Julianna wasn't bold enough to hire one of his, Eve mused as she navigated around shuttles, cargo vehicles, and trams winding around the Diamond Express hangars.
The headache was back, a hammer punch on the back of her skull where it had met pavement. She felt a desperate need for a nap, which told her she'd have to take a short break soon or end up flat on her face.
"What's the pilot's name again?"
"It's Mason Riggs." Peabody shifted, took another look at Eve's profile. "You feeling okay—don't get pissed off. It's just you're looking a little pale and shiny."
"What the hell does that mean? Shiny?" Eve parked, eased over to examine herself in the rearview mirror. Damn, she did look shiny. "It's summer, it's hot. People sweat. And no, I'm not feeling okay. Let's just do this."
"I'm driving back."
With one leg out of the car, Eve swiveled around. "What did you say?"
"I said," Peabody repeated, courageously laying her life on the line, "I'm driving back. You shouldn't be behind the wheel, and I promised Louise I'd make you take breaks when you got shaky."
Very slowly, Eve took off the sunshades she'd worn as a concession to the glare, the headache, and the appearance of her bruised face. The black eye only added an edge to the drilling stare. "Make me?"
Peabody swallowed, but stuck firm. "You don't scare me—hardly—because you're pale and shiny. So I'll take the wheel when we're done here. You can put the seat back and catch a nap. Sir."
"Do you think adding 'sir' on the end of that is going to save you from my considerable wrath?"
"Maybe, but I'm more confident I can outrun you in your current state of health." She held up two fingers. "How many do you see?"
"The two I'm going to rip off and stuff in your ears."
"Oddly, it reassures me to hear that, Lieutenant."
With a sigh, Eve pushed herself out of the car. The noise screaming out of the hangar lanced straight through her skull. Hoping to avoid going in and having her head fall off, she signalled to a woman wearing coveralls emblazoned with Diamond's logo.
"I'm looking for Pilot Riggs," Eve shouted. "Mason Riggs."
"That's his shuttle getting its weekly maintenance." The woman jerked a thumb toward the mouth of the hangar. "He's either in there guarding his baby or in the break room."
"Where's the break room?"
"Second door down on the left. Sorry, but the hangar and the break room are employees-only areas. You want I can page him for you."
Eve pulled out her badge. "I'll just page him with this. Okay?"
"Sure." The woman held up her gloved hands, palms out. "Wouldn't go in there without ear protectors. Against safety regs." She flipped up the top on a crate, brought out two clunky sets. "It's murder without them."
"Thanks." Eve fit them on and immediately felt relief from the shrieking noise.
She headed inside. The hangar held three shuttles at the moment, each covered with a swarm of mechanics who were either wielding complicated-looking tools or holding conversations in sign language.
She spotted two uniformed pilots, one male, one female, and crossed into the heart of the hangar. The noise was like a whooshing wave through the ear protectors, and there was a smell of fuel, of grease, and someone's spicy meatball sandwich.
The latter made her stomach sit up and beg. She had a weakness for meatballs.
She tapped the male pilot on the shoulder. He was vid-star handsome, with the caramel-colored skin of a mixed-race heritage smooth and tight over sharp bones.
"Riggs?" She mouthed it slowly, then offered her badge when he nodded. At his polite yet baffled look, she gestured toward the break room.
He didn't look pleased, but he crossed the hangar quickly, coded in at the door, then yanked it open. The minute he was inside he pulled tiny protectors out of his ears, tossed them in a container.
"That's my shuttle. I've got to put it through its safety tests in twenty minutes. I've got a run."
Eve pulled off her own protectors. She hadn't heard a word he'd said, but she got the point. He lifted his brow at the condition of her face.