Leverage in Death: An Eve Dallas Novel (In Death #47)(64)

“Well, now you are.”

The building had its own parking, Eve had the gate scan her badge, followed the instructions for the visitors’ section. Pulled into a slot.

“Now get your head in the game.”

“I will.” But Peabody put a hand on Eve’s arm. “I wanted to be a cop. I studied you, and I wanted to be a New York cop. A Dallas-worthy cop.”

“For Christ’s sake.”

“Just one minute, okay? When you pulled me into Homicide as your aide, that was the biggest moment of my life. I’ve had other big ones. McNab, making detective, helping take Oberon down. All the bad guys, but her especially because she’s the opposite of what we are. This doesn’t come up to those because they’re life-changing. But outside of life-changing, it’s the biggest. Thanks.”

“Nadine’s the one hauling you.”

“She’ll get a whole bunch of thanks, too. And Leonardo, and Roarke. You first.”

“Okay, good. Now done.”

They got out, started the walk toward the elevator. “I’ve got to do this one thing.”

“If you try to kiss me,” Eve warned coldly, “I will mess you up.”

“I’m not even going to threaten to kiss you, or kiss you in my head—that’s how much this means to me. But I have to—”

In the garage, Peabody threw her arms in the air, tossed back her head and screamed. The sound echoed, ping-ponged, and made Eve’s ears vibrate.

“Okay. Whew.” Peabody huffed out another breath. “Now, head in the game.”

“Every dog in this building is barking. Glass has shattered. Small children are hiding under their beds.”

“Maybe.” Peabody pressed the call button. “But it had to come out so I could get my head in the game.”

“It better stay there,” Eve warned and, using her badge to bypass the lobby, called for the Markins’ floor.

The elevator opened in the center of an area with wide hallways leading to each of four corner units. And each, she assumed, had private, fully secured elevators of their own. She crossed to the southwest facing unit, rang the bell.

Please state your name and business.

Clipped and brisk, Eve noted, and answered in kind.

“Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody, NYPSD.” She held up her badge. “We need to speak with Mr. and/or Mrs. Markin.”

Your identification is being scanned . . . Your identification has been verified. Please state your business.

“We’ll state our business with Mr. and/or Mrs. Markin. Open the door or we’ll arrange to have one or both of them transported to Cop Central for interview.”

One moment.

“Why are comps always so damn nosy?” Eve wondered.

It took more than a moment, but the double doors opened. Since the woman inside hit about forty, wore what Eve thought of as domestic black, she deduced housekeeper.

“Lieutenant, Detective, if you’ll wait in the anteroom, I’ve notified Mrs. Markin’s admin. She’ll be with you very shortly.”

The housekeeper walked away, leaving them outside another set of open doors. The private elevator Eve had assumed stood to the right with fancy, decorative ironwork over a door of dull gold. On the opposite wall wide, sliding doors reflected the same tone. For coats and wraps, Eve assumed.

Through the open doors, the living area spread big as a ballroom with floor-to-ceiling glass offering the stupendously rich person’s view of the city, the great park, and on this clear day, the Hudson. Staircases swept in fluid curves on either side of the glass.

An enormous mirror ornately framed in that dull gold ranged over a flickering fireplace with a surround of polished stone the color of tropical seas.

Sofas, chairs, benches reflected the fluid curves of the staircases, the colors of the surround and the mirror frame. A piano, blizzard white, stood under the curve of the right staircase. It held a large, clear glass ball filled with blue stones and flowers from the palest blue to a purple so deep it read black.

From the high ceiling hung a many-tiered chandelier formed with hundreds of dripping glass teardrops. Eve decided if it ever fell, it could easily kill a good fifty people standing under its spread.

A woman came down the right sweep. Dark skin, a curling mass of bronze-tipped dark hair, a voluptuous figure in a suit of poppy red. Early thirties, Eve judged. Not beautiful, but arresting.

She crossed the wide space on towering heels of blue and green swirls over the poppy red.

“Lieutenant, Detective, I’m Amelia Leroix.” Her voice carried a faint accent. European, Eve thought, as she shook the extended hand. Probably French.

“Mrs. Markin is in a meeting. She’s working from home today, and is still in a meeting. I hope I can help you.”

“We’ll wait until she’s out of the meeting.”

“I see. Then allow me to take your coats.”

“We’re good.”

“Perhaps I can arrange for coffee? Tea?”

“You could arrange for us to speak to Mr. and/or Mrs. Markin.”

“I’ll let Mrs. Markin know you’re waiting. I’m afraid I don’t have Mr. Markin’s schedule. I believe he’s also working from home today, but I’ll have to check.”

“We’d appreciate it.”