“Look me dead in the eye. Come on.” To ensure obedience, Mavis snagged Eve’s chin, swiveled until they were face to face, glassy eye to glassy eye. “You’re in love with Roarke.”
“It looks that way. I don’t want to think about it.”
“Good. Don’t. Always said you thought too damn much.” Holding the glass over her head, Mavis pushed off into the lagoon. “Can we use the jets?”
“Sure.” Impaired with wine, Eve fumbled a bit for the correct control. Once the water started to bubble and spew, Mavis let out a laughing moan.
“Christ Jesus, who needs a man when you’ve got one of these? Come on, Eve, bump up the music. Let’s party.”
Obliging, Eve doubled the volume on the controls so that the music screamed off the walls and water. The Rolling Stones, Mavis’s favorite classic artists, wailed. Lounged back, Eve laughed as Mavis improvised dance steps and started to send the server droid after another bottle.
“I beg your pardon.”
“Huh?” Bleary-eyed, Eve studied the glossy black shoes at the lip of the lagoon. Slowly, and with mild curiosity, she let her gaze travel up the smoke-colored, pipe-stemmed pants, the short, stiff jacket, and into Summerset’s stony face. “Hey, you wanna take a little dip?”
“Come on in, Summerset.” Water lapped around Mavis’s waist and dripped cheerfully from her classy breasts as she waved. “The more the merrier.”
He sniffed, his lips curled. Sheer habit had the words dropping out of his mouth like knife-edged ice cubes, but his gaze kept wandering back to Mavis’s swirling body.
“There’s a transmission for you, Lieutenant. Apparently you were unable to hear my attempts to inform you.”
“What? Okay, okay.” She sniggered, paddled toward the ’link set in the side of the lagoon. “Is it Roarke?”
“It is not.” It affronted his dignity to shout, but it would have offended his pride to order the music lower. “It is Dispatch from Cop Central.”
Even as Eve reached for the ’link, she stopped, swore. Then slicked the hair back from her face. “Music off,” she snapped, and had Mick and his pals echoing into silence. “Mavis, stay out of video range, please.” Eve sucked in a deep breath, then opened the ’link. “Dallas.”
“Dispatch, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. Voice print verified. Report immediately to Broadcast Avenue, Channel 75. Confirmed Homicide. Code Yellow.”
Eve’s blood ran cold. Her fingers gripped on the edge of the pool. “Victim’s name?”
“That information is not cleared for transmission at this time. Confirm receipt of orders, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve.”
“Confirmed. ETA twenty minutes. Request Feeney, Captain, EDD on scene.”
“Request verified. Dispatch out.”
“Oh God. Oh God.” Weak with guilt and liquor, Eve laid her head on the edge of the pool. “I fucking killed her.”
“Stop it.” Mavis swam over, laid a hand on Eve’s shoulder. “Cut it out, Eve,” she said briskly.
“He took the wrong bait, the wrong bait, Mavis, and she’s dead. It was supposed to be me.”
“I said stop it.” Confused by the words, but not by the sentiment, Mavis pulled her back and gave Eve a quick shake. “Snap out of it, Dallas.”
Helpless, Eve pressed a hand to her spinning head. “Oh my Christ, I’m drunk. That’s perfect.”
“I can fix that. I’ve got some Sober Up in my bag.” At Eve’s moan, Mavis gave her another shake. “I know you hate pills, but they’ll clean the alcohol out of your bloodstream in ten minutes flat. Come on, we’ll get some into you.”
“Fine. Dandy. I’ll be sober when I have to look at her.”
She started up the steps, slipped, was surprised to find her arm taken firmly. “Lieutenant.” Summerset’s voice was still cool, but he held out a towel and helped her up onto the stone skirt of the pool. “I’ll see that your car’s ready.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
chapter twelve
Mavis’s handy antidote worked like a charm. Eve had a foul taste in the back of her throat, but she was stone-cold sober when she reached Channel 75’s sleek silver building.