Vendetta in Death (In Death #49)(67)

Back at her command center, Eve put her boots up, sat back with coffee.

McEnroy—a criminal, a rapist, a predator, a man who if found out while alive would have spent a great deal of time in a cage.

Pettigrew—a crappy husband and partner. Greedy, an opportunist. But nothing she could see illegal in his actions. Nothing that would have landed him in a cage.

And still, to “Lady Justice” they’d earned the same fate.

“Because they’re all the same,” Eve murmured. “Men, as a species, are a plague that needs to be eradicated. Start with your circle—the support group—eliminate them one by one. And after that, go on the hunt. It’s in your blood now.

“Men are the enemy; destroying them the mission.”

“Well now, that’s a warm welcome home.”

Eve glanced over as the cat rolled out of the sleep chair to trot over and greet Roarke.

“I’d keep you around,” she told him. “You gotta get sex and coffee somewhere.”

“Such a comfort.” He strolled over to kiss her—and steal her coffee. “I’m told you got home early—for you.”

“Wanted mind-clearing and thinking time. I got Mavis and the kid.”

“So I’m told as well. And how are they?”

“The kid’s smart, scary, and pretty damn irresistible. Mavis is pregnant.”

“She … what now?”

“ ‘Encore,’ she says. And if she were capable of doing handsprings, she’d have done them.” To demonstrate, Eve circled a finger in the air. “It’s on purpose—the knocked-up part. Telling me was because I showed up during what I found out is a routine visit with Summerset, and her seeing it as a sign to spill.”

“Well, that’s lovely then. We’ll send her flowers.”

“Don’t get too happy about it. She expects us to do the encore, too.”

“What encore would that …” Quickly, visibly, he paled. “You don’t mean she wants us to be in there again when she—”

“Pushes another human being out of her? Yeah, she does.”

“I’m opening a bottle,” he said instantly. “And I’m not discussing it or thinking of it. I still have images burned on my brain from the first that haunt me in the dead of the night.”

Desperately pleased to have company in her terror, Eve pointed at him. “You, even you, won’t be able to talk her out of it.”

“I could be out of town, even off-planet,” he said as he walked over to choose a wine. “I could very easily be off-planet for— When is she due?”

Eve frowned. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask. I never know what to ask. She said she was pregnant at Nadine’s bash, but didn’t want to spring it on people then. And if I have to do this again, pal, so do you.”

“I’m not thinking about that part of it. We’re having wine. Now talk to me about something less traumatic. Like murder.”

Because she felt entirely more comfortable talking about murder than childbirth, Eve took the wine he held out.

“Big break. Pettigrew dragged and dug his bare feet—toes, toenails—over the floor, and we’ve ID’d the substance. Which is why I need two box seats for the next Mets home game.”

“Dickhead.”

“Sometimes I want to get in his face and threaten and badger, other times I just want to get through it.”

“Understood. I’ll take care of it. Let’s sit a minute.” After he ordered the fire on low, Roarke drew her to the sitting area. “What’s the substance?”

“Painted concrete. I have the brand and—what’s it—psi of the concrete—Mildock—the brand and color of the paint—or the epoxy. Additives therein indicate floor not wall paint, not enough waterproofing for an outdoor area, or around a pool. Most likely a garage or an interior space. Like a basement. I’m leaning basement. Private.”

Sipping wine, sitting with his wife? Roarke considered that a fine transition to his day. “That is quite the break.”

“Yeah. Both the brands are popular, so it’s going to be a bitch to try to narrow down, but once we have her, this’ll cap it.”

She drank some wine, studied the board. “Horowitz doesn’t fit.”

“Pettigrew’s live-in?”

“Yeah, even if I opened this up like it’s a conspiracy—multiple women working together to off cheaters—she doesn’t fit. Geena McEnroy fits better, but she doesn’t fit smooth, either. She followed through,” Eve added. “Tagged her way up the chain to Tibble and the mayor, threatened going to the governor.”

Roarke skimmed a hand over her hair. “And?”

“Got called into The Tower.” She shrugged. “Tibble’s half a politician, because that’s the job, but he’s no dumb-ass. I ran it through for him and Whitney, including the fact you bought the company Pettigrew screwed his ex out of. Laid out the evidence and blah blah. He’ll handle her.”

“No doubt. As to the company, I can give you a bit more on that now. Darla Pettigrew launched her company with backing from her grandmother, who, as it happens, is the completely amazing Eloise Callahan.”

“You know her?”