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“Yeah, for now. Continue run.”
She went back, pulled up the incoming from Harvo.
Hey, Dallas! Forty-nine samples. Fun for me. I’m going to hang in the lab extra to play. I got three DNA matches for you already—easy as peasy. Data with IDs attached. Send you more as it comes. Harvo—QofH&F
Quickly, Eve opened the attached report. New names, three women, current ages fifty-two, thirty-four, and twenty-three.
She tagged Harvo.
The screen filled with what looked like an active sea of lava. Then Harvo turned toward the screen, and Eve realized that rather than an exotic natural disaster, it was Harvo’s hair.
“Hey, Dallas! Click-bang on the timing. I just hit another one. I’m doing them alpha order, and figured I’d send them to you in groups.”
“Harvo, you’re my new best friend.”
“Solid! Let’s go get drunk and troll some beefcake.”
“Later. You’ve got one there labeled Grace.”
“Lemme see . . . yep, got two for Grace—a brunette, looks natural eyeballing, and a redhead that’s not.”
“I’m looking for one that’s probably from between 2035 and 2043. But if you’d run both next, hit me back as soon as you verify. I’ve got a Grace Carter Blake, and I want to verify it. I’d appreciate it.”
“You got it.” The tiny green hoop at the center point of her left eyebrow winked as she turned her head to check some odd piece of equipment.
“And if you’d check the one marked Elsi—I’m looking for Elsi Lee Adderman.”
“Sure thing, BFF.”
“Those two tonight, if you can. And one more—it can be tomorrow, but if you can analyze the oldest sample?”
“It’ll mean stopping some of the DNA searches, but sure. Or I can try to eyeball. That’s not total, but seeing as I’m Queen of Hair and Fiber, I can do the eyeball on say the oldest group of like five or six, analyze them.”
“Do what you do. When you get a name on the oldest sample, I want it. Do you need my weight to clear any of the OT on this?”
“Hell, D.” Harvo circled a finger in the air, then tapped it on her chest. “Queen here. Dickhead never questions the queen. Ah, hey, I get these are rape vics, and don’t want to make light. But if I think too much on that, it screws with my skill.”
“Harvo, do it your way. Getting the results is what counts.”
“I’ll get ’em, then you’ll get ’em.”
“Thanks. What do you call that hair—the hair on your head?”
Harvo grinned. “My crowning glory.”
“Yeah, yeah. The color.”
“Lava Flow. Jiggly, huh?”
“Definitely jiggly. Stay in touch.”
Updating could wait, she thought, and took what was left of her tube with her to check in with Roarke.
He’d shown her his private office and the unregistered equipment early in their relationship. A matter of trust, she thought. And had added her to the very few who could gain entrance.
She put her palm on the plate at the door.
