Secrets in Death (In Death #45)(37)

Everybody bounced, jiggled, hip bumped, and swiveled—often at the same time—and they all wore outfits that made Jenkinson’s tie fetish come off as a conservative choice.

She saw neon stripes, glowing polka dots, animated shirts, and a plethora of wildly patterned airboots.

To escape the assault on the senses, she moved fast toward Feeney’s office.

The captain of this madhouse, and her former partner, sat on the edge of his desk, frowning at his wall screen.

Maybe his toe tapped, but it tapped inside an old brown shoe.

Which lined up well with his rumpled brown suit, his plain, and reassuringly ugly, brown tie. Maybe his explosion of wiry, silver-dashed ginger hair added color, but it topped a lived-in face.

A cop’s face.

His saggy basset hound eyes shifted toward her. “Heard one landed right at your feet, kid.”

“She did.”

“The wife’ll be sad about it. She loves the gossip shows. Can’t blame her,” he said with a shrug. “Investigations run on evidence, evidence comes from leads, and a lot of leads come straight from gossip.”

She hadn’t thought of it quite like that, but couldn’t argue. And that, she mused, was why a bounce off Feeney never failed to be worthwhile.

“She used gossip to hammer people to give her more gossip and cash or have their secrets exposed.”

“Yeah, McNab’s working on digging some of that out of her electronics.”

“Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“I’ll give the kid a hand when I finish up in here. I’ve got her apartment electronics coming in. You going out for her studio shit?”

“Yeah, from here. But I wanted to talk to you about McNab.”

Feeney reached into a wobbly bowl—one of Mrs. Feeney’s creations—took a handful of candied almonds. Gestured to the bowl in an invitation to share, but Eve shook her head.

“You can have him on the team,” Feeney said. “He’s clear.”

“Peabody—” Thinking of how cops loved gossip, just like Feeney’s wife, she shut the door. “Peabody says he’s burnt—and I could see she was genuinely worried.”

Frowning, Feeney rubbed his jaw. “She ain’t wrong. He’s been working a big one, complicated, and just closed it. Gave some time to a couple of the other boys.” They were all boys to Feeney, no matter the chromosomes. “I’m putting him in for a commendation for the one he closed.”

Fully aware Feeney didn’t hand out commendations like candied almonds, she smiled a little. “Good for him.”

Feeney jabbed a finger at her. “I told him after he nailed it down yesterday to go home and sleep, and take the next forty-eight off.”

“It’s on me he didn’t. I pulled Peabody in when they were leaving.”

“He came in with her instead of getting the shut-eye. Lovebirds,” he said with a sorry shake of his head. “I can put the boot down, take him off, order him to take the forty-eight.”

“Would he go home and sleep?”

“He’d argue and he’d bitch until I put the boot down harder. Then he’d sulk.”

Because she saw it the same way, she nodded. “I offered Peabody a thing after she laid this out, and I should’ve cleared it with you first.”

He popped another almond. “What thing?”

“I said after we close this one—because she wouldn’t budge until this is cleared, even with the boot, any more than McNab—to take five days by rotating a Saturday, taking the regular off Sunday, and the next three as vacation days. They could take one of Roarke’s shuttles to the villa in Mexico. He’s yours, not mine, and he may not be up for a five-day leave.”

Feeney scratched just above his collarbone. “I’d rather give him the five than see him really burnt and end up pushing him out for twice that. Or having him screw up because his head’s not right. It’s a good thing. I’ve got no problem clearing him for it.”

“Good, that’s good. Peabody’s juiced. She got shiny-eyed at the idea of getting him away for a while.”

“Lovebirds,” he said again, eating more nuts. “Keep me up with the progress on what you’ve got, and I’ll fix his schedule. He’s a good kid. Lovebird shit aside, I’ve gotta say he’s a better cop, got more solid footing, since he’s been cooing with Peabody.”

“Really?”

“Settled him down. Gave him a center.”

She thought of McNab’s wardrobe, his earlobe full of rings, the way he bounced. Settled down wouldn’t have been the term she’d have applied.

But she did agree that, under it all, he was a solid cop.

“Okay. I’ve got to get going.”

“I’ll give him a hand anyway.” Feeney’s gaze shifted morosely back to his screen. “When I finish this bitch.”

*

As she drove to Seventy-Five, Eve ticked off what needed to be done. “Peabody, run this Mitch L. Day character. I didn’t get to that.”

“On it.”

As Peabody all but sang the two words, Eve gave her a wary glance. “What’s up with you?”

“Just feeling pretty mag. Due to loose pants—not really any looser, but still loose—and your absofab offer of Mexico, I’m hitting this shop on my way home tonight, and buying this outfit I’ve had my eye on. It’s all flowy and swirly. It’s Mexico perfecto.”