“We can have the device removed here. I have someone in-house with medical training,” Roarke explained.
“Get it out.” Reva rubbed a hand at the nape of her neck. “I want a look at it.”
“Set it up,” Eve told Roarke. “Reva, you can’t discuss any of this on the outside. Not even with your lawyers. Not yet. But I want you to contact someone in the SS, or on Foster’s staff, whoever you think best. I want them to set up a meet for me with someone in the HSO with enough grease to know about Bissel and Kade. I don’t have time to waste on some office drone. I want someone with juice.”
“I’ll reach out.”
“Good. I’m going to leave the electronics to the people who know what the hell to do about them.” She said this, looking at Roarke. “And I’m going to go do some cop work, if you’ll open this place up again.”
“Computer, end lockdown. Resume normal operations.”
Acknowledged.
“I’ll be a few moments,” Roarke told Reva and Caro, then left them alone to walk out with Eve.
“Peabody, go see how the EDD boys are doing. I’ll catch up with you.”
“Sure.”
Eve turned into her own office ahead of Roarke, slipped her hands in her pockets. “I thought you’d told her about the HSO angle, about the conclusions on Bissel and Kade.”
“I’m aware of that, and aware that you’d have reason to assume it.”
“The assumption factored in to the speed with which I crawled up your ass.”
“Understood.”
“I’m still irritable and annoyed.”
“Well, so am I, so you’ve company.”
“I might still want to have a go at you later.”
“I’ll pencil you in.”
She stepped up to him, and keeping her hands in her pockets, planted a hard kiss on his mouth. “See you,” she said, and strolled out.
Since she didn’t understand what EDD was doing in Roarke’s home lab, she dragged Peabody away, and gave her the task of locating and contacting Carter Bissel while she begged a brief consult with Dr. Mira.
“Your assistant’s starting to hate me,” Eve commented.
“No, she’s just very inflexible about schedules.” Mira programmed her habitual tea and gestured toward her blue scoop chairs.
She’d gone for red today. Not really red, Eve thought. There was probably a name for the color that looked like faded autumn leaves. She wore a trio of necklaces that were little gold balls strung together like pearls, and matched them with minute gold earrings.
The shoes, some sort of textured heels, were the exact color of the dress. Eve could never figure out how women managed that sort of synchronicity—or really, why they bothered.
But it looked good on Mira. Everything did. Her sable hair with its sunny highlights was drawn back today into some sort of twisty knot at the nape. She was letting it grow again.
However Mira dressed or groomed herself, Eve decided she’d always look perfect, and nothing like the standard image of a top profiler and police psychiatrist.
“I assume this has something to do with Reva Ewing’s Truth Test this afternoon, as you requested I handle the test personally.”
“It does. This conversation, any conversation with Ewing, and the results of the test are highest classification. My eyes, yours, and Commander Whitney’s only.”
Mira sipped her tea, pursed her lips. “And what warrants that classification?”
“Global espionage,” Eve said, and told her the rest.