Wasn’t it time Eve understood she only had one friend, one partner? And really, at the core, one mate? All of these, all, were distractions, obstacles to the only relationship that should matter.
Still, until now the indulgence of these distractions had been tolerated. Out of friendship, out of affection and an unselfish generosity.
But real friendship was truth, and Eve had to learn and accept truth. So one by one they would be eliminated.
Time to pick the first.
It only took calling up files to have data, already researched, already accumulated, scrolling. Habits, haunts, other connections, routines, and histories.
Eyes tinted the color of good whiskey, eyes the same shade as the ones in the countless photographs of Eve that covered the wall, read the data carefully.
Thos
e eyes were shrewd, intelligent, and crazed.
• • •
Eve had her feet up on the desk, the chair kicked back, and her eyes closed when Roarke came in. Galahad lay belly down on her desk, staring at her.
Not sleeping, he thought. Thinking.
Rather than interrupt whatever train she was riding, he moved into the kitchen, programmed fresh coffee, split the large slab of pie. And to reward the cat for being on guard, added a couple of mouse-shaped feline treats.
“Nadine or Mira,” Eve said, eyes still closed when he set the coffee down on her desk.
“As next target?”
“It’s what makes best sense, and Nadine edges out Mira if it’s a night hit. She lives alone. Might have company at any time, sure, but she’d watch for that. Especially watchful after Hastings.”
She opened her eyes now, watched as Galahad inhaled the little cat cookies as if they’d been air. Wisely, Roarke gave him a nudge off the desk before he set down the pie, or it might have met the same fate.
“You could maybe check my work here,” she told Roarke. “I’ve set up a search and match, NYPSD database. Cops, support staff, lab, morgue, all crime scene personnel, including the cleaners contracted to swipe down a crime scene after we clear it. If I don’t hit anything on this, I’ll expand to relatives of same. Could be. Thinking about running another on applicants to the Academy, forensics, morgue, and so on. We’ve gone through the most direct lines there. So using McNab and Yancy’s best guess, I’m trying it again.”
“Up,” he said, and switched places with her.
He studied the search, the parameters she’d programmed, the images, the language.
“This would do it.”
“Good, because it took me forever.”
“I’m going to refine it with what I’ve done. It doesn’t change much, but sharpens the edges a bit.”
He paused the search, input her new data, ordered a realignment as she sampled the pie.
“You have sharper images?”
“Mmmm.” He ordered them on screen while he restarted her search.
“Really?” Eve rolled her eyes as the first image scrolled on. He’d dressed the long-legged female with short mouse-brown hair in a sheer black lace bra and G-string, added a sassy, hip-shot stance.
“We make our own fun,” he told her, then swiveled in the chair. Before she realized his intent, he snagged her hips, pulled her onto his lap. “Now, while the changes are subtle, I was able to calculate those ratios, and all the other bits and business you don’t want to hear about. This is my most likely.”
“You honestly think this homicidal lunatic wears trashy underwear?”
“Truthfully, I don’t understand why women wear any other kind. However, whatever she wears under her clothes, I think this represents the best estimation, given all known data, on her body type, her general features, her coloring.”
“Hair and eyes can change on a whim. Mavis’s official ID—her latest one—has her with pink hair. She had blue hair tonight. Just as an example.”