Dirk rolled his eyes. “Christ, you live in a cave? Matilda. über-model. And more than a face, a body. She started her own line of hair and face enhancements – she’s not just the public face of it, she runs it. She’s got brains. And balls,” he said quietly, looking over at the carving knife. “I’m not going to let anything happen to her, whatever I got to do. That includes beating whoever’s trying to kill me to a bloody pulp then setting fire to what’s left of them.”
“Why don’t you start doing what you have to do by describing this person?”
He closed his eyes.
She saw then the pallor, and the dark circles under the eyes. Taking a solid stun could wear out the system, leave you exhausted and raw. Shaky and sick.
She ought to know.
“You’d be better off with a protein drink than the alcohol.”
“Kiss my flabby white ass,” he said, but without heat. “About your height, maybe an inch or two taller. Brown coat, scarf – brown, too – wrapped around the neck, up around the lower part of the face. Voice was muffled with it. I thought about ripping it off, strangling her with it.”
Eve’s spine went rigid. “Her?”
“Yeah, I think. Brown eyes – something in the eyes looked female to me. Looked… like yours, now that I think of it. Maybe I got my brain sideways from the stun, and since I’m looking at yours, I’m putting them there.”
He shook his head. “I was pretty steamed, seeing – you know, red – and not paying attention. I wasn’t framing a portrait of an asshole delivery girl.”
“Faces are your business,” Eve pointed out, nudging his ego.
“Yeah, yeah. Brain’s sideways,” he said again, closed his eyes again. “Narrow face, narrow nose, early to mid-thirties at a guess. A lot of bulk, but thinking… a lot of bulk was maybe the coat, whatever she had on under it. Not so much her, I think. Brown ski cap, pulled low. Couldn’t see any hair. Good skin, soft-looking skin. Says female to me. Soft, creamy brown, café au lait – heavier on the lait.”
His eyes opened. “I saw it.”
“Saw what?” Eve prompted.
“She said I had to sign – something like that. Man, I was pissed enough to break her in two. But I saw it, right before the jolt.” He rubbed a hand over his chest. “Jesus Christ on a tricycle it hurts. It fucking burns. But I saw it, in her eyes.”
“What?”
“Excitement.”
When Peabody arrived, Eve turned Hastings over to her partner. She called for sweepers – had a moment of relief she wasn’t calling for a morgue team with them. Then went toward the kitchen.
She could hear Roarke and Matilda had moved on to other things and were talking about distribution, markets, advertising, and God knows.
“We’re about done here,” Eve said. “But I’d like you to run it through for me. What happened, what you heard, what you saw.”
“No problem. Whatever I can do.”
Eve listened, made notes. And considered if the timing had been off, even a little, Hastings might not be stewing on the sofa drinking whiskey.
“I appreciate the cooperation. You can go back out if you like, Ms. Zebler.”
“Oh, thanks. Can I ask you – if Dirk’s really in danger, can we leave, just leave New York for a while? I actually have a shoot next week in Australia. I could talk him into going with me.”
“I’ve asked him to work with a police artist tomorrow, and I’m hoping you’ll agree to do the same.”
“Absolutely.”
“After that, you’re free to go where you like. I’d appreciate your contact information, in case I need to speak to either of you.”
“That’s no problem at all. Did that man really come here tonight to kill Dirk?”
Man, Eve thought, frustrated. She had two eye-wits. One saw a man, one saw a woman.
“I believe Dirk’s lucky you were coming down with a bottle of red, and thought quick, thought smart.”
“Australia,” Matilda said, then walked back to Hastings.
Eve saw Peabody glance over, double take. Then nearly bump her jaw into her toes.
“Peabody!”
“Sir.”
“Head down to the studio. I’ll coordinate with the police artist and get back to you,” she told Hastings. “We’ll get out of your way as soon as we can. We’re done up here.”
“We appreciate you getting here so quickly,” Matilda began, and sent Dirk a long look.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
“You’re going to have some soup,” Matilda began as Eve walked away. “And lie down.”
“I’d nearly finished the imaging on —”
“Dirk. Not tonight, baby.”
“Okay. Okay, Matilda.”
The calm tone and easy agreement had Eve rolling her eyes.
Love turned everybody’s brain sideways, just like a stunner.
When she got down to the studio a pair of sweepers were working the door, the landing, so the cold air blew through.
They wouldn’t find anything, Eve thought, but it had to be done.
She studied the splatter of red on the wall beside the door. Lucky for Hastings and Matilda it wasn’t blood but a very nice red wine.
“We’ll have a uniform sit on them tonight,” she told Peabody.
“That’s Matilda.”
“I’m aware.”
“Matilda,” Peabody repeated. “She’s like the face of the decade.”
“The decade that’s not quite a year old?”
“Yeah, but still. She’s on McNab’s list. She bumped Lorilee Castle off – and she’d been on there for three years.”
“List?”
“The list of who you’re allowed to have sex with if the opportunity comes up. He’s going to pass out when I tell him. I don’t blame him. I use her hair mask.”
“Why do you need a mask for your hair? If you want to hide it, wear a hat.”
“A hydrating mask. It’s mag – and all natural. And she —”
“Peabody, Matilda’s only relevant because she was here, and because by being here and thinking fast, she deflected the UNSUB from the target.”
Eve gauged the distance from the steps to the stained wall. “And she has an excellent arm.”
Hands on her hips, she circled around. She saw the comp station, still running – the imaging Hastings had been doing.