Someone was cool and cocky. And smart.

"People are comfortable with you," she went on. "I want Areena Mansfield comfortable."

"I'll do what I can."

"Appreciate it. Peabody, you're with me."

Eve crossed the stage, moved into the wings. There were uniforms scattered throughout the backstage area. Civilians were either tucked behind closed doors or huddled in miserable little groups.

"What do you give our chances of keeping the media locked out of this until morning?"

Peabody glanced over at Eve. "I'd say zero, but that's optimistic."

"Yeah. Officer." Eve signaled a uniform. "I want guards posted at every entrance, every exit."

"Already done, sir."

"I want the guards inside. Nobody leaves the building, not even a cop. Nobody comes in, especially reporters. Clear?"

"Yes, sir."

A corridor bent off the wing, narrowed. Eve scanned the door, vaguely amused by the gold stars affixed to several of them. Name plaques were displayed as well. She stopped by the door marked for Areena Mansfield, knocked briefly, then walked in.

She only lifted her eyebrows when she saw Roarke sitting on a royal blue daybed, holding Areena's hand.

The actress had yet to remove her stage makeup, and though tears had ravaged it, she was still stunning. Her eyes darted to Eve and were instantly full of fear.

"Oh God. Oh my God. Am I going to be arrested?"

"I need to ask you some questions, Ms. Mansfield."

"They wouldn't let me change. They said I couldn't. His blood." Her hands fluttered in front of her costume, fisted. "I can't stand it."

"I'm sorry. Dr. Mira, would you help Miss Mansfield out of her costume? Peabody will bag it."

"Of course."

"Roarke, outside please." Eve stepped back to the door, opened it.

"Don't worry, Areena. The lieutenant will sort this out." After giving Areena's hand a comforting squeeze, he rose and walked by Eve.