In Death 13 - Seduction in Death

trying to reach me?"
    "That's right. Where are you located?"
    "Just got back to New York. Had the last couple runs cancelled. What can I do for you?"
    "We need to have a conversation, Ms. Finch. In person. I can be there in twenty minutes."
    "Hey, listen. I just walked in the door. Why don't you tell me what this is about?"
    "Twenty minutes," Eve repeated. "Stay available."
    She cut Stefanie off on an oath, snagged her weapon harness. "You happen to own Inter-Commuter Air?"
    He was scanning the data on-screen and didn't look over. "No. Their equipment's old and will cost ten to fifteen hundred million to replace and/or repair. They're operating in the red, and have been for the last three years. Poor customer service record that's heading for a PR nightmare. They'll be finished in a year, eighteen months on the outside." He glanced over now. "Then I'll buy them."
    "You wait till they roll over dead." She pursed her lips. "Good plan, but it nixes the idea of taking you along so you can put the elbow on an employee. I'll tag Peabody. The uniform's always a nice touch."
    "Agreed, and so's that robe. But you might want to put your boots back on."
    She frowned down at herself. "Shit." She grabbed the boots and trotted out. "See you later."
    Stefanie didn't pretend to be pleased. She opened the door and led with a scowl. "ID," she snapped.
    Eve flipped open her badge, holding it out while Stefanie took a good, long look. "I've heard about you. The cop who hooked Roarke. Nice job."
    "Gee, thanks. I'll let him know you said so."
    Stefanie merely jerked a thumb toward Peabody. "What's with the uniform?"
    "My aide. Do we come in, Stefanie, or do we discuss this in the hallway?"
    Stefanie stepped back, closed the door behind them. "I just had two lucrative runs cancelled, my union rep is talking strike, which is going to put me in a bind. The shuttle they stuck me with should've been in the fucking scrap heap, and my gut's telling me I could be out of a job within the year."
    "He never misses," Eve muttered.
    "I've got a cop hounding me to Europe and back, so I'm in a pisser of a mood, Lieutenant. If this is about my bastard ex, I've got one thing to say: He's not my problem."
    "I'm not here about your bastard ex. You've been corresponding, via e-mail, with an individual who calls himself Wordsworth."
    "How do you know? E-mail's private."
    "The individual who calls himself Wordsworth is a suspect in two murders and one attempted murder. Now, do you want to do a dance about the violation of cyber-privacy?"
    "You've got to be kidding me."
    "Peabody, look at my face. Is this my jokey face?"
    "No, sir, Lieutenant."
    "Now that we've cleared that up, why don't we sit down?"
    "I've got a date with him tomorrow afternoon," Stefanie said, and hugged her arms as if chilled. "When my runs were cancelled, I did some e-mail from the pilot's lounge at Heathrow. He suggested we get together tomorrow for a picnic in Greenpeace Park."
    "What time?"
    "One o'clock."
    He's breaking pattern, Eve thought. Upping the stakes again. "Sit down, Stefanie."
    "You're sure about this." Stefanie sat, stared up at Eve. "Yeah, you're sure. I bet that's your dead-certain face. Well, I'm embarrassed and I feel like the world's biggest idiot."
    "And you're alive," Eve told her. "I'm going to keep you that way. Describe Wordsworth for me."
    "Physically, I don't have a clue. He's an art dealer. International. Digs opera, ballet, poetry. I was looking for some class. My ex was an amoeba. If it wasn't Arena Ball it wasn't worth talking about. I supported the worthless bastard the last six months we were together. Bailed him out twice on drunk and disorderlies, then he..."
    She trailed off. "Apparently, I still have issues. Point is, I was looking for his opposite. Somebody with some polish who could do more than grunt when he wanted another beer. I guess I was looking for a little romance."
    "And he said all the right things."
    "Bingo. If it's too good to be true, it's probably a big, fat lie. Looks like I forgot that motto. But a picnic in the park, middle of the damn day, you'd think that would be safe. I can handle myself," she added. "I bench-press one twenty. I'm a fifth degree black belt. I'm nobody's victim. No way he'd take me down."
    Eve sized her up and agreed. Under most conditions, the woman could probably handle herself just fine. "He plans to drug you, with a very potent sexual illegal. You'd bring him back here because you'd think it's your call. He'd