At least this time, with this murder, she knew he had an alibi. At the time Cicely Towers was having her throat slashed, Roarke had been fucking the hell out of the investigating officer.

It's always a pleasure watching you wake up," he commented. "But sometimes I wonder if you want me only for my coffee."
"Well..." She grinned at him and sipped again. "I really like the food, too. And the sex isn't bad.

Roarke, one thing." She walked to him, well aware he was all but snarling with temper. "I haven't kissed you good-bye," she murmured and did so with a thoroughness that rocked him
back on his heels. "Thank you." Before he could speak, she kissed him again. "For always knowing what matters to me."
"You're welcome." Possessively, he ran a hand over her tousled hair. "Miss me." "I already am." "Don't take any unnecessary chances." His hands gripped in her hair hard, briefly. "There's
no use asking you not to take the necessary ones."
"Then don't." Her heart stuttered when he kissed her hand. "Safe trip, " she told him when he stepped into the elevator. She was new at it, so waited until the doors were almost shut. "I
love you." The last thing she saw was the flash of his grin.

She didn't want the medi-techs. She wanted a fucking a candy bar.

By five A.M., her eyes were gritty and her head ached. The single hour’s sleep she had managed to tuck in between sex and murder was beginning to wear on her.

Business crises energize me. Personal crises devastate me. The doctors call it an avoidance tendency. (Mirena to Eve)