Fantasy in Death (In Death #30)(79)

“So, how’s your day so far?” she asked him.

“Up and down. You’re still a bitch, by the way. But she’s decided I’m not a heartless f**k using Bart’s death for my own gain.”

“Good thing I pride myself on my bitchery. I don’t know how many things light her fuse, but once it’s lit, it’s short.”

“Yes. I should tell you I felt obliged to let her know we had a project nearly ready for marketing that’s similar to theirs.”

“I bet she loved hearing that.”

“I always considered you champion of creative swearing, but I believe she’d give you a run.” Like Eve, he studied the building, the shapes and movements behind the glass. “When I managed to cut through some of the blue, I gave her some details. You wouldn’t understand,” he added. “It’s technical.”

“And I don’t speak geek. Why? Why did you tell her?”

“When I was in, we’ll say, the habit of stealing, I didn’t mind being accused of it. My people have worked very hard on this project, and don’t deserve to have that work diminished. She’s a very bright woman, and with the details I gave her understands full well we’re ahead of their curve, not only on timing, but on certain elements. That doesn’t diminish their project, or their work. I have more resources, more people, and she understands that as well. Just as she understands if it had been my goal, I could’ve swallowed U-Play long ago.”

“And she’s smart enough to remember who Bart sometimes went to for advice, and who sold them that building.”

“Competition makes the game more fun, and more meaningful. In a few years, they’ll give me plenty of game.” He reached up, skimmed a finger down the dent in her chin. “And how is your day panning out?”

“Searches are still ongoing. It’s a lot. I’m going back to Central to tug a new line. As pissed as they all were about the search, none of them actively tried to stop or stall it.”

“Which makes you think whoever killed Bart already removed anything incriminating.”

“Or thinks so.” Movements behind glass, she thought, weren’t always the same as those in the shadows. “But it made me wonder if there’s another work area, a more private one. One where someone could hack and practice and plot and plan without sending up any flags.”

“A place for unregistered. I thought of that as well. Then again, some people are inherently honest.”

“Present company excepted.”

He smiled at her. “Murder’s the ultimate in dishonesty, isn’t it? So yes, there may very well be another place. Well, good hunting.” He flicked her chin again, kissed her mouth. “I’ve work of my own. Don’t forget Nadine’s party,” he added as he walked to his own car.

“I can remember more than one thing at a time.”

He uncoded his locks, smiling at her over the roof. “What time does it start?”

“Tonight.”

“Eight. I’ll see you at home.”

“Wait. Shit. I promised Peabody a limo if she’d stop talking about her shoes.”

“Naturally. I’ll take care of it.”

“It’s your own fault,” she called out. “You make it too easy.”

“Darling Eve, there’s enough hard in the world.”

She couldn’t argue. She glanced back at the warehouse, thought of flowers and food and tears. There was plenty of hard in the world.

She was deep into the search for a second space, playing with alternate names, anagrams, hidden meanings while running her own scenarios on secondary when Peabody tagged her.

“We finished up here, and I’ve checked in with the other teams. Flagged electronics are on their way in for analysis.”

“I want that diary.”

“McNab’s working on it. He’s decided it’s his personal mission to get past her journal security. We’re going to head home from here, if that’s okay. We’re already cutting it a little close.”

“Cutting what?”

“Prep time for Nadine’s party. Oh, and thanks again for the limo!” Peabody added as Eve thought, Shit, damn, f**k. “Summerset contacted me with all the info. So, we’ll see you at the do.”

“Yeah, right.” Eve cut Peabody off, saved all current data, ordered the whole works copied to her home office unit.

And fled.

She wasn’t late, she told herself as she slammed the brakes in front of the house. She had plenty of time since she didn’t take hours to primp in front of a damn mirror. Besides, nobody got to one of these deals on time.

Which made no sense to her. Why have a time, then ignore it?

Social functions were unwieldy and strange, and had their own set of rules that were even more unwieldy and strange.

She burst into the house, started to curl her lip at Summerset, then stopped and stared. He wore black—big surprise—but not his usual gear. He wore formal black, tuxedo black with a white shirt that looked as stiff as his neck.

“You might save the excuses for another time,” he began. “You’ll need all you have left to transform yourself.”

“Why are you wearing that monkey suit?”

“It’s a formal affair.”