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Eve left Peabody trailing behind her—likely still gawking—and approached one of the info screens.
Welcome. Please state your desired destination.
“The Mira Institute.”
The image of the iconic building on screen morphed into the logo for the Institute.
The Mira Institute occupies floors thirty and thirty-one, with its main lobby on floor thirty. Please state the party or department you wish to visit, and you will be directed.
“The main lobby works.”
Please see the guard at the security station for screening and admittance. Enjoy your visit and the rest of your day.
Even as Eve turned, two uniformed guards stepped in front of her.
“Keep your hands visible. You need to come with us.”
Already been screened, she thought, and their weapons had alerted security.
“We’re NYPSD. I’m going to reach for my badge. Got that?”
She kept her moves slow just in case one of them had a jumpy stunner finger, took out her badge.
The man she showed it to took it, ran it with a pocket scanner. “Lieutenant,” he said, handing it back. “We’ll need to see yours, too,” he added to Peabody.
Once satisfied, he nodded and his companion stepped away, murmured into a lapel mic.
“You’re clear. Take the east bank of elevators to thirty. I’ll alert them. Otherwise, you’ll be stopped when you get off. They have secondary security on thirty.”
“Appreciate it.”
They crossed the lobby, joined a small, chatty group getting on the elevator. She smelled coffee in someone’s go-cup, so sweet it nearly made her teeth ache, and someone else’s overly floral perfume. Two women chirped like mynah birds about hitting the inventory sales downtown on their lunch break, while some guy in a Russian cossack hat droned on into his pocket ’link about a nine o’clock staff meeting.
Eve decided if she was forced to always work in an office, she’d just jump out the nearest window and be done with it.
The mynah birds got off on twenty. Coffee-flavored sugar on twenty-three. Drenched in flowers glided off on spike-heeled boots and a swish of black coat on twenty-seven.
They got off on thirty with the droner.
Reception centered around an S-shaped counter backed by a floor-to-ceiling logo in sober and serious block letters. The waiting area faced the wide window, tinted to cut the glare. Black gel sofas ranged alongside a trio of gold scoop chairs with controls in their wide backs for music, refreshment, privacy settings, and communication. A life-size portrait of Edward Mira peered down righteously from the far wall.
A woman manned the first wide curve of the counter. She wore a black suit with thin silver piping and triangular shoulders sharp enough to slice bread. She worked busily at a muscular computer, but paused to flash a welcoming smile.
“Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody. Security notified me of your arrival. How can I help you today?”
“We need to speak to whoever’s in charge.”
“Of what?”
Eve pointed at the enormous logo. “Of this.”
“I’m afraid Senator Mira isn’t in. If you’d tell me the nature of your visit, I should be able to direct you to the appropriate party.”
“The second in command.”
The faintest flicker of annoyance ran through the polite mask. “Perhaps Ms. MacDonald or Mr. Book could assist you. If you’d care to take a seat, I’ll see if either are available.”
“They’ll want to be.” Rather than moving to the waiting area, Eve simply stood where she was.
