d think. And Harvo’s list… those materials? Both costly and exclusive.”
“They had to be. He needs exact.”
“With the clothing, yes. But not the faces. Those he settled for a type.”
She glanced over before she finished and shut down. “That’s right.”
“For the girl, it’s the eyes, the youth, and fair skin. For the boy, it’s the size, the look of youth, and the confidence. But he needed them, needed live models for whatever reason. Otherwise, he could have simply copied from the paintings themselves.”
“His paintings needed life.” She crossed to stand beside him. “Their lives.”
“So at the bottom, they’re a sacrifice to his art. Here now, sit and eat. And you can handle another glass of wine with dinner.”
He stepped over, removed the domes.
She saw spaghetti and meatballs. For the second time that evening, she went to him, wrapped around him.
“It’s the little things. It’s just noodles and balls of meat, but…”
“It’s comfort.”
“It’s that.” She remembered what Peabody had said. “And it’s love. Which reminds me.” She stepped back, took the cash out of her pocket. “Thanks for the loan.”
He looked at it, at her, then put it in his own pocket. “No problem at all.”
Now she laughed, then grabbed his face and kissed him. “Yes, it is. For both of us. But we did it. And now, I’m hungry. I wanted a damn candy bar after I finished the godforsaken paperwork, but I lost it.”
“In a bet?”
She gave a:Ha!“I’m no Santiago. To the damn Candy Thief.” She wound some pasta, stuffed it in. Yes, comfort and love, she thought. And really, really good.
“I hid it inside the wheelbase of my desk chair. It was a prime spot. I mean, who the hell is going to unscrew the wheelbase of a chair for a candy bar?”
“Obviously you.”
“Yeah.” She forked into a meatball, then studied him. “You’re not sneaking into my office and stealing my candy just to keep your hand in, are you?”
“Darling Eve, I’d never deny you candy, now would I?”
“Probably not. And you’re too slick to taunt me.” She ate, gestured with her fork. “They put a big yellow smiley face in there, with those googly eyes. You know the shaky eyes? It laughed when you pressed it. ‘Ha ha ha. Ha ha ha.’”
He laughed—not a mockingha ha ha, but a warm, appreciative roll of it. “You can’t deny, it’s clever.”
