"I understand that you have made supervising me your priority." Roarke said dryly. "But for this particular matter, I prefer taking the trip to explain to the Lady myself."
He said this without making any move to hide anything. His hands remained visible and his posture remained open. The raven, Lost, had relocated to his shoulder and was preening indifferently. It had witnessed far worse than this minor standoff.
Bimo's smile did not waver. If anything, it brightened. Which was, in Roarke's experience, the most dangerous possible development.
"Then," Bimo said, tilting his head innocently, "how can we determine whether you are telling the truth about whatever message you receive or not?"
He leaned forward, folding both arms on the windowsill and resting his chin atop them. Lazy, casual, like a boy with nowhere to be and nothing to hide. Which was, of course, the most damning thing about it. Bimo always had somewhere to be. Bimo always had everything to hide.
