In Death 31 - Indulgence in Death

loops.
    “Somebody could kill me five times before I got that jacket undone and drew my weapon.”
    Roarke simply demonstrated by tugging the jacket open. “The loops are for show.”
    “Not bad. Not bad at all.” When she peeled off her clothes, Roarke fixed on the recorder, the mic, the earpiece. “Where’d the dress come from?”
    “Your closet. I had Summerset bring it down. Along with the accessories.” He held up diamond earrings. “They’ll see these, believe me, and won’t give a single thought to the possibility you’re wired. And switch your wrist unit for the evening one.”
    She gave it, all that fire and ice, a dubious glance. “I haven’t really played with that one.”
    “It works the same way as your everyday. You can carry a clutch piece in this bag—though not much else. Add the shoes.”
    They were hot murder red with heels that made her arches twinge when she looked at them. “How am I supposed to run in those?”
    He gave her a quick, amused look. “Are you planning on running?”
    “You never know.” But she dressed, and added the murderous shoes. “Appropriate?”
    “You’re perfect.” He framed her face with his hands. “Perfect for me.”
    “We’re supposed to be pissed at each other, remember. You need to get in character.”
    “I never have a problem acting pissed at you.” When he grinned, he brushed his lips over hers. He laid his forehead to hers briefly at the knock on the door, then crossed over to answer.
    “Peabody, you look lovely.”
    “Thanks.” She lifted her hands, palms up to Eve. “Well?”
    She also wore black, young and funky, with a brightly striped sleeveless vest that covered her sidearm. With her hair done in crazed corkscrew curls, her eyes lined in emerald green, and her lips as red as Eve’s shoes, Eve was forced to agree.
    “You’re right. They won’t make you.”
    “McNab and I are heading out now so we’ll already be in place when the subjects get there. Detective Carmichael and the new guy will take the ballet. Baxter’s waiting for the go, then he’ll have both search units move in.”
    “Good work, Peabody.”
    “See you at the bar.”
    “She’s juiced,” Eve commented. “She took a booster earlier, but this is just juice. Because we’re close, because we’re going to bring them in before much longer. Bring them in, sweat them, break them. End it.”
    “Someone else is juiced.”
    “Bet your ass, ace.” She did a couple of squats and pivots to see how the dress cooperated. “Can you tell I’m loaded? The weapon,” she elaborated when he smiled at her.
    “I can. They won’t. You know, I’m starting to enjoy this whole business myself.”
    “Wait till I unload on them.” She tore open the jacket, pulled her weapon. Slapped it back in its harness. “You’re going to get a serious charge.”

    T hey walked into the elegant lounge with its deep ruby and rich sapphire tones in what appeared to be a low-voiced continuation of an argument. When Roarke cupped her elbow, she deliberately jerked it away, let her voice spike up.
    “Don’t try to placate me.”
    “I wouldn’t dream of it. Two,” he said to the hostess who, admirably, kept her face blank and polite. “Roarke.”
    “Yes, sir, of course. I have your booth ready. Just this way.”
    “You know the kind of pressure I’m dealing with,” Eve continued, keeping her eyes on Roarke. “The commander’s setting up permanent residence on my ass.”
    “It would be a lovely change of pace if we could spend one bloody evening not discussing your commander, your problems. Whiskey,” he told the hostess. “A double.”
    “And for you, madam?”
    “Head Shot, straight up.”
    Roarke leaned into her as if murmuring something, and she jerked back. “Because I need it, that’s why. Look, I’m here, aren’t I? Which is more than you’ll be tomorrow since you’re leaving town. Again.”
    “I have work, and responsibilities, Eve.”
    “So do I.”
    “Yours don’t put toys like this on your ears,” he said and gave one of her earrings a flick of his finger.
    “I earn those other ways, and don’t you forget—” She broke off as if just spotting Dudley and Moriarity. “Oh, that’s perfect. That’s just fucking perfect.”
    “Keep your voice down.”
    “Don’t tell me what to do. I’m sick of orders. I’m the top murder cop in this goddamn city, and I’m getting zip from the department on this, and less than zip from you. Well, fuck