Across the bedroom, Hyatt struggled to open a window.
“Stop where you are.” She said it mildly as she strolled across the room. “I repeat, you’re under arrest.”
He spun around, took a sloppy swing at her. It gave her time, the sloppiness of it, to decide whether to take the shot or evade it. She decided she just couldn’t let some dick-ass land a weak punch. The record would show the swing.
All she had to do was lean left. His own momentum carried him around. And since Nadine’s thoughts on bruised knuckles rang true under the circumstances, Eve just kicked him in the ass and sent him sprawling.
“Okay, we add attempting to flee and resisting, attempting to assault a police officer.”
She dragged his hands behind his back as he tried to kick her, tried to inchworm away.
“Lawyer, lawyer!”
“Okay, Bill, you’ll have that right along with others. Here they are.”
She recited the Revised Miranda. “Do you understand your rights and obligations?”
“Lawyer, lawyer, you bitch. You cunt.”
“I take that as a yes.”
She hauled him up, pushed him into a chair in the scrupulously clean, absolutely tidy, and obsessively trendy room. “Sit!” She snapped. “If you try to get up, attempt to assault me or flee again, I’ll be forced to take measures you won’t like. You know, Bill, we’ve got you locked. More, we’ll double the lock once we go through your place because I’m just betting you’ve got the murder weapon stashed in here.”
His eyes flicked to a low, three-drawer bureau—glossy black with silver trim and knobs.
“Seriously? You’re making it too easy. Peabody, we need to seal up. We need a field kit.”
Roarke took a mini can out of his pocket. “From the center compartment of your vehicle.”
“You are handy.”
“I’ll get the kit. More steps, more calories burned,” Peabody said before Roarke could object. “I’ve got this little bikini.”
She dashed out before Eve could snarl at her. Instead, while Roarke leaned on the doorjamb, Eve sealed her hands.
“Now let me guess.” She watched Hyatt’s stony face as she walked to the bureau. “This one?” She circled a finger in front of the middle drawer as he fought to keep his gaze level.
“Or is it…”
His eyes flicked down.
“Made you look.” She pulled open the bottom drawer. “I see you work out, and wouldn’t be surprised if it’s the same gym Kellie Lowry used. Coordinating outfits, very stylish,” she added as she pushed through them.
“Get your filthy hands off my things.”
“Hey, they’re clean enough, and hello, warrant. Why, just look here under this neatly folded stack of gym socks, and in its plastic sheath.”
She held up a scalpel. “All clean—or I bet you think so. You think you washed all the blood away. It’s really hard to do that. And even if you managed it, the question will be just what is the lapboy of some mediocre talk-show host doing with a medical scalpel under his gym socks?”
“Mediocre! Annie Knight is an icon! You aren’t fit to speak her name.”
Since his reaction gave her just what she’d wanted, she just smiled again. “Aw, are you in love?” She drew out the word, mockingly.
As he started to lunge up, Roarke moved fast as a snake. He only put a hand on Hyatt’s shoulder, shoved him back down again. “You’ll want to sit where the lieutenant put you.”
At the buzzer, Eve said, “That should be the uniforms. Would you mind?”
“Not at all. Just where she put you,” Roarke said to Hyatt, and left to let in the uniforms.