“Hey, Dallas!” McNab’s face pushed against Peabody’s so the two of them, equally plowed by the look of things, shared the screen. “This band is ice. Why don’t you get your main squeeze and come on down.”
“Peabody, where are you?”
“I’m in New York City. I live here.”
Drunk, Eve thought in frustration. Drunk as a Station Caspian colonist. “Never mind. Take this outside before I go deaf.”
“What? I can’t hear you!”
Ignoring Roarke’s amused chuckle, Eve leaned into her ‘link. “Officer Peabody, go outside, keep the transmission open. I need to talk to you.”
“You’re outside? Well, hell, come on in.”
Eve sucked in a breath. “Go. Out. Side.”
“Oh, okay, sure thing.”
There was a great deal of fumbling, more giggling, bumpy views of a crowd of what Eve decided were maniacs leaping and spinning as the band crashed out noise. To her great pain, she heard, very clearly, McNab’s hissed suggestion of what would be fun to do in one of the club’s privacy rooms.
“You have to give him points for imagination,” Roarke pointed out.
“I hate you for this.” Patience straining, Eve held the transmission while Peabody and McNab stumbled out of the club. The noise level dropped, but not by much. Apparently McNab’s choice of club was in the core of Broadway’s never-ending party district.
“Dallas? Dallas? Where are you?”
“Your ‘link, Peabody. I’m on your ‘link.”
“Oh.” She lifted it again, peered at the screen. “What are you doing in there?”
“Have you got any Sober-Up in your bag?”
“Betcha. You gotta be prepared, right?”
“Take some. Now.”
“Aw.” Peabody’s cheerfully colored lips moved into a pout. “I don’t wanna. Hey, that’s Roarke. I heard Roarke. Hi, Roarke.”
He couldn’t resist and moved into view. “Hello, Peabody. You’re looking particularly delicious tonight.”
“Golly, you’re pretty. I could just look at you and look at you and—”
“Sober-Up, Peabody. Now. That’s an order.”
“Damn.” Peabody rummaged through her bag, came up with the little tin. “If I gotta, you gotta,” she said, plucking out two pills before shoving the tin at McNab.
“Why?”
“Because.”
“Oh.”
“Peabody, I need all current data on Anja Carvell, all search and scan results.”
” ‘Kay.”
“Shoot them to my car unit. Then I want you to meet me, in uniform, at Kenneth Stiles’s address. Thirty minutes. Understood?”
“Yeah, sort of…Could you repeat the question?”