Memory in Death (In Death 22)

Her ‘link signalled on her way down the steps. “Dallas, talk fast.”

“Hey, I’m back, I’m here. You’re not. We had—”

“Contact the PA’s office,” she interrupted Peabody’s cheerful greeting. “Get Reo if you can. She’s their golden girl right now.”

“What—”

“I need a consult ASAP, and their recommendation for a judge who’ll be most apt to sign a couple of warrants.”

“For who? For what?”

“For Zana. Search of the hotel room, her belongings. Suspicion of murder, suspicion of attempted murder. That’ll start the ball.”

“Zana? But—”

“Do it, Peabody.” She grabbed her coat from the newel post, swung it on as she walked by Summerset. “I’ll run the game for the PA. You want to catch up, read the reports I sent to your desk unit. I’ve got to run this by the commander. I’m on my way in.”

“Jeez, every time I take a day off, something happens.”

“Get it moving. I want her in Interview this morning.”

She disconnected. Her car was, like her coa

t, already waiting. At the moment, she decided she was just juiced enough to be grateful for Summerset’s annoying efficiency.

Her blood was up. Maybe it was running hotter than it should, but she’d analyze that later. Right now she knew she was on track. She’d have surprise on her side; something she thought she could use with an opponent like Zana. Like Marie, she corrected. It was time to start thinking of her by that name.

She was going to close this down, then it would be over. Something she would set aside and forget Trudy Lombard and all those awful months, locked away again where they belonged.

And when it was done, she thought, as she slid into traffic, sure, she’d take a few days off with Roarke. Go to their island, run around naked as monkeys, screw each other brainless in the sand. Grab some sun and surf and gear up for the long, cold winter to come.

Her link signalled again. “Dallas, what?”

“Hey, hi! Did you have a magolicious Christmas?”

“Mavis.” Eve had to switch her mind, do a mental one-eighty. “Yeah, yeah. Listen, I’m heading to work. Why don’t I tag you later?”

“Okay, no prob. Just mostly wanted to be sure you and Roarke remember the coaching classes. Coming up in a couple weeks.”

“No, I remember.” The horror of it was etched on her mind like laser art on glass.

“Leonardo and I can go with you, if you want. Have some dinner or whatever after.”

“Um. Sure. Sure. Ah, isn’t this a little early for you to be awake?”

“Baby gets me up early. I guess it’s good practice. Look, look what my honey pie made me with his own two hands!”

She held up some sort of short, footed thing—a kind of miniature skinsuit, Eve decided, in bloody-murder red with a lot of silver hearts and squiggles on it.

“Yeah. Wow.”

“Because the baby’ll be here before Valentine’s Day. We’re getting so close. What do you think of Berry?”

“What kind of berry?”

“No, for a name, because the baby will be like our sweet little berry, and it could go for a boy or a girl.”

“Fine, as long as it doesn’t mind being called Blueberry or Huckleberry or Boysenberry once it hits school-age.”