"Murder."
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"Ah." He had already taken her hands in his, was already leaning down for a long, slow kiss of greeting. "Am I under arrest?"
"Your name popped up during a data search. What are you doing on the board of the Drake Center's R and D unit?"
"Being an upstanding citizen. Being married to a cop does that to a man." He ran his hands up her arms to her shoulders, felt the tension there, and sighed. "Eve, I'm on all sorts of tedious boards and committees. Who's dead?"
"A sidewalk sleeper named Snooks."
"I don't believe we were acquainted. Sit down; tell me what this has to do with me being on the board of the Drake Center."
"Possibly nothing, but I have to start somewhere." Still, she didn't sit but roamed the room.
Roarke watched her, the restless, nervous energy that seemed to spark visibly around her. And knowing her, he understood all that energy was already focused on finding justice for the dead.
It was only one of the reasons she fascinated him.
"The victim's heart had been surgically removed while he was in his crib down in the Bowery," she told him. "The ME claims the procedure required a top-flight surgeon, and the Drake was my first pass."
"Good choice. It's the best in the city, and likely the best on the East Coast." Considering, Roarke leaned back against his desk. "They took his heart?"
"That's right. He was a brewhead, an addict. His body was worn down. Morris says the heart was no good anyway. The guy would've been dead in six months." She stopped pacing and faced him, tucking her thumbs in his front pockets. "What do you know about organ trading on the black market?"
"It wasn't something I dabbled in, even in my more…flexible days," he added with a faint smile. "But the advances in man-made organs, the supply still available from accidental deaths, the strides in health care and organ building all have cut the market for street organs down to nothing. That area peaked about thirty years ago."
"How much for a heart off the street?" she demanded.
"I really don't know." His brow winged up, and a smile ghosted around that sexy poet's mouth. "Do you want me to find out?"
"I can find out myself." She began to pace again. "What do you do on that board?"
"I'm an adviser. My own R and D department has a medical arm that cooperates and assists Drake's. We have a contract with the center. We supply medical equipment, machines, computers." He smiled again. "Artificial organs. Drake's R and D deals primarily with pharmaceuticals, prostheses, chemicals. We both manufacture replacement organs."
"You make hearts?"
"Among other things. We don't deal in live tissue."
"Who's the best surgeon on staff?"
"Colin Cagney is the chief of staff. You've met him," Roarke added.
She only grunted. How could she remember all the people she'd met in some social arena since Roarke came into her life? "Wonder if he makes—what did they call them—home calls?"
"House calls," Roarke corrected with a hint of a smile. "I can't quite see the distinguished Dr. Cagney performing illegal surgery in a sidewalk sleeper's crib."
"Maybe I'll have a different vision once I meet him again." She let out a deep sigh and tunneled her fingers through her hair. "Sorry to interrupt your day."
"Interrupt it a bit longer," he suggested and indulged himself by crossing to her and rubbing his thumb over her full bottom lip. "Have lunch with me."
"Can't. I've got more legwork." But the light friction on her lip made it curve. "So, what were you buying?"
"Australia," he said then laughed when she gaped at him. "Just a small piece of it." Delighted with her reaction, he yanked her close for a quick, hard kiss. "Christ, I adore you, Eve."
"Yeah, well. Good." It continually left her hot and loose to hear it. To know it. "I gotta go."
"Would you like me to see what I can find out about organ research at Drake?"