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“Peabody, send the results to Baxter and Trueheart, get them and Uniform Carmichael and his picks working them.” She checked the time. “Be ready to leave for Central when I tag you.”
She had one more stop to make, wound her way back down, asked directions, and made her way backstage. It was unlikely she’d gather any information that would add to the manhunt. But she couldn’t leave, just couldn’t leave, without seeing the people she cared about.
The people the dream Willow had threatened to kill.
She heard Nadine before she saw her, the voice thick with fatigue. She sat on the floor, back to the wall, outside one of the dressing rooms. Face and hair unsurprisingly still camera ready, a bold blue leather jacket over a sleek black skin suit.
She sat hip-to-hip with a man with purple-streaked black hair that curled madly past the collar of a black T-shirt and a studded, sleeveless black vest. He wore black jeans, scuffed boots that laced up his calves. He rivaled McNab for ear hoops.
He met her eyes—his a heavy-lidded, sharp crystal blue. His mouth curved a little, deepening the creases in his cheeks.
“Here’s your cop pal, Lois.”
“What? Oh, Dallas.” Nadine shoved to her feet. “What do you know? What can you tell me? I’m cued in to the station, and we need more details.”
Best, probably best, Eve thought, that she hadn’t known Nadine was here. Hadn’t had one more person to worry about.
“What do you know?” she countered. “What did you see? What did you hear? My job’s priority.”
“I didn’t see or hear a damn thing. I was down here, in Mavis’s dressing room, when security rushed in, said there was an incident. They won’t let us leave the area. Summerset’s friend was brought down. She’s in there with Mavis and Leonardo. Trina’s in there, too.”
Nadine gestured to the facing room with Mavis’s name emblazoned on it. “Come on, Dallas, spill. I’m having to feed things in crumbs to my producer.”
Eve just looked at Nadine’s companion. “Who are you?”
Nadine let out a quick laugh. “Told you.”
“Refreshing,” he said. “I’m Jake Kincade.”
“That won’t click, either. Dallas, Jake’s a rock star, literally. Avenue A? His band’s been rocking the charts for about fifteen years.”
“Give or take. Doesn’t really apply right now, does it? Anyway.” He rose on long legs, stood about six-five in his boots, offered a hand. “I’d say nice to meet you, but well, hell.”
“How many dead?” Nadine insisted. “Will you confirm that? It matters, Dallas.”
“Yeah, it matters. Sixteen at this time. A couple more aren’t likely to make it, but sixteen confirmed dead on scene.”
“Jesus.” Jake stared down the corridor. “My band’s piled up in dressing rooms, and we’ve got roadies flopped out like puppies. They’re all safe. All of them are safe, but . . . I’ve got names of some people we got tickets for, about a dozen people. Can you check to see . . .”
Eve pulled out her notebook. “Give me the names.”
She checked as he reeled them off from memory.
“None of them are on the dead or seriously injured list. I don’t have all the names, yet, of minor injuries.”
“That’s good enough. More than. Thanks. They, hell, they won this contest, got to hang with us at rehearsal, come backstage before the performance.”
“It’s been eating at him that any of them got hurt,” Nadine said. “Or worse.”
“I’m going to clear it so you can go home, all of you. It may take about thirty to have someone come down, escort you out.”
“I’m not going anywhere without a one-on-one,” Nadine insisted. “They can do it by remote.”
“Go get ’em, Lois,” Jake murmured, and had Nadine shooting him a sparkling look.
“The city’s going to be waking up,” Nadine continued, checked her glittering wrist unit. “In fact is. People need to know, Dallas. It’s their city, and last night was important. Someone smeared that with a lot of blood. It’s your job to stop them. It’s mine to let people know, not only what happened here, but that you’re doing whatever it takes to stop them.”
“She’s good.” Jake hooked his thumbs in his front pockets. “She says you’re good, too.”
