Survivor in Death (In Death 20)

“Let me get you the search results from last night.”

He moved into his office, called for the results on screen and on disc. “Nineteen names,” he mused. “More than you might expect, I’d think. Natural causes would cut that back considerably, but . . .”

“A lot of names.” She turned to study the wall screen. “Five that cross with both of them. The Swishers weren’t the first,” she said again. “No way I buy that. I’ll take these in, give them a run.”

“I can help you out in . . . later,” he decided when he checked the time. “I’m behind myself. I’ve work I have to get to here, then I have some meetings in midtown starting at nine.”

“You said you’d work from here.”

“No, I said we’d argue about it this morning.” He reached out, skimmed a finger down her chin. “My work can’t stop anymore than yours, Lieutenant—and if someone’s paying attention, they might wonder why I’m hunkered down here when I should be out and about. I’ll promise you to be careful, very. No unnecessary chances.”

“We might have different definitions of unnecessary chances.”

“Not so very much. Come here.”

“I am here.”

“A bit closer than that.” With a laugh he yanked her forward, into his arms. “I’ll worry about you, you worry about me.” He rubbed his cheek to hers. “And we’re even.”

“You let something happen to yourself, I’ll kick your ass.”

“Ditto.”

Since she had to be satisfied with that, Eve fought the traffic downtown. Even the sky seemed more crowded this morning, jammed with sky trams and airbuses and the traffic copters that struggled to keep things moving.

However quicker they claimed it was to use the sky routes, she’d stick with the creep and stink of the streets.

She fought her way down Columbus and straight into a fresh logjam caused by a glide-cart that had overturned into the street. A number of pedestrians were helping themselves to the tubes and food supplies that were rolling on the asphalt while the operator jumped up and down like a man on springs.

For a moment she regretted she didn’t have the time to wade in to the potential riot. It would’ve been an entertaining way to start the day. Instead, she called the incident in, and solved her own commute dilemma by blasting her sirens—wow! look at those assholes scramble—and hit vertical mode.

Okay, she admitted, she loved her new ride.

She breezed over the jam—caught a glimpse of the glide-cart operator shaking a fist into the air—then settled back down three blocks south in relatively reasonable traffic.

She decided to trust auto long enough to make the calls on her list. She left messages for the Dysons, for Mira, reserved a conference room for ten, and left more voice mails for each member of the team she wanted in attendance.

And thought how much of this drone work she’d been able to avoid when Peabody had been her aide rather than her partner.

When she got to Central, there was Peabody right outside the bull pen, fit up against McNab like they were two pieces in some strange and perverted jigsaw puzzle.

“I actually had breakfast this morning.” Eve stopped beside them. “This is the sort of thing that could make me boot.”

“Just kissing my sweetie good-bye,” Peabody said, and made exaggerated kissy noises against McNab’s lips.

“Definitely booting material. This is a cop sho

p, not a sex club. Save it for after shift.”

“Still two minutes before shift.” McNab gave Peabody’s butt a squeeze. “See you later, She-Body.”

“Bye, Detective Stud.”

“Oh, please.” Eve pressed a hand to her uneasy belly. “I want to keep the waffles down.”

“Waffles?” Peabody spun on the heels of her checked airskids. “You had waffles. What’s the occasion?”

“Just another day in Paradise. My office.”