“It was in my eyes.”
“Back here?” He tugged. “Fascinating. Does the NYPSD know they have a cop with eyes in the back of her head? Has the CIA been notified?”
“I can do this myself.” She pulled back, scrubbing vigorously at her hair wh
ile glaring at him. “Don’t tell Trina.”
He smiled, wolfishly. “And what would my silence be worth to you?”
“You want a quick hand job?”
“See, you’re being deliberately crude to put me off.” He tapped her chin. “Oddly enough, it doesn’t work.”
“She’ll know anyway,” Eve muttered, and stuck her head under the jets. “She’ll know, the next time she gets her hands on me. And she’ll make me pay. She’ll pour goo all over me, and lecture, and paint my nipples blue or something.”
“What an interesting picture that creates in my fevered brain.”
“I don’t know why I did it.” She jumped out and into the drying tube. “I couldn’t help myself.”
“Tell it to the judge,” Roarke advised.
They weren’t very late, Peabody thought. And when you had two cops—two currently overworked, sleep-deprived cops—being on time wasn’t even in the realm.
Besides, she’d wanted to take as much time as she could squeeze out to make sure she looked her best. Since McNab had given her a big, “Oh, baby!” she figured she’d pulled it off.
He looked pretty adorable himself. His hair was all shiny and slick, and his cute little butt was nice and snug against the seat of black pants—saved from being too conservative by the fluorescent silver stripe running down each leg.
She had her hostess gift—a clutch of fairly fresh tiger lilies she’d snagged from a vender near her subway stop—and they’d been cleared through the lobby to the elevator.
“Now, you’re going to play nice, right?”
“Of course I’m going to play nice.” He fiddled with the collar of his silver shirt and wondered if he should’ve added a tie. Give Monroe a run for his sophisticated money. “Why wouldn’t I?”
She rolled her eyes at him as they stepped into the elevator.
“Then. Now. Then you were sleeping with him, and I was drunk and pissed off. Now you’re not and neither am I. Drunk and pissed off,” he qualified.
She ordered Charles’s floor, fluffed at her hair, and wished she’d had time to curl it, just for a change. “Neither was I.”
“What did you have to be drunk and pissed off about?” he asked.
“Sleeping with him. You sure my ass doesn’t look fat in these pants?”
“What?”
“My ass.” She craned her head around to try to see for herself. “It feels like it looks fat.”
“What do you mean you weren’t sleeping with him? After Louise? You mean after Louise.”
“I mean ever. There ought to be a mirror in here so I could check my fat ass.”
“Your ass isn’t fat, and shut up. You were going around with him for months.”
She gave the flowers she carried a little sniff. “You sleep with everybody you go around with?”
“Pretty much. Now just a damn minute.”
“We’re going to be late,” she said as she stepped off the elevator and into the hall.