Thankless in Death (In Death 37)

“Yeah,” Feeney confirmed. “And then some.”

“Won’t this be fun?”

“Have at it. I’m hitting the morgue, then I have some interviews with potential targets.”

And where, Roarke wondered, would any sort of food be in the mix? She looked, to his eye, tight and tired. “I’ll go with you.”

She frowned at him. “What about the fun?”

“I’ll work by remote, and have the best of both. You can send what you’d like me to do to my PPC,” Roarke said to Feeney.

“Can do. If you hang until McNab gets back—”

“He’s back,” Roarke interrupted. “I ran into him briefly. He was logging in evidence then bringing it up to the lab.”

“We’ll log out one of the comps. See what you can do with it.”

“Delighted. Should I meet you in the garage?” he asked Eve.

“I can wait.” She stepped to the side, pulled out her ’link, and took the time to notify those on her list to expect a visit.

She finished up with the last one walking with Roarke as he carried a sealed comp to the garage.

“You’re supposed to have a minion haul stuff when you dress like that.”

“Am I now? Are you volunteering?”

She ignored that, keyed in her code to unlock the car doors. “How are you supposed to work on that while we’re driving all over lower Manhattan?”

“Easily enough as you’ll be behind the wheel.”

He unsealed the comp then took some sort of minidrive out of his pocket, attached it to one port, attached his PPC to another. Glanced at her as she pulled out of the garage and into perfectly miserable traffic.

“You’re tired,” he said.

“No, I’m not.”

“You are, and you show it very likely because you haven’t had any real food since breakfast.”

“I had a cookie. And I have a little box of them—which, damn it, I left in my office. Say good-bye to those.”

“Real food,” he repeated.

Had she? She couldn’t remember. “I’ll eat when we get home. Mommy.”

He drilled a finger into her side in retaliation, then tapped and swiped on the in-dash ’link. “AC mode,” he commanded, “twelve-ounce protein shake, chocolate.”

Received … Selecting …

“AC mode? What AC mode?”

“The one programmed into the system because my wife starves herself most days.”

Delivering …

He had to take off his seat belt, shift, reach through the seats to the back. She heard the quiet slide, little click, and frowned into the rear-view, but couldn’t quite get the angle.

“Where is it? How is it?”