If Eve had owned a blush, she’d have used it.
Roarke slipped up beside her—more chitchat—then the four of them wandered out to the terrace. She’d avoided the terrace, because that way lay Trina. But she couldn’t be a coward all evening.
The music blasted over New York. Eve decided if anyone called a cop over noise violations, they’d find a whole bunch of them busting that reg, including her entire squad, a chunk of EDD—and the commander.
At the moment, Commander Whitney was dancing with Assistant Prosecuting Attorney Cher Reo. A lot of shoulder shaking and hip rocking was involved. Eve’s partner, Detective Delia Peabody, executed some sort of wild swing and hop in time with her main man and EDD ace McNab.
Baxter, slick suit, no tie, flirted with the terrifying Trina, which was no problem, as Detective Horndog flirted with any and all females. Reineke and Jenkinson clicked glasses as they joined in on the chorus of whatever girl duet Detective Carmichael and Mavis belted out.
It seemed Carmichael did indeed have pipes. And Jenkinson’s tie glowed like the moons that covered it.
Standing spread-legged, Santiago ran his fingers over a keyboard. What came out was definitely music. Who knew? Trueheart, Baxter’s earnest young partner, sat with his girlfriend and Feeney. Eve swore Feeney’s eyes shone—or glowed like Jenkinson’s tie—as he watched the Avenue A drummer bang and crash the drums.
She spotted Garnet DeWinter. The forensic anthropologist huddled in conversation with the commander’s wife while Morris made his sax wail.
EDD Callendar rushed out on the terrace, giving a “Woo!” as she dragged a laughing Charles with her into the shaking bodies. Eve supposed dancing skills had once been a job requirement for the former licensed companion. Dr. Louise Dimatto, his wife, hooked an arm through Eve’s.
“I’d say this house is warmed.”
“It’s a heated terrace.”
“No.” On a laugh, Louise lifted her glass. “Housewarming, Dallas. This house is definitely warmed. So, who’s that stunning woman dancing with Crack?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.” Eve shrugged. “Kid shrink.”
“Really. I love her lip dye. If I tried that color, I’d look like a zombie. Is that— That’s Detective Carmichael singing with Mavis.”
“Yeah. She has pipes.”
“I’ll say. Well, since Callendar stole my man, I’m going to steal someone else’s.” She circled a finger in the air. “Feeney,” she decided, and circled the dancers.
Roarke brought Eve another drink that washed away even the memory of zucchini. When they took the music down to slow and he turned her into his arms, she swayed with him under the swimming slice of moon.
Yeah, she thought, this house is warmed.
* * *
And if, on the drive home, she took out her PPC and did a quick little run on Rochelle Pickering, so what?
Roarke stretched out his legs in the back of the limo. “What are you up to there, Lieutenant?”
“Just checking something.”
He waited only a beat. “Don’t tell me you’re running Rochelle.”
“Okay.”
“Eve, Crack’s a big boy. Literally.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Eve,” he said again, and laid a hand on hers. “You should know I’ve already run her.”
“What? You’re not a cop, and—”
“And she’s not a suspect. She is, however, the top contender for the head therapist at An Didean.”
“I thought you had one of those already.”