In Death 03 - Immortal in Death

warm and wet was laid over her mud-covered breasts, her face. Conversations went on cheerfully around her. Mavis and Trina discussed various beauty aids, Leonardo and Biff consulted over line and color.
    Very insane, Eve thought, then let out a groan as her feet were massaged. They were dipped in something hot and oddly pleasant. She heard the crackle of something, felt her feet being lifted, covered. Then her hands received the same treatment.
    She tolerated it, tolerated even the quick buzz of something around her eyebrows. And felt heroic when she heard Mavis laugh easily and flirt with Leonardo.
    She had to keep Mavis's spirits up, she thought. It was as vital as every step in the investigation. It wasn't enough to represent the dead.
    She squeezed her eyes tighter when she heard the snip of Trina's shears, felt the light tugs, the comb through. Hair was just hair, she told herself. Appearances didn't matter.
    Oh Jesus, don't let her scalp me.
    She forced her mind to focus on work, ran through questions she would ask Redford in the morning, considered his possible answers. It was likely she would be called to the commander's office about the news leak. She would deal with that.
    She needed a conference with both Feeney and Peabody. It was time to see if any of the data the three of them had dug up would dovetail. She'd go back to the club, have Crack turn her on to some of the regulars. Someone might have seen whoever had spooked Boomer that night. And if that same person had talked to Hetta --
    She jerked when Trina adjusted the chair to recline and began to scrub off the mud. "She'll be ready for you in five," Trina told an impatient Leonardo. "I don't rush my genius." She grinned down at Eve. "You've got decent skin. I'm going to leave some samples with you. Use them, you'll keep it decent."
    Mavis peered down and Eve began to feel like a patient on an operating table. "You did a wonderful job on the eyebrows, Trina. They look so natural. All she needs to do is dye her lashes. They don't even need a lengthener. And don't you think that dimple in her chin is mag?"
    "Mavis," Eve said wearily. "I don't want to have to hit you."
    Mavis only grinned. "Pizza's here. Have a bite." She stuffed some in Eve's mouth. "Wait till you see your skin, Dallas. It's gorgeous."
    Eve only grunted. The hot cheese had seared the roof of her mouth, but it also stirred juices. She risked choking and took the rest of the slice while Trina bound up her hair in a silver turban.
    "It's thermal," Trina told her as she shot the chair back up. "I've got a root and shaft penetrator on it"
    Eve eyed the reflection. Maybe her skin did look dewy, and at a wary stroke of her fingers, it certainly felt smooth. But she couldn't see even a single strand of hair. "I've got hair under there, right? My hair?"
    "Sure you do. Okay, Leonardo. She's yours for twenty minutes."
    "At last." He beamed. "Take off the robe."
    "Oh, look -- "
    "Dallas, we're all professionals. You have to try on the foundation for the wedding dress. It will certainly need a few adjustments."
    She'd already been felt up by a stylist, Eve decided. Why not stand naked in a roomful of people? She shrugged out of the robe.
    Leonardo came at her with something white and sleek. Before she could do much more than squeak, he had it around her torso and snugged at her back. His big hands reached under the material, fussily adjusted her breasts. Bending down, he drew a swatch of material between her legs, secured it, stepped back.
    "Ah."
    "Holy hell, Dallas. Roarke's tongue's going to land on his feet when he gets you down to that"
    "What the hell is it?"
    "A variation on the old Merry Widow." With quick nips and tucks, Leonardo perfected the fit. "I call it a Curvaceous. Added a bit of lift under the breasts for you. Yours are quite nice, but this line adds more contour. Just a touch of lace, a few pearls. Nothing too ornate." He turned her to face the mirror.
    She looked sexy, curvy. Ripe, Eve realized with some amazement. The material had a faint gleam to it, as though it was damp. It nipped at her waist, molded her hips, and, she had to admit, lifted her bustline to new, fascinating heights.
    "Well... I guess... for, you know, wedding nights."
    "For any nights," Mavis said dreamily. "Oh, Leonardo. Are you going to make me one?"
    "I already have, in Rascal Red satin. Now, Dallas, does it pinch anywhere? Rub?"
    "No." She couldn't get over it. It should have been torturous, but it was as