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“Dallas, mute off. Feeney, you copy?”
“Read you.”
“Let’s put a couple of uniforms on this place. Surveillance goggles. Pella doesn’t give me the full buzz, but there’s a minor tingle happening. He knows something about something, and the face in that sketch triggered it.”
“Done.”
“Shadow pick up on any tail?”
“Nada.”
“Yeah, me either. I’m going to drop Peabody by her place, head home myself. I’ll be working from there. Dallas out.”
“Home sweet home?”
“Home where you can start digging up data on Pella’s dead wife. Details, all you can find. I can wrangle clearance to search his medicals. Take a closer look at Dobbins, too.”
“Looks like I’m not getting laid again tonight.”
Eve ignored her. “I’ll take another glance at the currently unavailable Hugh Klok. Guy’s into antiquities and that says travel to me. Let’s see if any of these guys frequents the opera. Roarke can take a closer look at their real estate. Maybe the houses mean something. I want blueprints in any case.”
She pulled away from the curb, hoping to sense someone watching, someone sliding through the traffic behind her. But all she felt was the crowded streets, and the sluggish push of vehicles that had turned the earlier snow into dismal mush.
17
“LOCKED IN,” EVE SAID WHEN THE GATES OF home closed behind her. “Eyes and ears off. Dallas out.”
No ugly mush and slush here, she thought. The snow spread, pure and pristine, over the grounds, draped heavy as wet fur on the trees so that the great house rose like the powerful focal point of a winter painting. And like a painting, now that the frigid March wind had died, it all stood utterly still.
She left the car, and even moving through winter’s irritable bite, she had the thought that maybe Peabody was right. Maybe spring was edging closer.
As she entered the house Summerset oozed into the foyer with the fat Galahad shadowing him.
“I’m to tell you that Roarke will be somewhat late. It seems he has considerable business of his own to deal with as he’s been spending so much of his time entrenched in yours.”
“His choice, Scarecrow.” She tossed her coat over the newel.
“There’s blood on your pants.”
She glanced down. She’d nearly forgotten the bite. Little thieving bastard. “It’s dry.”
“Then you won’t drip on the floor,” he said equably. “Mavis wishes you to know she wasn’t able to pinpoint the hairpiece, but she and Trina believe they may have narrowed the brand of body cream down to three choices. The information is on your desk.”
Eve climbed two steps, partly because she just wanted to get the hell upstairs, and partly because it allowed her to look down on him. “They’re gone?”
“Since midday. Leonardo returned. I arranged for their transportation home, where Trina will be staying with them until this matter is resolved.”
“Good. Fine.” She went up two more stairs, then stopped. He was a righteous pain in her ass most of the time, but she’d heard the concern in his voice. Whatever his numerous flaws—and don’t get her started—he had a big, gooey soft spot for Mavis.
“They’ve got nothing to worry about,” she said, looking straight into his eyes. “They’re clear of this.”
He only nodded, and Eve continued upstairs. Galahad trotted up after her.
She went to the bedroom, but only glanced at the big, gorgeous bed. If she went down, she knew she’d stay down, and that wasn’t the answer. Instead, she stripped, placing her weapon—and the clutch piece she’d strapped onto her ankle that afternoon—her badge, electronics on the dresser, then pulled on a tank and shorts.
She started to pick at the bandage on her calf, then ordered herself to stop. If she looked at the wound, the stupid thing would start hurting again.
What she needed was a good, strong workout where she could empty her mind and push her body awake.
