Calculated in Death (In Death 36)

When Eve started to do it for her, Peabody jumped back. “I can do it myself, thanks.” Muttering, she turned her back. Her shoulders wiggled. And flushing furiously, she turned around again.

“Mmm. She-Body.”

Ignoring McNab’s comment, Eve circled her partner. “It’s going to work.”

“Classic,” Roarke said.

“What’s going to work? What’s classic? I want my jacket.”

“Forget it. You’re going to walk right up to Milo the Mole’s front door, and he’s going to answer.”

“I am? He is?”

“Damsel in distress, right?” Eve said to Roarke.

“A very alluring damsel. Clever, Lieutenant.”

“Oh, okay. I get it. I look like I’m in trouble—all alone, unarmed. Harmless. Girl. He opens up to find out what’s what. You should do it,” Peabody told Eve.

“You’re the one with the tits. Men are stupid for tits.”

“Harsh,” Roarke observed. “But largely true.”

“Plus, you’re the type, obviously, who appeals to skinny geeks.”

>

“Oh yeah,” McNab confirmed. “Completely.”

“Maybe a short skirt and ankle-breakers. Somebody around here has to have them. All he sees is the half-naked woman with big tits knocking on his door. Lucky day. And while he’s focused on the tits, we take him.

“McNab, go find me the skirt and shoes. Peabody, go slut up your face and hair and don’t try to tell me you don’t know how. I’ll get the warrant and put this together. Move it.”

As they moved it, she pulled out her ’link to arrange for the warrant. “You know how these guys think,” she said to Roarke. “Help me put this together.”

“Delighted.”

• • •

Within the hour, Eve sat in the back of an EDD van a full two blocks from the target’s building.

“We can’t know he’s inside.” And she hated the uncertainty. “If he doesn’t fall for the She-Body gambit, we move in, take down the door, clear the building.”

“We’ll need that ninety seconds to two minutes,” Roarke reminded her, “to scan for booby traps, explosives. He’s very likely built in some traps and self-destructs in the event of a forced entry.”

“You’ll get the time, but we go through the door.”

“My money’s on Peabody.” McNab adjusted his screen. “She looks whoa.”

“For all we know, he may go for your type,” she told McNab. “Or yours,” she said to Roarke. “For now, we go with the classic. The second the door opens, we move in. Roarke and McNab complete the scan. Peabody, you copy?”

“Affirmative.”

“Baxter?”

“Right here.”

“Roll it.”