"Roarke's company?"
"Seemed logical." Feeney grinned at her. "You got weight, you use it. Appreciate your help, boy-o."
"Anytime," Roarke told him, then smiled at his wife. "We cut a few corners as you're in a bit of a hurry. Peabody's profiled as a security guard at one of my buildings. Feeney thought it would be simplest to keep the profiles somewhat in line with truth."
"Oh yeah, let's keep it simple." But blowing out a breath, she nodded. "Good enough. You own half the damn city anyway, and nobody's going to question it, or find any holes in your personnel files if you had your hand in it."
"Exactly."
"Where's Peabody?"
"Trina's just finishing her."
"I need her now. She's got to get over here and put in her app, get the consult going. She looked okay, for God's sake. How long does it take to primp her up and put some street clothes on her?"
"Trina had some mag ideas," Mavis assured her with such enthusiasm Eve's blood chilled. "Wait till you see. Oh yeah, Trina wants you to plug in a session before your party. She wants to glam you some for it, since it's the holidays."
Eve merely grunted. She had no intention of being glammed – now or ever.
"Sure, right. Where the hell…" Her voice trailed off as she heard them coming. She turned toward the doorway and blinked. Gaped.
"I have to say," Trina announced, "I'm good."
Peabody snorted, flushed, then smiled hesitantly. "Okay, so do you think I'll pass the audition?"
Her bowl-cut hair had been sheened and fluffed into a dark halo. Her face glowed with deep color smudged around her eyes to accent their shape and size, and her lips were dyed a soft coral pink.
Her body, which appeared so sturdy in a uniform, took on lusher, more feminine curves in a sweeping ankle duster of deep pine green. A tangle of chains in jewel hues were draped around her neck. Peeking out between the layers was a small, wistful tattoo of a gold-winged fairy.
Peabody had selected the tattoo herself after Trina had caught her up in the spirit of things. She hadn't flinched when the quick, capable hands had cupped her left breast to apply the temp. By that time she'd begun to enjoy the sensation of being remade.
But now, as Eve stared at her, Peabody began to shift her feet – they were clad in toothpick heels that matched the wings of her mystical tattoo. "It doesn't work?"
"You sure as hell don't look like a cop," Eve decided.
"You look beautiful." Amused by his wife's reaction, Roarke stepped forward and took both of Peabody's hands: "Absolutely delicious." So saying, he kissed her fingers and had Peabody's susceptible heart stuttering.
"Yeah, really? Wow."
"Get over it, Peabody. Feeney, you've got twenty minutes to brief her on her profile. Peabody, where's your stunner, your communicator?"
"Here." Still flushed, she slipped a hand into a hidden pocket in the hip of the dress. "Handy, huh?"
"It's not going to replace uniforms," Eve said, then pointed to a chair. "You need to commit the data Feeney's going to give you to memory. Record it. You can replay it on the drive over. We can't afford any slipups. I want you in by end of day, and on match lists by tomorrow."
"Yes, sir." But Peabody fingered the material of the dress lovingly as she walked over to sit with Feeney.
"You're next," Trina said, running a quick, assessing hand through Eve's hair.
"I don't have time for a treatment." Eve backed up. "Besides, you just did me a few weeks ago."
"You don't get regular treatments, you ruin my work. She makes time before the party, or I'm not responsible for how she looks," Trina warned Roarke.
"She'll make time." And to placate her, he took her arm, steering her out as he praised her brilliance with Peabody.
CHAPTER NINE
Finding Nadine Furst lazily filing her nails at Eve's desk wasn't the welcome Eve was looking for when she arrived at Cop Central.
"Get your butt out of my chair."
Nadine merely smiled sweetly, tucked her nail file away in her enormous calf-colored bag, and uncrossed her smooth legs. "Hello, Dallas. So good to see you. Doing a lot of work out of your home office these days? I can't blame you." As she rose, Nadine skimmed her sharp cat's eyes over the cramped, dingy, dusty room. "This place is a dump."
Saying nothing, Eve marched directly to her computer, checked the last log-on time, then did the same with her 'link.
"I didn't touch anything." Nadine added just enough insult to her voice for Eve to be sure the reporter had considered it.
"I'm busy, Nadine. I don't have time for the media. Go chase an MT van or harass one of the droids in Booking."
"You might want to make time." Still smiling, Nadine moved to the only other chair in the office and daintily crossed her legs again. "Unless you want me to go on air with what I've got."
Eve jerked a shoulder – and found that her muscles had tensed as she sat – stretched out her own denim-covered legs, and crossed her battered boots at the ankles. "What you got, Nadine?"
"Singles seeking romance find violent death. Personally Yours: dating service or death list? Ace homicide lieutenant, Eve Dallas, investigating."
Nadine watched Eve's face as she spoke. She gave Eve full points – her eyes didn't flicker – but Nadine was gut sure she had her full attention.
"You want me to go on with a no comment from the investigating officer on that lead?"
"The investigation is proceeding. A task force has been formed. The NYPSD is pursuing all leads."
Nadine leaned forward, slipping a hand into her bag to turn on her recorder. "Then you confirm that the murders are connected."
"I'm not confirming anything with your recorder on."
Irritation flickered over Nadine's pretty, triangular face. "Give me a break here."
"You turn that recorder off, put it here on my desk in plain view, or I'll give you a break. I'll confiscate it and anything else you have in that suitcase you're hauling around. Recording devises aren't permitted in official areas of Cop Central without authorization."
"Christ, you're strict." Annoyed, Nadine took out her mini, plunked it on the desk, then set her bag aside. "Off the record?"
"Off the record." Because Nadine had said the words, Eve nodded. Nadine could be irritating, tenacious, and a general pain in the ass, but she had integrity. There was no need to search the bag for another recorder.
"The homicides under my investigation were committed by the same person. Personally Yours appears to be the source of the victims. You can go on air with that."
"The dating service." All traces of annoyance faded as Nadine smiled. Eve's subtle hint had nudged her into research on every dating service in the city. She would be able to plug in the correct data and flesh out her report with the flick of a couple of buttons.
"That's right."
"What can you give me on it?"
"Most of my notes are on my office unit." But Nadine pulled out her PPC and called up data. "You have all the standard already: owners, length of time in business, requirements. They do some pricey ads on our station. Shelled out… a cool two mil last year on screen ads. Our credit checks showed they can afford it, that's less than ten percent of their gross."
"Romance is profitable."
"Damn right. I did an informal poll at the station. About fifteen percent of the talent and crew have used services. Informing the public takes a toll on the personal life," she added lightly.
"Anybody you like use Personally Yours?"
"Probably." Nadine cocked her head. "I like a lot of people, being the friendly, sociable sort. Should I be worried about them?"
"All three victims used the dating service, two knew each other casually through it. As yet, we've found no other connection among them."
"So… your guy's trolling for lonely hearts." And that was a hell of a lead, Nadine decided, already running copy in her head.