Celebrity in Death

at? Screwing Dobermans? Plotting a terrorist attack?”
    “I can’t say as I haven’t viewed them yet, but I expect she caught them doing what people do in bedrooms.”
    “Has to be more than that to lock two copies in separate locations.”
    “Well, I have to watch it and see. And I want to know if either of the recordings is the original. Can you tell?”
    “Yeah.” He turned to his comp, called up a program, fiddled a moment. “Let’s have ’em.”
    Eve took them out, unsealed each, noted down the time, the location, her name, Feeney’s. He cued them into his machine. “Run them simultaneous, split screen. The program will pop out any anomalies, determine generation of the recording.”
    He ordered the run.
    The screen flickered on with identical scenes as Marlo walked into the bedroom of the loft.
    “That’s the actress, right? I heard she looked just like you. I don’t see it.”
    “It’s closer when she’s made up for it.”
    Offscreen, Matthew called out, asking if she wanted some wine.
    “I wouldn’t say no.” She walked to a long dresser with a soft silvergleam, opened a drawer. She tossed what looked like a T-shirt and drawstring pants on the bed, then pulled the sweater she wore over her head.
    Eyes closed, she stood a moment in her bra and cargo pants, rolling her shoulders.
    Matthew walked in with two glasses of wine—and smiled.
    “I like your outfit.”
    She smiled back. “I got banged around some in the fight scene today.”
    “You rocked it.”
    “And I’m feeling every bit of it.” She took the wine, sipped, let out a pleased sigh. “But that’s a start. I’m going to get comfortable, then try to stretch some of the aches out.”
    “I can help you with that.” He set his wine aside, put his hands on her shoulders, made her groan when he rubbed.
    “You’ve got some bruises, babe.”
    “Tell me about it. I can’t imagine how many Dallas had after doing it for real. We should finish it tomorrow, if I can walk. Did you hear K.T. got all over Nadine and Roundtree? She wanted Peabody written into the scene.”
    “I heard something about it. Don’t think about her. You’re tensing up just thinking about her. She’s not worth it.”
    “I know, I know. She doesn’t care about the production. She just wants more screen time. She screamed at Preston today. I could hear her all the way in Wardrobe. She threatened to have him fired because she didn’t like the angles he used in the bullpen B roll he directed.”
    “Oh for Christ’s sake.”
    “And she made Lindy from Craft Services cry, something about the pasta. I swear, she gets meaner and crazier every day.”
    “A few more weeks, we’ll be wrapped, and she’ll be out of our lives.”
    “Until the rounds of publicity and promotion, the media tours, the premieres. Even the thought of … No. I’m stopping. Why am I thinking about that lunatic when my guy’s giving me a shoulder rub?”
    He bent his head, kissed her between the shoulder blades. “Just relax.”
    “I will. I am. In fact.” She turned around, reaching behind to set her glass beside his. “I have so many aches, so many places that need a good rub.”
    “Poor baby.”
    She laughed as she caught his hands to draw him to the bed. Then gave him a little nudge to send him down on his back. “I really think skin-to-skin’s the only answer,” she continued as she reached around, unhooked her bra.
    “Anything I can do.”
    “I’ve got some ideas on that.” She tossed the bra, unbuttoned her pants.
    As she slid naked onto him, Eve felt the heat spread over the back of her neck. She had to fight an urge to shift her feet.
    What had she been thinking, bringing this to Feeney? Viewing it with him. Maybe it was stupid, but she knew damn well he was as mortified and miserable as she was.
    If they’d been watching bloody murder—axes hacking, blood spurting, blasters burning into flesh, neither of them would have blinked. But a naked woman, a half-naked man—okay, shit, altogether naked now—enjoying some playful sex?
    Torture.
    “Okay.” The sound of Feeney’s throat clearing was explosive. “End run,” he ordered. “That’s enough for the anal. No edits or compromises on either.” He didn’t look at her as he spoke, which made her profoundly grateful. “And both are second-generation copies.”
    “Neither is the original?”
    “That’s what I’m telling you.” Very carefully he resealed them for her.
    “Asner.” Embarrassment