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“Now, you’re scaring me,” Eve said with a wide smile as she pocketed the memo.
“He’s got contacts, he’s got sources. Deep ones. You ought to take him seriously.”
“I take parasites very seriously. Now, here’s the way it’s going to be. Whatever data you’ve got, whatever leads, whatever angles, you send to my home unit. Tonight.”
“For Christ’s sake—”
“All of it,” Eve said, edging forward. “Hold out on me, and I’ll bury you before it’s done. You keep me fully apprised of every move made, every source tapped, every thread tied.”
“You know, I was actually starting to believe you just wanted him stopped. But it’s the kick, isn’t it? It’s the glory at the end of the bust.”
“I haven’t finished,” Eve said mildly. “You play that straight with me, and if I get to him first, I’ll tag you. I’ll do everything I can to make sure you’re in on the takedown, and that you’re the one to bring him in.”
Stowe’s lips trembled open, then firmed. “Winnie would have liked you.” She stretched her arm across the little table, offered her hand. “Deal.”
Eve got back in her vehicle, checked the time. It was nearly nine, which meant she couldn’t manage to get all the way uptown, change into appropriate clothes for a fancy dinner, get back to midtown, and join Roarke’s party by the deadline she’d given herself.
That left her two choices. She could do what she really wanted to do, ditch it, go home, take a hot shower, and wait for whatever data Stowe sent her to come through.
Or she could go to the Top of New York with its silver tables and staggering view of the city in her work clothes, sit with a bunch of people she had nothing much in common with, get home late, potentially cranky, and work until her eyes fell out of her head.
She struggled between desire and guilt, heaved a sigh, and headed to midtown.
At least she could do something with the lag time. She put through a call to Mavis’s palm-link.
Noise erupted, floods and spikes of it that had Eve’s ears ringing even before she saw Mavis’s face on-screen. There was a new temp tattoo decorating Mavis’s left cheekbone. It might have been a green cockroach.
“Hey, Dallas! Wait, wait. You in your car? Hold on, and check this out.”
“Mavis—”
But the in-dash screen went blank. A few seconds later, her friend popped onto, or partially into, the passenger’s seat.
“Jesus Christ!”
“Iced, huh? I’m in the holo-room at the recording studio. We use it for video effects and stuff.” Mavis looked down at herself, noticed her butt was in the seat rather than on it and hooted with laughter. “Hey, I lost my ass.”
“And most of your clothes from the looks of it.”
Mavis Freestone was a tiny woman, and her designer lover had obviously spared the material when he’d decked her out in what appeared to be three hot pink starbursts. They were placed precisely where the law demanded, and connected with thin silver chains.
“It really rocks, huh? There’s another on my ass, but you can’t see it since I’m sitting down. You caught me between sets at the studio. What?
??s up? Where are we going?”
“I’ve got one of Roarke’s dinner things midtown. I need a favor.”
“Sure.”
“I’ve got video of a large collection of enhancements. Top of the line junk. Can you take a look at it and put me onto the retail sources and possibly wholesale, too, most likely? They’re going to need to be replaced.”
“Is it like for a case? I just love doing detective stuff.”
“I just need the sources.”
“No problem, but you should really ask Trina. She knows everything about beauty products, and since she’s in the business she’d know retail and wholesale right off.”
Eve winced. She’d thought of Trina, but, well. . . “Look, this is hard for me to admit, and if it goes outside of this vehicle, I’ll have to kill you but . . . she scares me.”
