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“It’s a homicide investigation,” he said with such reverence she nearly patted his cheek.
“Glad you’re enjoying it.” She headed across the street, where Peabody waited. “Look me in the eye,” Eve demanded.
“I’m sober, sir.”
“Stick out your tongue.”
“Why?”
“Because you want to. Now, stop sulking.” With this, Eve walked toward the building. “And no rolling your eyes at the back of my head.”
Peabody’s eyes stopped in mid-roll. “Am I to be informed of the reason I’ve been called back on duty?”
“You’ll be informed. If all your surviving brain cells are in working order, you’ll get the drift when I corner Stiles. I’ll fill in the blanks when we’re done.”
She gave her badge and palm print to the night guard for verification, got clearance. Eve ran it through quickly on the way up.
“Wow, it’s like one of those daytime serials. Not that I watch them,” Peabody said quickly when Eve’s eyes slid coolly in her direction. “One of my sisters is addicted though. She’s totally hooked on The Heart of Desire. See, Desire’s this small and charming seaside town, but under the surface, there’s all this intrigue and—”
“Don’t. Really.”
She hurried out of the elevator to prevent any possibility of a rundown of anything called The Heart of Desire. She pressed the buzzer at Stiles’s apartment, held her badge up toward the security peep.
“Maybe he’s asleep,” Peabody said a few moments later.
“He’s got a house droid.” Eve pressed the buzzer again and felt the ache of tension squeeze in her gut.
She’d assigned a rookie, a rookie for Christ’s sake, to surveillance on a lead suspect in two homicides. Because she’d wanted to give the kid a break.
If Stiles had slipped past him, she had no one to blame but herself.
“We’re going in.” She reached for her master code.
“A warrant—”
“We don’t need one. Subject is suspect, dual homicide, also potential victim. There’s reason to believe subject has fled or is inside, unable to respond.”
She bypassed the locks with her master. “Draw your weapon, Peabody,” she ordered as she reached for her own. “Go in high, to the right. Ready?”
Peabody nodded. Her mouth might have been brightly painted, but it was firm.
At Eve’s signal, they went through the door, sweeping opposite directions. Eve ordered lights, narrowed her eyes against the sudden flash of them, scanned, sweeping as she angled herself to guard Peabody’s back.
“Police! Kenneth Stiles, this is Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD. I am armed. You’re ordered to step out into the living area immediately.”
She moved toward the bedroom as she spoke, ears cocked for any sound. “He’s not here.” Every instinct told her the place was empty, but she gestured Peabody to the far side of the room. “Check that area. Watch your back.”
She booted open the door, led with her weapon.
She saw a neatly made bed, a tidy sitting area, and the dark pool of the suit Stiles had worn to the memorial service on the floor.
“The droid’s here, Dallas,” Peabody called out. “Deactivated. No sign of Stiles.”
“He’s gone rabbit. Goddamn it.” Still, she kept her weapon out and ready as she moved into the bath, through the adjoining door.
One look at the dressing room had her bolstering it again. “I guess that lets Trueheart off the hook,” she said to Peabody when her aide joined her. Eve fingered a pot of skin toner, then lifted a wig. “Stiles is probably damn good with this stuff. Call it in, Peabody. Suspect in flight.”
• • •
