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“Why don’t we get a pizza tonight? See where it goes.”
“We know where it went,” she reminded him. “We don’t have time to do this now, McNab. We don’t have time to think about it.”
“I think about you all the time.”
That stopped her, dead in her tracks. It was tough to walk when your heart had bounced to your shoes. “You’re messing me up.”
“That’s the plan. A pizza, She-Body? I know how you are for pizza.”
“I’m on a diet.”
“What for?”
The fact that he could ask, sincerely, had always charmed and baffled her. “Because my ass is approaching the same mass as Pluto.”
He circled around her as they hiked up the long curve of the drive. “Come on. You’ve got a great ass. It’s there. A guy doesn’t have to spend half his time looking for it.”
He gave it an affectionate squeeze, earned a narrowed, warning look, and grinned. He knew when he was making headway. “We’ll just eat and talk. No sex.”
“Maybe. I’ll think about it.”
He remembered what Roarke had advised him about romance. In a quick dash, he loped around the lawn, snapped a blossom from an ornamental pear. He caught up with Peabody at the steps, and slid the flower through the top buttonhole of her jacket.
“Jeez,” she muttered, but she strode into the house without taking the flower out.
She was very careful to avoid direct eye contact with Summerset. And very aware of the heat creeping up her neck as he invited them to go straight up to Eve’s office.
Eve stood in the center of the room, rocking lightly on her heels as she watched the security tape again. The man was smug, she thought. And aloof. He enjoyed casting that amused glance over the crowd in the cyber-café, thinking everyone in there was less than he. Knowing he had a secret.
But he also dressed to draw attention. Admiration and envy. So those who saw him understood he was more.
He thought ahead. Was so cocksure nothing and no one could touch him. But when things had gone wrong, there was fear and panic.
She watched the sweat dew on his face as he stared at the monitor in his cube. And she could see him, easily see him, heaving the lifeless body of Bryna Bankhead off the balcony. Get rid of the problem, she mused. The inconvenience, the threat. Then run away.
She couldn’t see him following through the very next night with another woman. With deliberate intent and cold blood.
She turned as Peabody and McNab came in. “Run this guy’s image front, back, and sideways,” she ordered. “Concentrate on the facial structure, the eyes—shape, not color—and body type. Forget the hair, odds are it’s not his.”
“You have a bruise on your jaw, sir.”
“Yeah, and you have a flower in your buttonhole. So we both look stupid. Dickhead came through on the wigs and enhancements. I’ve got the brand names. You chase down outlets on them, Peabody, get me a consumer list. Cross-reference it with the one I’ve got on the wine. Roarke’s getting me a list of the top shops for men in the city.”
“Roarke has got it for you.” He stepped into the office, held out a disc. “Good morning, class.”
“Thanks.” She passed it off to Peabody. “Our guy likes the good stuff. Designer shoes, tailored wardrobe. What do you call it?”
“Bespoke,” Roarke supplied. “While he may purchase directly from London or Milan, the first suit was definitely British cut,” he added. “The second certainly Italian, he’d be likely to patronize some of the high-end shops here in New York.”
“Taking our fashion advisor at his word,” Eve said dryly, “we run it through, see if anything pops. Unless he’s got his own greenhouse, he’s buying those pink roses from somewhere. Probability’s high it’s in his own neighborhood, and I’m betting that neighborhood is either Upper West Side or Upper East Side, so we look there first.”
She glanced over, momentarily surprised when Roarke gave her a mug of fresh, hot coffee. “I’ve got a consult with Mira here in an hour. Feeney’s at Central, directing the exam of the unit we impounded from Cyber Perks. I want answers, I want a trail, and I want it today. Because he’s going to move again tonight. He has to.”
She turned back to the screen where the killer’s face sneered out at the crowd. “He’s already got his next target.”
She walked over to a board where she’d pinned photographs of both victims, the computer images of the killer as he’d looked before and after each murder.
“She’ll be young,” Eve said. “Early- to mid-twenties. She’ll live alone. She’ll be attractive and intelligent with an affection for poetry. She’ll be romantic, and not currently in any serious relationship. She lives in the city. Works in the city. He’s already seen her, studied her on the street or at her job. She may have spoken to him and not known he was the man who’s been seducing her. She’s probably thinking about tonight, about this date she has with a man who’s exactly what she’s waited for. In a few hours, she thinks, I’ll meet him. And maybe, just maybe . . .”
