“Oh, well then.” Roarke pushed to his feet as Mavis’s breast popped out and Belle’s eager mouth popped on. “I’ll just…” Go anywhere else.
His reaction had Mavis’s face clearing, and her laughter bubbling. “She wants her breakfast, too. Mostly everyone’s seen my boobies before.”
“And, as I believe I’ve said, they’re absolutely charming. I wonder if I shouldn’t—”
“No, sit.” Giggling now, Mavis picked up the juice, rose, easily balancing the glass and the baby at her breast. “You’ll get used to it before long, but right now, we’ll go on back. Usually we both want a little nap after breakfast. If I find anything on the hair enhancement, the products, I’ll tag you.”
“Do that.”
When they were alone again, Roarke stared down at his plate. “Why do you suppose I chose this morning to want my eggs sunny-side up?”
“They do look like a pair of nice, shiny yellow breasts.” Grinning, Eve plucked up a piece of bacon. “And Mavis has been known to paint hers yellow on occasion.”
“Every time she feeds the baby, I feel so…rude.”
“I thought it was freaked.”
“A bit of that, but more intrusive. It seems so intimate.”
“I’d say we’re both going to have to get over it. We’ve got to get moving. Eat your boobies.”
They separated at Central, Eve leading Trina through to where Yancy would work on the composite.
“You know, if cops put more thought and creativity into fashion and grooming, it might improve public relations.”
Eve hopped on an up glide and watched a trio she recognized from Illegals troop onto a down. Stubbled faces, scarred shoes, and a sag at the side of each jacket where the sidearm rested.
They looked fine to her.
“Yeah, we’re putting together a seminar on that. Defensive Fashion.”
“That’s not out there,” Trina insisted. “Clothes can be like a defense, or an offense—”
“Tell me.”
“Or a statement or a reflection. Yours say you’re not only in charge but more than willing to kick ass.”
“My pants say I’m in charge?” Eve didn’t need Mira’s various degrees to recognize babbling nerves.
“The whole deal. Dark colors, but not somber. Good fabrics, clean lines. Could power things up now and again, strong reds or greens, sharp blues.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You should wear sunshades.”
“I lose them.”
“Well, stop. What are you, twelve? Sunshades would totally complete the package. Is this going to take long? Do you think this is going to take long? What if I can’t do it? What if I get it wrong? What if—”
“Stop. What are you, twelve?” At Trina’s nervous laugh, Eve stepped off the glide. “It takes as long as it takes. You need to stop, you stop. Yancy’s the best I’ve got, best I’ve worked with. And if you get it wrong we’ll just toss you in a cage for a few hours, until you get it right.”
“You’re rocking on this.”
“Some.” She pushed through doors.
Yancy was already there, setting up at his workstation. He rose, shot out his quick, easy smile. “Lieutenant.”
“Detective. Appreciate you coming in early for this.”