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“When’s your next appointment?”
“A week from Wednesday. She canceled our last appointment as she was getting ready for her trip. Two o’clock, at the Blackmore again.”
“Okay. If she doesn’t contact to cancel, I’d like you to keep it.”
He let out a sigh that had Eve’s brows drawing together.
“All right.”
“Problem with that?”
“No. No, no problem. I’m sorry, but if there’s more, can we do it later? I actually have an appointment shortly.”
“That’s fine. That’s it for now anyway.”
“Charles,” Peabody said as they got to their feet. “Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing. Just a lot on my mind. We should all have dinner soon. The six of us.”
“That’d be great. You know you could tag me anytime, if you need to talk about anything.”
This time when he smiled, it hit his eyes, too. “I know.” He cupped Peabody’s chin, lowered his lips to hers. “You tell McNab I said he’s a lucky man.”
Rather than climb right into the car, Peabody paced the sidewalk outside Charles’s building. “Why does he seem so worried? Like something’s balled up in his belly?”
“I don’t know, but that’s a good description.”
“It can’t be about the case, Dallas. It’s not about Anders. If Charles knew something—”
“No, it’s not about the case. I caught it from him last night before I brought up Anders.”
“Maybe he’s sick.” Worry and distress hitched through the words. “I know how carefully LCs are screened, especially top-levels like Charles, but what if—”
“Peabody, there’s nothing we can do about this. And if he was sick, Louise would know.”
“You’re right. You’re right. It’s just…I love him, you know? Not like love—McNab love, but—”
“I get it. I’ve got a soft spot, too. You can’t know everything there is to know about a friend, or fix every problem. It’s tough knowing they’ve got one, but…”
She trailed off, narrowed eyes staring at a middle distance.
“What?”
“Just thinking of friends. We’ve got time to drop in on the last of the mimosas-for-breakfast trio before I meet with Mira. Let’s see what Sasha has to say.”
Sasha Bride-West wasn’t inclined to say much. She was too busy groaning through crunches under the command of the hunk of beef-cake she introduced as Sven, her personal trainer.
“Ava and Tommy were going through a patch. Have you ever seen a marriage that didn’t? Sven, you’re killing me.”
“Ten more, my warrior. You’ll have abs to slay.”
“I can buy frigging abs.” When he made tsking sounds, she gritted her teeth and kept going. “Anyway, I’ve had three marriages. Not much smooth sailing, plenty of rough road. Seemed to work the opposite for Ava. But when she asked me to recommend a love machine, and to keep it to myself, I gave her a name—guy’s a genius in bed, and damn good company out of it—and kept it to myself.”
She collapsed, panting. “Water, Sven, I’m begging you.”
He offered her a towel first, to mop her face. She dabbed sweat off skin the color of rich caramel cream.
“Did you follow up?”
