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“I’d be delighted to show you. Is there a particular product you have in mind, or are you just browsing? Our consultants will—”
“Just show me what you’ve got, Denise, and get me the manager of the area.”
“Right away. If you’d just come with me. Can I get you and your associate any refreshment?”
Peabody spoke fast, knowing Eve would cut off any hope given half a chance. “I’d like one of those pink fizzy drinks. Nonalcoholic,” she added when Eve gave her a baleful stare.
“I’ll have it brought right in to you.”
Retail was up a level, a short ride on a silver glide, and beyond a small oasis complete with pool and palms. Wide glass doors parted with a fluid little tinkle at their approach. On the other side, the retail area spread in an artful fan, with each spoke dedicated to a different form of beautification.
Staff here wore flowing red coats over snowy white skinsuits. And those were worn over perfect bodies.
Each display counter held its own miniscreen where simultaneous demonstrations were being shown on skin care, body toning, relaxation techniques, and emergency hairstyling.
All with lavish use, of course, of products sold on site.
“Please, feel free to look around while I fetch Martin. He oversees our retail service.”
“Man, look at all this great stuff.” Peabody edged toward a display of skin care with a dazzling arrangement of frosted glass bottles, gold tubes, and red-capped pots. “Fancy places like this give out great free samples.”
“Keep your hands in your pockets and your mind on the job.”
“But if it’s free—”
“They’ll just talk you into spending six months’ pay on gunk to go with the giveaways.” The place smells like a jungle, was all Eve could think. Hot, oversweet, and eerily sexual. “It’s got to be the oldest con in the books.”
“I won’t buy anything.” She spotted one o
f the enhancement displays with all those fascinating colors. Girl toys, she thought. And yearned.
But all the color and flash was nothing compared to Martin.
Denise hurried out in front of him, clicking her three-inch red heels over the white floor, like a handmaiden before royalty. She didn’t bow, but Eve was certain she thought about it before scurrying away and out the glass doors again.
Martin swept up, his long trailing cloak of sapphire brushing the floor, the skinsuit of silver beneath it sparkling over a long, muscled body. His pecs rippled, his biceps strained, his privates bulged.
His hair, as silver as his suit, was swept up from a sharply planed face in a complex arrangement of twists that were caught in sapphire cord and left to dangle down his back.
He smiled, held out a hand crowded with rings.
“Lieutenant Dallas.” His voice was seductively French, and before she could stop him, he’d taken her hand and kissed the air an inch above her knuckles. “We’re honored to welcome you to Paradise. How may we be of service to you?”
“I’m looking for a man.”
“Cherie, aren’t we all?”
“Ha. This particular man,” she said, amused despite herself. She drew a hard-copy image of Yost out of her file bag.
“Well.” Martin studied the photo. “Handsome in a brute fashion. The Distinguished Gentleman does not, in my opinion, suit his facial features nor his style. He should have been gently dissuaded from that purchase.”
“You recognize the wig?”
“Hair alternative.” And his eyes twinkled as he said it. “Yes. It’s not one of the more popular styles as the gray is something most looking for alternatives wish to avoid. May I ask why you’re seeking this man here in Paradise?”
“He bought the hair alternative here, along with a number of other products. May third. Cash. I’d like to talk to whoever waited on him.”
“Hmmm, do you have a list of the products he purchased?”
