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“Yeah, but if he has a concussion—”
“Mira will haul him to the hospital if he needs it. He looked okay yesterday by the time I sent them home.”
“I hate that somebody hurt him.”
“They could’ve done worse—be glad they didn’t.”
She turned toward the entrance of the grand Deco building.
“I never put it together he was related to Senator Mira. I mean, could they be less alike?”
Eve frowned as she pushed through the door. “You know Edward Mira?”
“Yes. I mean, not personally. Politically. Free-Ager,” Peabody reminded her. “I pretty much disagree with everything he’s for, but . . .”
Peabody trailed off, gaping and neck-craning like a tourist. “I’ve never been in here. It’s abso mag!”
“Stop gawking.” Eve added an elbow jab. “Be a fricking cop.”
It impressed, sure, with its three-story entrance, the golden-red marble walls, the glow of the golden floors and palatial pillars.
But cops didn’t gawk.
Eve left Peabody trailing behind her—likely still gawking—and approached one of the info screens.
Welcome. Please state your desired destination.
“The Mira Institute.”
The image of the iconic building on screen morphed into the logo for the Institute.
The Mira Institute occupies floors thirty and thirty-one, with its main lobby on floor thirty. Please state the party or department you wish to visit, and you will be directed.
“The main lobby works.”
Please see the guard at the security station for screening and admittance. Enjoy your visit and the rest of your day.
Even as Eve turned, two uniformed guards stepped in front of her.
“Keep your hands visible
. You need to come with us.”
Already been screened, she thought, and their weapons had alerted security.
“We’re NYPSD. I’m going to reach for my badge. Got that?”
She kept her moves slow just in case one of them had a jumpy stunner finger, took out her badge.
The man she showed it to took it, ran it with a pocket scanner. “Lieutenant,” he said, handing it back. “We’ll need to see yours, too,” he added to Peabody.
Once satisfied, he nodded and his companion stepped away, murmured into a lapel mic.
“You’re clear. Take the east bank of elevators to thirty. I’ll alert them. Otherwise, you’ll be stopped when you get off. They have secondary security on thirty.”
“Appreciate it.”
They crossed the lobby, joined a small, chatty group getting on the elevator. She smelled coffee in someone’s go-cup, so sweet it nearly made her teeth ache, and someone else’s overly floral perfume. Two women chirped like mynah birds about hitting the inventory sales downtown on their lunch break, while some guy in a Russian cossack hat droned on into his pocket ’link about a nine o’clock staff meeting.
