Willow Mackie overflowed with details, smirks, and insults. Eve gave her the center spot she craved, and basking in the attention, she rolled.

For three hours Eve listened, probed, nudged, with the occasional question or comment from Reo or Peabody.

Pushing wasn’t necessary, not as Willow warmed up to the idea of being important.

At one point she demanded another fizzy, and around hour three demanded a bathroom break.

“Peabody, have two uniformed officers, female, accompany Willow to the bathroom.”

On a hard laugh, Willow sneered at Eve. “You’ve been listening to all I can do, and you think I can’t take a couple of girl cops?”

You couldn’t take me, Eve thought, but nodded. “Make it four, Peabody.”

“That’s more like it.”

“Interview paused,” Eve said, and strode out.

Reo caught up with her just outside the bullpen. “Jesus Christ, Eve.”

“You were expecting a sulky teenager?”

“I was expecting a stone killer. I guess I wasn’t expecting a raging, showboating psychopath inside a teenager. I need to update my boss, and I want to talk to Mira. I want to make dead certain this girl is legally sane.”

“She’s as legally sane as you and me. And she’s a vicious little bug tha

t needs squashing.”

“I’m with you on part two. Let me make part one absolutely solid.”

“Take fifteen.” Rocking back on her heels, Eve tried to decide if she felt disgusted or satisfied. Realized she could feel both. “I want her sitting in there again, waiting, getting worked up about telling us the rest.”

“We’ve got enough to put her away for countless lifetimes already. But yeah, I want the rest, too. Fifteen,” Reo said, then hurried off.

Eve stepped into the bullpen, surprised how many of her team remained. “I’m not done, but I can promise you she is. She’s confessed to all of it, and I’m wrapping her up. For God’s sake, anybody not on the roll, go home.”

“How’s the eye, LT?” Jenkinson called out.

“It stings like a bitch, but that’s from looking at that tie. Go home.”

She walked into her office to see Roarke sitting at her desk, working his own PPC and her comp at the same time.

“Done?”

She shook her head. “What’s that?” She pointed at her own screen and what looked like some sort of ancient castle surrounded by some kind of cage.

“Ah, that’s progress on the projected hotel in Italy. I’ll have it off your unit before I leave. Coffee?”

“No. No, I need something cold.” She glanced back out. “I should’ve hit Vending—probably literally—for a Pepsi.”

“They’re stocked in your AC now.”

“They are?”

“To save you the frustration of Vending.”

She surprised herself by being absurdly touched. And needing to sit down. She dropped into the ass-biting visitor’s chair.

“That bad, is it?” Roarke rose, ordered the tube himself.

Tags: J.D. Robb In Death Mystery
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