Dark in Death (In Death 46)

“Me. She’s got me.”

“It’s not you, Glaze, it’s the illusion of you, and, again, certain characteristics that no longer apply. I can almost guarantee you’re not even a blip in her world now. She’s finished with you, with Loxie, with this … scenario.”

And now she becomes someone else, Eve thought.

“Add to your security, and Lauren’s if you’re worried. But you, this, tonight? For her it’s a closed book.”

“I will. I am.”

“I’m going to talk to the rest of your group, then you’re all free to go.” Eve rose. “You know it’s a long street after that corner’s turned. I hope you stay on it.”

“One step, every day, the rest of my life. I like the street. I like who I am when I’m walking it.”

Eve talked to Glaze’s group, excused herself to take a frantic ’link tag from Yola Bloomfield, then finished up.

Before she could hunt down Peabody, Roarke pushed coffee into her hand.

She all but inhaled it. “I’d grant you exotic and possibly illegal sexual favors for this alone.”

“I’ll make a list.” He set a hand on her shoulder. “You should take a moment, gather your thoughts.”

“They’re gathered. Where the hell is Peabody?”

Even as she spoke, both Peabody and McNab came out of the kitchen area.

“F train, Second Avenue station,” McNab said. “Transit copied me on the feed. I can hook it to the stage screen. Might take a minute.”

“Take the minute.”

While he went to work, Peabody added her progress. “I gave the suspect’s coat to the sweepers, told them to get Harvo on it. Any hair or fibers thereon, she’ll find them and pin them down.”

“Asshole named Sylvio claims the red’s a home-dye job, and the dreads are fake.”

“Sylvio? Like the hair king? He’d know. I can start running down the dreads.”

“Do that and start a search for them—focused between here and the Second Avenue subway station—also inside the station, and on the F train. If she has brains, and she does, she’d have yanked them off and ditched them on the run. We find them, and Harvo’s got something else to play with.”

“All over it. The only one on the skank list who also got a text was Yola Bloomfield.”

“Culled it down to two,” Eve noted.

“Got it up, Dallas.”

Eve moved over to the stage area.

She watched the night owls, the party people, the LCs calling it a night head for the platforms. A couple of sidewalk sleepers in from the cold huddled together on the floor, begging hats displayed—and ignored.

She saw Strongbow. Mink hoodie up and buttoned to the neck, wind goggles in place. As she approached the transoms, Strongbow unbuttoned the hoodie to reach inside for her purse.

Took out a swipe.

Eve braced. Do it, do it, you crazy, murdering bitch.

But she stopped, dipped her head lower. Stepping aside, she reached in her purse again, carefully counted out cash.

She took it to the machine, paid for a new swipe.

Cash, Eve noted from the display. One ride.