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Silence hung, a frosty curtain, for ten blocks. “She deserved it,” Eve snapped out. “That and more, for leaving it to her kid to get them out. For taking the slaps and punches and sniffling in the corner while her daughter’s getting raped. She deserved it for doing nothing.”
“Maybe she did.” Dangerous ground, Peabody thought. “But she didn’t know . . .” She trailed off, slapped back by a single and ferocious look from her partner. “She should have known. I guess that’s what she has to live with now.”
“The kid lives with worse.” And that was that. “No way that punching bag had a part in poisoning Lino. This one’s going to be a dead end. Contact Marc Tuluz, see if we can get him to come to us.”
Eve needed to get back to her office. She needed five minutes alone to get rid of this burning rage in her gut, one she had no right feeling. She needed decent coffee so she could clear her head and take another look at the facts. Realign them.
She needed to check in with EDD and their progress, maybe set up a consult with Mira. No, she decided immediately. The profiler saw too much, too easily. Until that rage was banked, she’d steer clear of Mira. She didn’t need someone telling her she was projecting herself on a kid she’d never met. She already knew it.
What she needed was her murder book, her murder board. Lab reports, EDD. What she needed was the job.
They were a good ten feet from the Homicide bullpen when Peabody’s nose went up like a hound on the hunt. “I smell doughnuts.” When Peabody increased her pace, Eve started to roll her eyes, but then she smelled them, too.
Which meant her men would all be in various stages of sugar highs. And she wasn’t.
She saw Baxter first, tall and slick in one of his stylish suits. And a mouthful of chocolate-iced, cream-filled. Then Jenkinson kicked back at his desk, scratching his belly while he shoveled in a cruller. And Carnegie, looking busy on her ’link while breaking tiny pieces off a glazed with rainbow sprinkles.
Peabody pounced on the glossy white bakery box. And her face when she lifted it was a study in grief and disgust. “Gone. Every crumb. You vultures.”
“Damn good doughnuts.” Baxter smiled around the last mouthful. “Too bad you missed them.”
Eve gave him a sour look. “This has bribe by Nadine all over it.”
“She’s in your office.”
“Does she have more?” Peabody turned to make the rush, and stopped short when Eve slapped a hand on her shoulder.
“Desk. Work. Here.”
“Oh. But. Doughnuts.”
“Oh. But. Murder.” With that, Eve turned and headed into her office to see what her friend, and the city’s top on-air reporter and news personality thought was bribe-worthy today.
Nadine Furst, her fashionably sassy, sun-tipped hair perfectly groomed, sat in the single, saggy visitor’s chair in Eve’s tiny, unfashionable office. Her excellent legs were crossed, and the skirt of her suit— the color of arctic ice—showed them off. Her eyes, crafty as a feline’s, smiled casually at Eve as she continued to talk animatedly on her mini ’link. She gestured toward Eve’s desk, and the second bakery box.
Then she went back to admiring her shoes, the same murderously sexy red as the hint of lace slyly kissing her cleavage. “Yes, I’ll be there. And there. Don’t worry. Just make sure I have that research on my desk by two. I have to go, my next appointment’s here.” She clicked off, tucked the ’link into one of the outside pockets on a bag that looked as though it could swallow Cleveland.
“We had an appointment?”
“We have doughnuts,” Nadine responded. She gestured to the murder board. “A lot of buzz on that. Priest poisoned with sacramental wine. It’s good copy. Anything new you want to share?”
“Maybe.” Eve flipped open the bakery box, and was immediately assaulted with the scent of fried fat and sugar. “Maybe.”
Eve went directly to the AutoChef to program coffee. After the briefest of hesitations, she programmed a second cup for Nadine.
“Thanks. One minute for personal business before we go back to our natural forms. Charles and Louise. Wedding.”
“Oh crap.”
“Oh stop.” With a laugh, Nadine lifted the coffee, sipped. “The doctor and the retired licensed companion. It’s completely adorable and desperately romantic and you know it.”
Eve only scowled. “I hate adorable and romantic.”
“Bull. You’re married to Roarke. In any case, I think it’s wonderful you’re hosting the wedding, and standing up for her. I just wanted to tell you I’d be happy to help with the shower.”
“Louise can take her own shower. She’s a big girl.”
“Bridal shower.”
