Secrets in Death (In Death #45)(33)

Eve held up two fingers. Using the in-dash, Peabody programmed one black, one coffee regular. Handed the black to Dallas.

“I think he’s a little burnt.”

Eve glanced over. “What?”

“I think McNab’s a little burnt. He’s been on the roll one way or the other for close to a month. Jumped in to help Callendar on a case, and he’s assisted on ours. Santiago asked him to take some e-stuff. He doesn’t say no—he loves the e-stuff, and the work. But, honest, his skinny ass is dragging some. Hell, more than some.”

Peabody’s brows knitted, digging a worry line between them. “I want to get him to take a couple-three days. Maybe surprise him with a mini-cation. When we close this down, is there any problem with me taking some leave? Three days?”

“No. No problem.”

“Solid.” Nodding decisively, she drank her coffee. “I’m going to put in for it, and talk to Feeney. We’ve got enough saved up to afford one of those three-day packages somewhere warm.”

It occurred to Eve that Peabody had never before said anything about McNab being burnt or tired, had never before expressed a single concern in that direction. So she obviously had real worry.

“Take five days. You’re not on the roll on Sundays unless we’re working something hot. And Saturdays are rotated. Rotate out, leave after shift on a Friday. If he’s dragging, five days gives him time to bounce back, and vacate. And neither of you use up more than three days’ leave.”

“We could do that. We could just stay home for the weekend, sleep, then do the package. A five-day package really ups the ante, but if we—”

“It’s warm in Mexico.”

Peabody laughed. “Yeah, it is—and sunny, with beaches. But a cross-continent package adds to it. You can get some pretty sweet bargains in the Bahamas if you know where to look. I’ve been checking.”

Eve drummed her fingers on the wheel. “You can use the villa on the west coast of Mexico. Roarke will get you a shuttle to and from.”

“What?” The unexpected gesture had Peabody nearly spilling her coffee. “Seriously? But no, I’m not—”

“It’s no big deal.”

“Are you kidding? It’s a mega deal.” Peabody’s stunned breath whooshed out, then in again. “A mongo mega deal. Big, giant gratitude, but I wasn’t fishing for a freebie. We’ve got some saved.”

“I know you weren’t fishing. You didn’t have your fishing face on.”

“I don’t have a fishing face.”

“You have a fishing face.” Eve did her best to mimic it with big, innocent puppy eyes, a shy, winsome smile.

“I absolutely don’t make that face.”

“You do when you’re fishing. And you weren’t wearing that face, so you weren’t. You were wearing your worried face. If McNab’s burnt, some of the burn is from working my investigations. Take the villa, the shuttle, and the five days.”

When Eve pulled into Central’s garage, into her slot, Peabody just sat.

“Hugging would annoy you.”

“Keep your hands off me,” Eve warned.

“I’m too grateful to annoy you, even though in my head I’m giving you a big, sloppy hug. He needs a break, Dallas. He’d never admit it, but he needs a break. Thanks to the ultra of thanks.”

“It’s Roarke’s villa,” Eve said, but as she started to get out, Peabody put a hand on her arm.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

They got out, headed for the elevator. “When I get over being humbled and grateful, I’m going to start dancing. Five days at a swank villa in Mexico.”

“Dance internally.”

“I have to because doing it for real would also annoy you, and too much gratitude.” As they stepped into the elevator, Peabody’s face lit with a grin. “Okay, there it goes. My internal boogie. I’m mentally hugging you again.”

“Did you cop a feel this time?”

“Just a little one. Affectionately.”

“I’m mentally kicking my boot up your ass.”

“Right now? Even that feels good.” Unable to hold it in, Peabody boogied her hips. “O-fucking-lé!”

As the elevator stopped, filled with cops, stopped, filled with more, Eve muscled her way off, shifting to the glides.

“If we’ve finished internal dancing and ass kicking, we might take a moment to discuss a murder investigation.”

“You’re the boss,” Peabody said with mad cheer. “The maggiest of mag bosses.”

“Right. Well, this mag boss has a waitress—Cesca—coming in. Tag Yancy for a consult with her. The timing’s too slick for the third male in that group leaving not to be our killer. Sitting right behind me,” she muttered. “Son of a bitch, I want him for that insult alone. When we’re done with the waitress, we’re heading to Seventy-Five. We talk to people, have her work electronics taken in. And I want a sit-down with Nadine. If she doesn’t know some of Mars’s bullshit, she’ll find out. I expect the media to hammer this one, and I’ll need to report to Whitney, probably juggle something with Kyung.”

Kyung, the media liaison—and not an asshole—would juggle back.