Thankless in Death (In Death #37)(34)

“Well then, I’m with you.” He gave his computer the order to continue the search on auto, rose.

“I need to get my weapon and badge.”

“And boots,” he added, gesturing to her bare feet.

Armed and shod, she let him take the wheel, particularly since he’d called around some sleek, sexy two-seater.

“It’s new,” he told her. “I haven’t really had it out for a good run as yet.”

It smelled like leather—a weakness of hers. And the dash held enough gauges to outfit an off-planet shuttle.

“How many of these do you have?”

“One more now,” he said, and all but flew to the gates and through.

“I didn’t say we were going in hot.”

“It’s good to take her through her paces.” He zipped to vertical, soared over a snake of traffic. “And I’ve a cop with me should the locals object. You’re worried,” he added.

“She’s probably just playing mole.”

“Ostrich, but it comes to the same. Then why are you worried?”

“She dumped him, kicked him out—after he stole from her, and reportedly gave her a couple slaps. But she doesn’t take the opportunity to talk to the cops when she finds out he’s committed double murder? I got the sense she was pretty sensible, responsible, and her neighbor would’ve pushed it. So I don’t like it.”

“Would she have let him in?”

“Don’t see it.” In her mind, Eve turned it over, around, inside out. “No, I just don’t see it. And a friend dropped her off in a cab, watched her go inside. The neighbor would’ve pounced the minute she got up there, so I’m probably wasting time. I could interview her tomorrow.”

“I trust your instincts.” He punched it.

“Or you’re looking to break the land and air records.” She liked speed, but liked it more when she was at the wheel. But she didn’t tell him to slow down, and felt some relief when he oiled the car into a tiny street-level space less than half a block from the entrance to the building.

She scanned the street as she stepped onto the sidewalk. Too early for troublemakers, in this kind of neighborhood, she judged. But the shiny red toy on the curb could bring them out.

“That’s sitting there saying: Please, steal me.”

“It has a sadistic streak, so as it says that, it’s aware it’s fully shielded and armed.”

“Good thing.” She walked to the entrance, started to buzz Nuccio’s apartment, changed her mind.

“Don’t want her to know you’re on your way up?” Roarke asked when she used her master for access.

“Not exactly.”

“You are worried.”

“Bad feeling’s sticking. Let’s take the stairs.” Her fingers danced lightly over her weapon as they climbed. “Are you shielded and armed like your latest toy?”

“Always.”

She could hear the throbs from entertainment screens, and someone’s bright laughter before a door cut it to a muffle.

She nodded at Nuccio’s door, stepped to it, pressed the buzzer.

The locks remained engaged; the peep remained shielded.

She buzzed twice more, then banged on the door with the side of her fist. “Lori Nuccio, this is the NYPSD. We need to speak to you.”

The door stayed shut; the one across the hall opened. “You’re back.”

“Yeah. Ms. Crabtree, do you know if Ms. Nuccio’s in?”

“Yeah, she got home about quarter to seven. Thereabouts anyway. I gave her your card.”

Her gaze shifted over to Roarke as she spoke, and Eve saw the look in Crabtree’s eyes she’d seen in a variety of women’s eyes when they got an up-close load of him. She thought of it as a kind of ocular sigh.

“Anyway. I figured you’d come by before this or wait until tomorrow.”

“She didn’t contact me.”

“Damn it.” Crabtree’s gaze zipped back to Eve. “She said she would. She was pretty upset, wouldn’t let me fix her tea or anything. Just wanted to be alone and quiet, she said. I guess she needs to brood some.”

“She’s not answering.”

“I didn’t hear her go out. The elevator makes a racket, but she could’ve taken the stairs. She didn’t look like she wanted to do anything but hunker down. Maybe she took a sleeping pill.”

“I’m going to access this apartment. I don’t have a warrant, but—”

“Wait, wait. I don’t think that’s right. She wouldn’t like that.”

Then she should’ve contacted me, Eve thought.

“I’m concerned for her welfare. I’m accessing it.” Eve nodded at Roarke, then shifted to block Crabtree’s objections—and view—while he picked the locks.

“She’s just hunkered down,” Crabtree insisted. “You can’t just walk into her place like this. It’s not right.”

“Then you can file a complaint.”

“Done,” Roarke murmured.

Eve turned. “Record on.” Though her fingers itched for her weapon, she simply opened the door, called out.

“Lori Nuccio, this is the NYPSD. We’re entering this apartment.”