“I’ll be walking my wife in first—or at least to the point where I can watch her go in. They’ve got a corner table ready for you.”
“Did you put muscle in there?”
“Darling.” He tapped her chin. “I always have muscle in there. It’s an Irish pub, after all.”
Her ’link signaled again. “It’s Darcia. You can watch me from here—and I’ll be talking to another cop while I walk half a block. I think I’m covered if some bad guy jumps out, and I faint from fear.”
He had to grin at her as he watched her walk away.
“Dallas.”
“Hi. I was hoping we could make good on that drink.”
“Actually, right now ... would be good,” she decided. “Or say in thirty? O’Riley’s Pub,” Eve said, and gave Darcia the address. “Can you get here?”
“I’m loving getting around in New York.”
“Great. Listen, I’m actually walking into the place now. I have a meet—another cop. You could do me a favor.”
“Sure.”
“Don’t come over to the table unless I signal you. If I don’t, I’ve still got to work it a little. When I do, you could stroll on over. Like you’ve just come in and spotted me—but we had a meet set.”
“No problem. Are you going to tell me why?”
“One of these days.”
“All right then, half an hour.”
“Chief Angelo?” The title made Darcia smile. “You’re easier to work with than I remember.”
“But I’m not working, am I?”
Eve tucked her ’link away and strolled into O’Riley’s.
Fiddle music piped out of the speakers, a backdrop to conversations among the grab-a-drink-after-work crowd. In a few hours, she knew, musicians would settle into one of the booths with their instruments, pints at the ready, and fill the place with bright reels and sad songs. The bartenders would hustle, pulling pints, pouring glasses for the crowd that invariably packed in.
The little redhead waved to her, gestured to a table for two. Eve remembered her from when she’d joined Roarke and a couple of his out-of-town business associates who’d wanted a taste of an Irish pub, New York style.
“Get you a drink, Lieutenant?” the redhead asked, and balanced her tray on her hip.
“Not yet, thanks.”
“Just give me a sign when you’re ready.”
Eve sat down, back to the wall, scanned the customers. Coworkers winding down, some tourists, a guy doing his best to hit on a couple of twenty-somethings who were stringing him along.
Cop didn’t blip on her radar.
And Renee came in.
She’d changed from her power suit into a little black number that showcased her body, left toned arms bare. She’d paired it with hot red heels so her toes, painted the same color, could play peekaboo, and left her rain of blond loose. The complex series of sparkling links around her neck held a round red pendant.
She did her own scan, Eve noted, a slow sweep with eyes expertly shadowed and smudged. Then sent Eve a friendly smile as she walked toward the table.
She likes knowing she’s caught attention, Eve thought, that men are checking her out and women are wondering who she is.
“Thanks for meeting me.” Renee slid onto her chair. “I hope I’m not late.”