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Quickly, she scanned the transmission from Peabody, manually requested a meeting, including Feeney, in twenty minutes. She set the communicator on the desk, turned back to the AutoChef to see if there were any soy chips available. She needed something to sop up the caffeine.
“I’ve got work, Nadine,” Eve continued, when she discovered she had nothing but an irradiated egg sandwich in stock. “And nothing to bump up your ratings.”
“You’re holding out on me. I know you’ve got Jess in custody. I’ve got sources in Holding.”
Annoyed, Eve turned back. Holding was innately ripe with leaks. “I can’t help you.”
“Are you charging him?”
“The charges are not for broadcast at this time.”
“Damn it, Dallas.”
“I’m on the edge here,” Eve snapped. “And it could go either way. Don’t push me. If and when I’m free to speak to the media on the matter, you’ll be the first. You’ll have to be satisfied with that.”
“You mean I have to be satisfied with nothing.” Nadine rose. “You’re got something big, or you wouldn’t be so snotty about it. I’m only asking for a—”
She broke off as Mavis burst in. “Jesus, Dallas, Jesus. How could you arrest Jess? What are you doing?”
“Mavis, damn it.” She could visualize Nadine’s reporter’s ears growing longer and sharper. “Sit,” she demanded, stabbing a finger at a chair, then at Nadine. “You, out.”
“Have a heart, Dallas.” Nadine attached herself to Mavis. “Can’t you see how upset she is? Let me get you some coffee, Mavis.”
“I said out, and I mean it.” At her wit’s end, Eve rubbed her hands over her face. “Take off, Nadine, or I’ll put you on the blackout list.”
As a threat, it had punch. The blackout list meant there wouldn’t be a cop in the homicide division who’d give Nadine the right time, much less a story lead. “Okay, fine. But I’m not dropping this.” There were other ways to dig, she thought, and other tools to dig with. She snatched up her bag, gave Eve one last bitter look, then flounced out.
“How could you?” Mavis demanded. “Dallas, how could you do this?”
To insure some level of privacy, Eve shut the door. Her headache had come full circle and was now gleefully throbbing behind her eyes. “Mavis, this is my job here.”
“Your job?” Her eyes were laser blue today, and red-rimmed from weeping. It was touching the way they matched the cobalt streaks in her scarlet hair. “What about my career? I finally get the break I’ve been waiting for, working for, and you toss my partner into a cage. And for what?” Her voice hitched. “Because he came on to you and pissed Roarke off.”
“What?” Her mouth fell open, worked silently before she could get her tongue around words. “Where the hell did you get that?”
“I just got off the ’link with Jess. He’s devastated. I can’t believe you’d play this way, Dallas.” Her eyes began to leak again. “I know Roarke’s premiere with you, but we’ve got history.”
At that moment, with Mavis noisily weeping into her hands, Eve could have cheerfully strangled Jess Barrow. “Yeah, we’ve got history, and you should know I don’t play that way. I don’t toss someone in a cage because I find them a personal annoyance. Would you sit down?”
“I don’t need to sit.” She wailed it, made Eve wince as the sound acted as the dull point of an edgy knife on her brain.
“Well, I do.” She dropped into a chair. How much could she safely tell a civilian without crossing the line? And how far over the line was she willing to go? She looked at Mavis again, sighed. As far as it took. “Jess is the prime suspect in four deaths.”
“What? What bend did you go aro
und since last night? Jess wouldn’t—”
“Be quiet,” Eve snapped. “I haven’t got him solid on that yet, but I’m working on it. I do, however, have him on other charges. Serious charges. Now, if you’d stop blubbering and sit the hell down, I’ll tell you what I can.”
“You didn’t even stay and watch my whole act.” Mavis managed to fall into a chair, but she didn’t manage to stop blubbering.
“Oh, Mavis, I’m, sorry.” Eve dragged a hand through her hair. She was lousy with weepers. “I couldn’t—there was nothing I could do. Mavis, Jess is into mind control.”
“Huh?” It was such a wild statement coming from the most grounded person she knew that Mavis stopped crying long enough to sniffle and gape. “Huh?”
“He’s developed a program that accesses brain wave patterns and influences behavior. And he’s used it on me, on Roarke, and on you.”
“On me? No, he didn’t. Get genuine here, Dallas, this is too Frankenstein. Jess isn’t a mad scientist. He’s a musician.”
