Devoted in Death (In Death #41)(77)

“That’s more for Baxter and Banner. How about her?”

“She’s clearer as she was the bait for the boy,” Roarke said, rocking on his heels now as he studied what they had of the female. “We’ve calculated her height at five-five, her weight between one-twenty and one-thirty. She’s got a good set of legs there. We get the hair – though it may be a wig – long and blond. Again we’d play odds on white for race, and her age? Given the body, as we don’t have a clear view of the face, the analysis of her voice from what we had, most likely between twenty-five and thirty.

“I did run her voice on a dialect program as well,” he added. “It pegs her as northwestern Oklahoma.”

“Okay, it’s all more than we had, and we’ll get more.” For a moment longer she stared at the image as if she could bring it clear through sheer force of will. “Crack’s widening. Feeney, do you need a lift to Central?”

“I’ve got my ride. Do you want the boy?”

“I’ll take him if you can spare him.”

“Take him. Tag me if you need more.” He flicked a finger salute at Roarke. “Nice working with you.”

“And you. I’ll run with this for another thirty, then I’ll leave it open if you want to send more data by remote.”

“Appreciate that.” Just how much would he juggle today? she wondered – then set the idea aside as it was more than she could imagine. “Head down, McNab. Peabody and Banner are doing the same.”

“On the way. Fun toys,” he said to Roarke, and walked out with Feeney.

Eve stuck her hands in her pockets. “As soon as this one closes, I’ll be the only cop in the house for a while.”

Roarke stepped to her, laid his hands on her shoulders. “I like your cops.” Kissed her lightly. “I believe I like Banner now that I’ve had a bit of a chance to know him. Speaking of cops, Feeney’s coat’s done. Summerset has it downstairs. Knowing the both of you, I assumed you wouldn’t want to give it to him in company.”

“No.” Gifts were sticky enough, in her opinion. “Anyway, you should give it to him.”

Understanding her well, Roarke gave her shoulders a squeeze. “It was your idea, and a fine one. And he was your cop first. The two of you will survive a gift. Go on now, and mind your step out there. I definitely want a cop in my bed tonight.”

“I bet that’s something you never thought you’d say.” This time she kissed him. “Thanks for the assist. I’ll keep you in the loop if you want.”

“I want.”

“Done,” she said and strode out.

He watched her go and, fingering the gray button he carried always in his pocket, turned back to the screens to do what he could in the time he had.

She jogged down, found all her cops still in a gaggle. As she grabbed her coat off the newel post, Summerset slid into view – like smoke – with a box wrapped in plain brown paper. Before she could evade, he pushed it into her hands.

“As requested.”

Not now, she wanted to say, but the box had already caught Peabody’s interest.

“Whatcha got?”

“It’s just a thing.” She muttered it, couldn’t figure how to avoid the presentation. Get it over with, she decided, and gave Summerset the fish-eye. “Vehicles out front?”

“Of course.”

She narrowed the fish-eye until he glided – like more smoke – away.

“Go pile in,” she told the rest. “Feeney, give me a minute?”

Banner unfolded himself from his crouch, giving Galahad one last stroke along the way. Peabody nearly turned her head in a one-eighty to keep Eve and the box in view as they went out the door.

“It’s a thing,” Eve repeated, and pushed the box at Feeney. “For you.”

His hands went directly into his pockets; his face fell into wary lines. “Why?”

She often thought the same when it came to gifts, so only shrugged. “Just a… you know,” she mumbled, and shoved it at him.

He looked puzzled, mildly embarrassed, but ripped the paper away. Wanting to keep it moving, she snagged the paper from him, balled it up, and tossed it on the closest table. Then got busy putting on her coat.

“Well, f*ck me sideways.”

The stunned pleasure in his voice gave twin tugs – that mild embarrassment, and quick satisfaction. She turned back, pulling the scarf out of her pocket when he dumped the box on the floor, pulled out the coat.

“Son of a bitch!”

He grinned as he held it up. Shit-brown – she’d chosen the color as it was his usual choice of hue – the coat with its protective lining would, she saw, hit him about mid-thigh.

She’d left the design to Roarke, saw he’d gone roomy, simple, and had added the flash of captain’s bars as buttons.

“You got me a goddamn magic coat.”

“Well, Roarke —”

“Son of a bitch.” Still grinning, he punched her in the shoulder, then immediately pulled off his old shit-brown coat, dumped it on the floor.

“Bastard fits, too.” He folded it back, studied the lining with a shake of his head. “Freaking genius is what it is.”

More comfortable discussing the body armor aspect, she relaxed a bit. “No bulk, no weight, and it works. Deflects a full stun – I can attest. Sharps, too, though I haven’t personally tested that one.”