Treachery in Death (In Death 32)

“No.”

“Do you come here a lot? It looks like a nice, friendly place. Unpretentious. A working man’s bar.”

Eve wondered what the reaction might have been if she’d set the meet at the Down and Dirty. “Now and then,” she said, and caught the waitress’s eye. “Nice outfit,” she commented. “You didn’t have to dress up for me.”

“Actually I’m meeting my parents for dinner later. Have you—”

She broke off as the redhead came to the table. “What can I get you, ladies?”

“Pepsi, on ice,” Eve told her.

“Oh, come on, Dallas, live a little.” With a bright, beaming smile, Renee tossed back her hair. “We’re off duty, aren’t we? And I’m buying.”

“Pepsi,” Eve repeated, “on ice.”

“Well, I’m off duty. I’ll have a vodka martini, straight up, two olives.”

“I’ll get those right to you.” The waitress set a snack bowl of pretzels on the table, then went to put the order in.

“I was going to ask if you’d ever met my father.”

“Not formally, no.”

“I’ll have to introduce you sometime. I’m sure you’d enjoy each other.” Renee took a pretzel from the bowl, broke it in half, nibbled. “We should have dinner. You, your husband, my father and I. Roarke’s certainly a man I’d like to meet.”

“Why?”

“Like my father, he has a strong reputation, and it would seem, a gift for command. He’d have to, to have reached his level of success. It must be fascinating, being married to a man who commands that much power, with so many varied . . . interests. I heard you vacationed in Europe this summer.”

“You want to talk about my summer vacation?”

“I don’t see any reason you and I can’t be friendly, do you?”

“Do you want a list?”

Renee sighed, sat back, and continued to nibble on the tiny piece of pretzel. “We really did get off on the wrong foot, and I’m willing to take responsibility for a great deal of that. I was upset about Keener, and I admit, territorial. So we butted heads when it would’ve been more e

fficient, and certainly more productive, to work in tandem.”

She paused again when the waitress returned with their drinks. “Anything else I can get you for now?”

“We’re good,” Eve told her. “Thanks.”

Renee lifted her glass. “Why don’t we drink to a fresh start?”

Eve left her glass where it was. “Why don’t you define fresh start?”

In the snug, Webster watched the exchange. “She’s chapping Renee’s ass.”

“She’s good at it,” Roarke agreed. “She’ll wind her up. The more Eve rejects the overtures, the more Renee will push.”

“It’s a good play. Garnet’s hammering her on one side, Dallas is blocking her on the other. You know Dallas is trying to get Renee to come at her—to set Bix on her.”

“I know my wife very well.”

The faint emphasis on my wife had Webster shoving his hands in his pockets. “I thought you and I were settled.”

“It’s hard to resist giving you the needle now and again. See the body language there,” Roarke pointed out. “Eve, slouched, kicked back. Disinterested. Renee tipped forward a bit. Working hard to engage. But her foot taps under the table—hard rhythm. She’s angry.”