Obsession in Death (In Death #40)(67)

“Two lost souls, you said.”

“She’s another, isn’t she? One who’s chosen murder instead of the law, or money, as we did, respectively. Choices we made because we refused to be victims. A choice you made – though I believe you were born a cop – to stand for victims. In her warped way, so is she. Standing for victims, and for you.”

“She’s creating victims. But yeah, I get you. Here they come,” she added as she heard the clomp and prance that announced Peabody and McNab’s arrival.

“They’ll want food.”

“Crap.” Eve started to snarl, then remembered it was barely seven in the morning.

Her partner and the e-geek she loved came in.

“Get what you want out of the kitchen,” she said before either of them could speak. “And make it snappy.”

“Score!” McNab, still holding Peabody’s hand, dragged her along on his dash to the kitchen.

And all but blinded Eve with the blur of the kaleidoscope of stars decking his electric-blue shirt tucked into the screaming green of his cargos.

“I’ll leave you to fill them in while I finish up some work,” Roarke told her. “Then I can give you about an hour.”

“Appreciate it. Who was the sizzly French skirt?”

Roarke looked blank for a moment, then smiled. “You mean Cosette – Cosette Deveroix. Chief cyber engineer, Paris office.”

“What’s a cyber engineer?” she wondered, then held up a hand. “Never mind. I wouldn’t understand anyway, and don’t need to since I’ve got you. And him,” she added, jerking a thumb at McNab as he came out, shoveling in pancakes.

“Howzit going?”

“I’ll tell you both when Peabody gets the hell out here.”

“I meant more like how was Christmas and stuff.”

“Good, and done. Does that shirt run on batteries?”

He grinned around more pancakes, a man with a pretty face, clever green eyes, and a long tail of blond hair, all topping a skinny build. “Body heat. I get revved, they really shine.”

He turned his head, the spiral of silver rings along his earlobe sparkling as Peabody came out. She carried a plate holding a small scoop of scrambled eggs, two strips of bacon, and half a piece of unbuttered toast.

“Sorry, it took me a while to figure out what I wanted versus what I should have, and I compromised. I shouldn’t have the bacon, but… it’s bacon.”

But distracted, Eve continued to stare at Peabody’s feet. Not the pink cowboy boots, but still pink – hard-candy-pink boots that hit about mid-thigh with a thick fluff of snow-white furry stuff that glittered. The inch-wide soles were lime green.

“What do you have on your feet?” Eve demanded.

“These are my rain, snow, sleet, cozy toes boots. My boyfriend gave them to me for Christmas.” She batted eyes at McNab. “The soles are Sure Grip, so they’ll handle the ice. You need that today. It’s a skating rink out there.”

“What kind of murder cop wears pink boots with glittery white fuzz?”

“She-body,” McNab said, batting eyes right back.

“Christ.”

No point in bitching, Eve reminded herself, especially since the fuzz-topped boots matched the damn pink coat.

Why had she let Roarke overrule her on the pink?

McNab wore the McNab tartan airboots Roarke had had made for him, so in some weird way, she’d contributed to the madness of both of their wardrobes.

“Rundown,” she began. “What I believe is the first communication from the UNSUB is on screen.”

Pink boots, shiny stars aside, both Peabody and McNab turned toward the screen with the eyes of cops.

By the time they’d finished their breakfast, drunk Eve’s coffee, she’d brought them up to date with her current theory, and sent McNab off to Roarke’s comp lab.

“Kid in a candy store. He’s always juiced about working in Roarke’s lab,” Peabody added. “They’ll find something if something’s there, Dallas.”

“She’s smart, and part of her planned this from the start. Why do you send an e-mail to someone if you don’t leave them a way to respond?”

“Here I am.” Peabody spread her hands. “That’s all. Just here I am, now you know I’m out here, that I’ve got your back. No credit necessary, not between friends.” Peabody lifted her shoulders. “That’s how I read it.”

“That’s a good read.”

“There’s more – to me. You don’t have sisters, so you maybe don’t pick up on the really, really subtle, passive-aggressive bullshit. It buzzed for me a few times, here and there. It’s this: Oh, you’re restrained by the rules, the system, so you can’t really finish things off. And how people disrespect you – it’s implied you take it. Maybe have to take it. Those rules again.”

“Where does she say that?”

“Implied,” Peabody repeated. “Like…” She scrolled through the e-mails until she found what she wanted.

I DON’T KNOW HOW YOU TAKE THE WAY SOME OF THESE PEOPLE GET IN YOUR FACE, DISRESPECT YOU SO BLATANTLY. I’D NEVER BE ABLE TO TOLERATE IT.

“You can read that, why do you take that shit? You ought to stand up for yourself, and since you don’t, I guess I have to.”