Devoted in Death (In Death #41)(41)

“What the f*ck!”

“NYPSD. Open the door, Mr. Diaz.”

“Well, Jesus, it’s barely morning.”

Things rattled and thunked, and the door cracked open.

Yeah, he was a looker, Eve thought, even half asleep and obviously strung-out. Unearthly green eyes, thick black lashes, chiseled cheeks covered with scruff and a tumble of dark hair streaked with red gave him the kind of polished sexy used on billboards.

“You can let us in, Mr. Diaz, or we’ll arrange to have this conversation at Central.”

“Central what?”

Apparently the gods had used up their quota on his face, and hadn’t had much left over for brains.

“We’re cops, so that would be Cop Central.”

“What the f*ck!”

“The f*ck will be explained in the course of the conversation.”

“Well, Jesus,” he said again, and opened the door.

He hadn’t bothered with clothes – apparently the quota had included the body that matched the face on the scale.

Beside her Peabody gulped audibly.

“I was sleeping,” he said, and gave a king of the jungle stretch. “What’s the prob?”

Eve bent down, picked up a pair of fake leather pants. “Are these yours?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Put them on.”

“Sure, if it bothers you.” He smirked. “But naked’s natural. Anybody got any coffee?”

“Gee, fresh out.”

Clothes – a shirt, a couple of thongs – his and hers, Eve supposed, and a very skimpy black dress littered the floor. Knee-high black boots, and mile-high glittery heels lumped together in another pile.

“I take it you weren’t sleeping alone,” Eve said.

The smirk reappeared as he tugged on the pants. “Don’t usually.” Then he yawned, managed to look sexy doing so. “I need a Vitasmooth.”

So saying, he sort of glided off through an opening framed in wavy glass block. Eve heard kitchen rummaging.

“Asshole,” McNab muttered, and Peabody only cleared her throat and gulped again.

He came back with a jumbo tube filled with spinach-green liquid. “Sorry, last one.” And took three big gulps. “Wow, head rush. Nice. So what’s this about?”

“Jayla Campbell.”

“Jay-jay?” He shrugged, glided again to one of the two chairs in the big space, slumped down, drank again. “What about her? Last I heard dancing with somebody wasn’t a cop deal. She’s pissed, fine. No reason to call in the cops.”

“She’s missing.”

“Missing what?”

Eve strode over, slapped her hands on the arms of the chair and leaned in. “Listen carefully.”

“Sure. You’ve got mag eyes. Anybody ever tell you? You could model with those eyes, your build. I’ve got connections.”

“Shut up and listen. Jayla Campbell left the party she attended with you last night and hasn’t been seen or heard from since.”

“She’s probably just sulking somewhere. She’s moody.”

“We have reason to believe otherwise. You were one of the last people to see her. When did you last see or speak with her?”

“I don’t know, at the party, when she got the bug up her ass about Misty. We were just dancing.” His gaze shifted toward another opening covered by a gauzy black curtain.

“And you and Misty danced back here?”

The smirk came back, as if it couldn’t help itself. “No crime there.”

“What time?”

“Jesus, I don’t know, exactly. We partied till about two, I guess. Then we walked back here – couldn’t get a damn cab – and we had a lot of sex.” He smiled now, full, showing perfect white teeth. “Jayla said we were done so, you know, free agent. She’s just sulking somewhere,” he repeated. “Wouldn’t want to go home where her bitch of a roommate would rub her nose in it, right? That one took it way wrong when I said how maybe the three of us could get it together.”

“You really are a f*ckhead.”

“Hey!”

Eve shoved back. “Consider this, I could get a warrant, come through here and turn the place inside out. That would turn up all the illegals you didn’t already consume.”

“I don’t use! You can’t prove it.”

“Yes, I could, but you’re not worth it. Listen up, dickwad, the woman you’ve been involved with for several months, the one who helped put that face you’re so proud of out there, is missing. She may be hurt, she may be dead. Pretend to care.”

“It’s not my fault she got a bug up her ass. What do you mean ‘dead’?”

For the first time he looked concerned. Eve merely turned, signaled to Peabody and McNab.

“What do you mean ‘dead’?” he repeated, as she walked out.

“Let him stew on that,” she said.

“He’s really, really pretty,” Peabody said, “and he’s really, really a f*ckhead.”

“The pretty f*ckhead didn’t have anything to do with Campbell going missing – other than piss her off so she was out alone. I’d give him a couple weeks in a cage for that, if I could.”