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“Peabody! Move your ass!”
“You better go.” He smiled as Eve’s irritated voice boomed up the stairs. “I’ll catch you later.”
And because he was feeling lucky, he cru
shed his mouth down on hers, sucking until the kiss broke with a wet, sexy sound.
Peabody stumbled back and staggered out the door.
*** CHAPTER THIRTEEN ***
Eve grabbed a cup of coffee and was forced to settle for an energy bar as the candy thief had hit her again. The first chance she got, she was setting a trap for the sneaky bastard. But at the moment, she had other priorities.
She caught the glide to the interview area and picked up Feeney on the way.
“This guy likes to role play,” Eve began. “I don’t want to give him the chance to latch onto a character type. Let’s mess with his rhythm.”
“I want to be bad cop this time.”
“Feeney, you’re—” She stopped, sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?”
Feeney hunched his shoulder. “I don’t smell anything. I’m taking bad cop.” He said it so decisively, Eve rolled her eyes, then shrugged.
“Okay, fine. I’ll start off being pleasant and reasonable, then we’ll jam him. If he’s lawyered…” She sniffed again, scenting the air like a bloodhound as other cops and Central personnel streamed by. “It smells, I don’t know, green,” she decided. “Like a salad.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Let’s keep focused, okay? A guy whips hell out of somebody like this one did, he’s got a temper. Let’s see if we can heat it up.”
“Fine.” As they stepped off the glide, she leaned in, sniffed at Feeney. “Hey, it’s you.”
“Shut up, Dallas.”
She grinned now, as the back of the neck she’d just sniffed turned cherry red. “How come you smell like a fancy green salad, Feeney?”
“Quiet down, will you? Christ.” He darted looks right and left until he was sure no one was close enough to hear. Then he lowered his voice to a mutter, just in case. “Look, my wife gave me this stuff for our anniversary.”
“You’re supposed to put salad dressing on lettuce and stuff, Feeney.”
“It’s not salad dressing, it’s cologne.”
“You smell good enough to eat.”
His mouth found a spot between a snarl and a sneer. “Yeah, that’s what she says. Keep it down, will you? I couldn’t get out of the house this morning without putting it on, or I’d’ve hurt her feelings. You have to get pretty close to catch it, but the damn stuff lasts hours. I’ve been taking stairs and glides all day. I can’t risk an elevator.”
“Gee, that’s really sweet, Feeney. Maybe you could tell her you want to save it for special occasions.”
“You think she’d tumble for that? Dallas, you don’t understand women.”
“Got me there.” They turned the corner and saw Peabody outside Interview Three talking to another uniform. Eve recognized the tall young cop, sent him a nod when he turned, saw her, flushed.
“Well, it’s Officer Trueheart. How’s it going?”
“It’s going good, Lieutenant. The suspect’s inside.”
“Subject,” Eve corrected. “We’re not calling him suspect at this point.” She watched him process the difference in procedure. She could smell rookie on him as clearly as she could smell Feeney’s cologne. “Did the subject request a lawyer or representative?”
“No, sir. I think—” He cut himself off, stiffened his already soldierly back. “I beg your pardon, Lieutenant.”
“You’re allowed to think, Trueheart. In fact, we encourage thinking around here.” She remembered, with some bitterness, his first trainer who’d not only discouraged thinking, but humanity. “Give me your take.”
