“It’s the middle of the day in Europe, and I’ve a holo conference very shortly.”
While he went to shower, she half dozed, but found her mind wouldn’t shut down again. She barely heard him come out, dress—the man moved like a shadow.
Which probably factored into his success as a thief back in the day.
Alone, she lay another few minutes, then gave it up.
“Lights twenty-five percent.”
When they came on, she nearly jolted. The cat was sprawled at the foot of the bed, giving her the beady eye.
“Christ, you’re as bad as Roarke, skulking around.”
She figured the early morning sex had annoyed the cat, but it had set her up just fine. She programmed coffee, started fueling her brain as she went into the shower.
Since she beat Roarke to the AutoChef, she programmed breakfast for both of them—nothing like waffles on a cold January morning to her mind—and left them under their warming domes while she dressed.
She sat down with coffee, her PPC, and got a jump on her workday.
“Now, here’s a lovely sight on a bitter winter’s day.”
She glanced over, decided he was a pretty good sight himself in his ruler-of-the-business-world suit. “Finished buying Europe already?”
“Not buying today—so far—just a bit of engineering and tech advancing through the R&D stage. And well advancing.”
He sat, poured coffee from the pot on the table, then uncovered the breakfast plates. “Waffles, is it?”
“It should almost always be. I’m having Peabody meet me at the Mira Institute at eight sharp. I want to get a sense of the place, what Edward Mira had going there. We should have time to grab an interview with a couple of his skirts before we have to head back. Trueheart’s getting his shield at oh-ten hundred.”
“I hate to miss that, particularly since you’ll be in uniform.” He watched her drown her waffles in butter and syrup.
So did Galahad, who began a stealthy inch-by-inch bellying forward until Roarke cocked an eyebrow at him. The cat rolled onto his back, batting busily at the air.
“I’ll be stripping off the uniform as soon as the ceremony’s over.”
“I really hate to miss that.”
“Ha ha. We’ll hit the rest of the skirts, then talk to his offspring. Maybe they’ll have more to say than his wife.”
“I assume you’ve already checked, and he hasn’t shown up. Alive or dead.”
“Not so far. I’ll check in again later with Missing Persons, and have Peabody keep up a running check with hospitals. Got a BOLO on him, and an alert.”
She stuffed in more waffles, and thought if every day started off with sex and waffles, people would maybe be less inclined to kill each other.
Or maybe not.
“If he shows up dead, I’ll get tagged,” she added. “Meanwhile, I’m having the locals check his other residences, just in case. I expect the lab to confirm the elephant this morning.”
“That’s not a phrase you hear often.”
“Heavy object used to whack Mr. Mira. Fancy elephant statue. I dreamed it came to life and started rampaging through that brownstone. It’s only about this big.” She stopped eating long enough to hold up her hands. “But still, elephant.”
“There are times I envy the creativity of your dream life.”
“I think I stunned it before it got out and tore up the neighborhood, but it’s vague, and it sort of rolled into another one.”
“The elephant rolled into another elephant?”
“No, the dream—well, sort of the elephant. I had it in Interview. You know like: You’re looking at attempted murder, Mr. Phant, but if you cooperate I can see about dealing that down to simple assault.”
He laughed hard enough to have Galahad making another try for waffles. Roarke just waved the cat away. “Is it a wonder I adore you? ‘Mr. Phant.’”
“Yeah, it seems funny now, but I was pretty serious. I think the damn elephant’s the only tangible thing I’ve got here, and it was nothing more than handy. It doesn’t apply.”
“It was used to hurt someone who matters a great deal to you.”
“Yeah, I guess. I’m going to try to swing by there sometime today, depending on how things go.” Since they were there, she plucked a fat blackberry out of the little bowl, frowned. “Am I supposed to take something? Like, I don’t know, flowers or something?”
“I wouldn’t think it’s necessary, but flowers or a small token? Never wrong.”
“Okay, well, we’ll see how it goes.” She polished off the waffles. “I’m going to review a couple things, check in with Mira, and get going.”
“Let me know if the senator shows up, one way or the other, would you?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll be seeing Nadine later today,” he said when Eve rose to strap on her weapon harness, toss a jacket over it. “She’s got where she wants to be down to a warehouse space prime for conversion and a triplex on the Upper West Side.”
“Triplex—a penthouse kind of thing, slick building, fully secured, lots of amenities?”
“It is, yes.”
“Tell her to take the triplex. She might think a warehouse is frosty, and how she can renovate it, make it slick and sleek, but the process would make her crazy. Plus, when? She’s got her gigs at Channel Seventy-five, the book thing, blah blah.”
She glanced back at him. “Both of them yours?”
“They are—she eliminated several other locations and properties, then asked me to suggest two of mine. And asked if I’d take her through both today. She’s been having nightmares and wants to get out of her apartment.”
“Told her not to open the damn door,” Eve muttered. “Triplex, done.” She walked back, leaned over, and kissed him. “Later.”
He tugged her back for another kiss. “Take care of my cop.”
“I gotta, since you’ve got something to tell me about thirty years from now. Triplex,” she repeated as she started out. “Tell her to stop fucking around and do it.”
—
She’d assumed she’d left in plenty of time—even early—but traffic snarled and stalled the entire way. She reached the Chrysler Building, wondering why more people didn’t work from home and leave the streets to those who really needed them. She hunted up parking, then traveled two blocks on foot.
Roarke had been correct about the bitter morning. The sky was a bowl of hard, pale blue, and the air was just as hard and pale. She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her coat, searching for warmth, and found gloves.
New gloves, with some sort of lining that felt like a warm cloud. It wouldn’t take her long to lose them, she thought, but for the moment, they were welcome.
She started to tag Peabody to get an ETA, then spotted her partner at the crosswalk.
There was no mistaking that pink coat in a sea of blacks, grays, and dark blues. Add the multicolored hat on the short flip of dark hair, the mile of scarf—in bleeding blues today—and she could’ve spotted Peabody six blocks off.
She waited while her partner joined the river surge across the street.
“How’s Mr. Mira?” Peabody asked immediately. “Did you check this morning?”
“Not yet. I don’t want to bother them if they’re sleeping.”
“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.