Connections in Death (In Death 48)

Some kid with a demon grin zoomed by on an airboard. The odds of a pack of roaming street rats knocking him off and stealing it in this neighborhood ranked low.

She paused outside Cohen’s building. A nice four-stack—two up, two down, with the faded red bricks, the doors all snowy white. Decent security on all four units, to her eye, and with privacy screens engaged on all the windows.

According to the data, Cohen/Vinn had both west-side units. Which in this quietly mid to almost upscale neighborhood wouldn’t come cheap.

She spotted Roarke strolling her way, waited. More than a couple of heads turned. She saw one woman nudge her companion, then pat a hand on her heart.

Yeah, he had a way of tripping up the heartbeat.

He stepped up to her, took her hand, and kissed it before she could stop him.

“On duty.”

“And look it,” he said. “Every inch. It’s a lovely evening, isn’t it, to grill suspects.”

“It’s always a lovely evening for grilling suspects, but I’m going at Cohen more as a connection. He’s in business with Jones. Is he in business with the Bangers? How much does he know? It’s worth a conversation. He’s got both units on this side.”

She walked up to the door, pressed the buzzer.

Seconds later the intercom hummed, then let out a cheerful female voice. “Wow, Jimmy, that was fast! Be right there.”

“Might be Vinn,” Eve said. “Eldena. The stripper.”

“You must’ve flown. I didn’t— Oh.”

She had the body for the job, Eve thought. At the moment a snug black tank and cropped black skin pants covered the curvy inches. She had her hair, roasted chestnut, scooped back in a tail from a face dominated by wide brown eyes and currently devoid of enhancements.

Her bare feet had the toenails painted bright green.

She looked young and dewy, and surprised.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were Jimmy with the Chinese.”

“I’m Lieutenant Dallas, with the NYPSD.”

Eldena frowned at the badge Eve offered. “Can I help—” She broke off, wide eyes going even wider as they focused on Roarke. “Oh, oh! Dallas. Dallas and Roarke. God, I loved The Icove Agenda. I mean, you think that couldn’t happen, but it did. This is even better than Red Dragon’s noodles, and they’re mag. Do you want to come in?”

“As a matter of fact.”

“Sorry, I was working on some choreography, so I’m a mess. I’m a dancer. Come in and sit down. I’ll take your coats. Can I get you a drink?”

“We’re good. Ms. Vinn—”

“Oh, please, call me El.”

“We’re here on police business, and would like to speak with you and Mr. Cohen.”

“Oh. Sure. Sorry, I’m just thrown off. Sam’s back in his office. I’ll go get him. Are you sure I can’t get you a drink?”

“We’re good,” Eve said again.

“Well, make yourselves at home. I’ll be right back.”

As she hurried out, chestnut ponytail bouncing, Eve shook her head. “See? See? What did I say? The Oscar thing just makes it worse. Cop at your door, and you’re all, Oh, I loved the vid. Jesus.”

In mock sympathy, Roarke patted her back. “A brutally heavy cross to bear.”

“Bite me,” she muttered and took stock of the living area.