“Again?”
“I’ve been giving Ari a hand setting up the new shop.” He grinned at Roarke, all spiky black-and-bronze hair and happiness. “It rocks.”
“My own little bakery boutique. I’m going to make you a lot of money. I wasn’t sure I could do it, or much of anything when I first got out of the hospital. But you were so sure I could,” she said to Roarke.
“You and Erik. Now I am.”
“I had it on good authority that you could handle anything that came at you. We should have a drink to celebrate.”
“Your . . . I don’t know exactly what he is,” Ariel admitted. “The tall, skinny guy?”
“No one knows exactly what he is,” Eve put in, and made Ariel laugh.
“He said he’d bring in something that would suit. I hope that’s okay. Um, I don’t know if you remember, but when you saved my life and all that, I promised I’d bake you a cake. So . . .”
She stepped to the side and gestured. Following the direction, Eve walked forward.
One of the tables had been cleared off, probably by Summerset. There, on its glossy, pampered surface stood an enormous cake.
More like art, Eve thought.
An edible New York spread out, with its streets, its buildings, its rivers and parks, the tunnels, the bridges. Rapid cabs, maxibuses, jet-bikes, scooters, delivery vans, and other vehicles crammed those streets. People jammed sidewalks and glides. Shop windows held tiny, glittery displays, and glide-cart vendors served soy dogs and veggie hash.
She actually expected, for just a moment, to see it move, to hear it. “Holy shit.”
“That’s a good holy shit, right?” Ariel asked.
“That’s a kick-my-ass-and-call-me-Sally holy shit. There’s an illegals deal going down off Jane Street,” Eve murmured, “and this guy’s getting mugged in Central Park.”
“Well, it happens.”
Stunned, Eve crouched down to stare at the image of herself Ariel had created. She stood on a slim tower, over the city. She wore her long, black coat, caught in mid-billow and boots even she could see were scuffed at the toe. In one hand she held her badge—right down to her rank and badge number, and in the other her weapon.
“Wow. Just . . . wow. It’s insanely iced. Do you see this?” she said to Roarke.
“I do. And I believe I’ve made an excellent investment. It’s spectacular, Ariel.”
“She spent weeks on the design,” Erik told them, pride riding in every word. “Kept changing it. The good part is I got to sample the rejects.”
“It’s by far the frostiest thing I’ve ever seen. I’m going to be the cop who ate Manhattan.” Laughing, Eve straightened. “Listen, I’ve got these friends getting married pretty soon. She’s really going to want to talk to you.”
“Louise and Charles? We’re going over the final cake design tomorrow.”
Eve nodded to Roarke. “Always one step ahead, aren’t you, ace?”
“I hate to lag behind. Ah, champagne,” he said as Summerset came in with a tray. “I’d say that’s very suitable.”
“I can get with that. I think I’m going to have a slice of the Upper East Side since . . .” Eve trailed off, narrowed her eyes. And crouched again.
“Is something wrong?” Ariel began and gnawed her lip as she leaned over.
“No. This sector here? Are the streets, the buildings to scale—or close? Or did you just make what worked best?”
“Are you kidding?” Erik interrupted. “She used maps and holos, did freaking math. Ari was obsessed.”
“It’s different from a map. Different even from being there, being in it. This . . . it’s kind of like a God’s-eye view.”
She rose, circled, squatted down. “Boundaries change, depending on the people. Who comes in, who goes out. Back fifteen, twenty years ago, the Soldado turf ran from East 96th up to 120th. Solid fourteen blocks from the East River over to Fifth. And the Skulls held 122nd up to 128th, with some territory west of Fifth where they disputed borders with the Bloods. But this area right here, this eastern slice between 118th and 124th, that was the hot zone of the battleground, that was where each wanted more territory. That was where the bombings took place.”