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“Where are you going to be?”
“I’m going to meet a couple guys at a bar.”
She clicked off as Feeney came in. “Gotta suit you up.”
“I can do that.” Roarke walked in behind him, carrying a silver garment bag. “She’ll need to change anyway.”
“Into what?” Eve demanded.
“Appropriate attire. Your con will be more convincing if you’re dressed for an evening out.”
“I’ll test you out when you’re attired.” With a snort, Feeney strolled out.
“Strip it off, Lieutenant,” Roarke told her. He shut and locked the door.
“I need to be able to carry my weapon.”
“I said appropriate attire.” He unzipped the bag.
The dress was short, simple, and black. But it came with a hip-skimming jacket that fastened up the front with a lot of fancy loops.
“Somebody could kill me five times before I got that jacket undone and drew my weapon.”
Roarke simply demonstrated by tugging the jacket open. “The loops are for show.”
“Not bad. Not bad at all.” When she peeled off her clothes, Roarke fixed on the recorder, the mic, the earpiece. “Where’d the dress come from?”
“Your closet. I had Summerset bring it down. Along with the accessories.” He held up diamond earrings. “They’ll see these, believe me, and won’t give a single thought to the possibility you’re wired. And switch your wrist unit for the evening one.”
She gave it, all that fire and ice, a dubious glance. “I haven’t really played with that one.”
“It works the same way as your everyday. You can carry a clutch piece in this bag—though not much else. Add the shoes.”
They were hot murder red with heels that made her arches twinge when she looked at them. “How am I supposed to run in those?”
He gave her a quick, amused look. “Are you planning on running?”
“You never know.” But she dressed, and added the murderous shoes. “Appropriate?”
“You’re perfect.” He framed her face with his hands. “Perfect for me.”
“We’re supposed to be pissed at each other, remember. You need to get in character.”
“I never have a problem acting pissed at you.” When he grinned, he brushed his lips over hers. He laid his forehead to hers briefly at the knock on the door, then crossed over to answer.
“Peabody, you look lovely.”
“Thanks.” She lifted her hands, palms up to Eve. “Well?”
She also wore black, young and funky, with a brightly striped sleeveless vest that covered her sidearm. With her hair done in crazed corkscrew curls, her eyes lined in emerald green, and her lips as red as Eve’s shoes, Eve was forced to agree.
“You’re right. They won’t make you.”
“McNab and I are heading out now so we’ll already be in place when the subjects get there. Detective Carmichael and the new guy will take the ballet. Baxter’s waiting for the go, then he’ll have both search units move in.”
“Good work, Peabody.”
“See you at the bar.”
