Indulgence in Death (In Death #31)(44)

She rubbed her gritty eyes. “Didn’t I lock that door?”

He only smiled. “I need to go into my own office for a few hours, and wanted to kiss my wife good-bye. Why didn’t you go up to the crib for your thirty-minute rest period?”

“It’s disgusting. You don’t know who’s going to walk in, or who was in there last, or what they were doing with whoever else might’ve been in there.”

“That’s a point.” He sat up so they were face-to-face. “But I’m not sure this is better.” As Mira had, he laid a hand on her cheek. “You need more sleep.”

“Skillet, pan.”

“What?”

“You know, the skillet says the pan’s the same deal.”

He thought a moment. “I believe that’s the pot calling the kettle black.”

“Whatever, kitchen stuff can’t talk anyway. McNab and Peabody made the shoe.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Three large for something you wear so your foot’s not walking on the ground.”

He decided against telling her how much he’d paid for the boots she was currently wearing. “You should be pleased. They’ll be easier to track than something you could pick up for a hundred at Discount Shoes.”

“True. I’ve got to screw with the little bastard—the drug pusher—then I’m going to go have a chat with The Third and The Fourth.”

“You have fun.” He leaned in to kiss her. I’ll see you at home when we get there.” He stood, pulled her to her feet, then pleased himself by drawing her into his arms. “We’ll catch up on all this, and each other, over dinner.”

“Yeah, I . . .” She leaned back, met his eyes with a smile in hers. “That’s it.”

“Is it?” he murmured and rubbed his lips to hers.

“Not that it. I went by to see Charles to talk to him about the second vic. And he’s making breakfast for Louise because she pulled an allnighter at the clinic. I mean cooking, like with eggs and that skillet thing. And we’re sitting there eating omelets—”

“You had an omelet, and I get a bag of crisps.”

“It just worked out that way. He’s talking to me about LC stuff, and how he worked with the vic a couple times. And I’m thinking isn’t this weird for her, for Louise to sit there and eat breakfast while we’re talking about sex and S&M and clients? But it’s not. It’s their deal, that’s all it is. It’s kind of like you and me talking murder over dinner. It’s just part of the package.”

“I like our package.” He tapped her on the chin. “Try not to work my cop until she falls down.”

“He’s going to kill again, and soon,” she said when Roarke walked to the door. “He’s already booked the appointment, or at the very least keyed it into his schedule. And it won’t matter who it is, but what they are. He’ll enjoy it, and that really pisses me off.”

“Then think how pissed off he’ll be when you stop him.”

“I’m counting on it. See you later.”

10

EVE GATHERED WHAT SHE NEEDED BEFORE walking out of her office into the bullpen.

“Peabody, with me,” she said, and kept walking.

Peabody scrambled to catch up. “We nailed the shoe.”

“Good work. The top—when you’re talking important and exclusive—vendor in the city is the designer’s boutique on Madison. We’ll need a list of people who bought that shoe in the size range.”

“Shopping! Even if I couldn’t afford the toe of a pair of socks in a place like that.”

“Field work,” Eve corrected. “First we’re going to ruin Mitchell Sykes’s day. He’s in Interview A, and he’s mine. You’ve got the cohab in B.”

“I get to work her solo.” Peabody rubbed her hands together.

“I want you to go in like this is in the bag. We got everything we need to put her over, but the PA wants to save the taxpayers some money, and offer a deal. First one to lay it all out, verify the skim and scam, gets to plead to misappropriation of prescription drugs and a lighter sentence.”

“Because we want her to roll on Sykes.”

“We do.”

“And I get to be disgusted the PA isn’t fully backing our play because it’s all politics and crap. So here’s the deal, sister, and you better grab it before your playmate does.”

Eve rubbed her ear. “See where it takes you. If you get a sense she’s as much an ass**le as he is, change your tactic. We’ll get them both on the whole shot. But I want to put this away fast. We’ve got bigger fish to bake.”

“Fry. Fish to fry.”

“Jesus, why would you care how metaphorically fish is cooked?”

Eve peeled off, stepped into Interview A. “Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, entering Interview with Sykes, Mitchell. Hey, Mitch, how’s it going?”

“I don’t have time for this.”

“Who does?”

“Look, I told you what I know about all this already. I don’t have to be here, but Mr. Sweet’s directive is for full cooperation with the police.”

“Sweet,” she said, to amuse herself. “Have you been read your rights?”