use some.’
‘Great. Mag. I’m going to find Summerset and tell him we’re ready for it. Take Dallas up and show her, okay?’ She darted out.
‘It really lifted her,’ Leonardo said quietly. ‘That news report. She needed a lift. The Blue Squirrel let her go.’
‘Let her go?’
‘Bastards,’ Trina muttered around a canape.
‘Management decided it wasn’t in their best interest to have an accused murderer headlining. It shook her bad. I had the idea to take her mind off it this way. I’m sorry, I should have cleared it with you first.’
‘No, it’s fine.’ Eve took another sip of wine and braced herself. ‘Let’s go do me then.’
Chapter Twelve
It wasn’t so bad, Eve decided. Not when compared to the riots of the Urban Wars, the torture chambers of the Spanish Inquisition, a test ride on the XR-85 moon jet. And she was a cop, a ten-year vet, used to facing danger.
She was certain her eyes wheeled like a panicked horse’s when Trina tested her cropping sheers.
‘Hey, maybe we could just—’
‘Leave it to the experts,’ Trina said. Eve nearly whimpered with relief when she set the shears down again. ‘Let’s see about this.’
She approached, unarmed, but Eve watched warily.
‘I’ve got a hair consult program.’ Leonardo looked up from the long table, covered with fabrics where he and Biff muttered together. ‘Full morphing capabilities.’
‘I don’t need a stinking program.’ To prove it, Trina caught Eve’s face in her firm, wide hands. Eyes narrowed, she began to move up then around Eve’s head, over the jaw, up the cheekbones. ‘Decent bone structure,’ she approved. ‘Who do you use?’
‘For what?’
‘Face sculpting.’
‘God.’
Trina paused, snickered, then let out an ear-blasting laugh, the tone of a rusted tuba. ‘I like your cop, Mavis.’
‘She’s the best,’ Mavis said drunkenly. She perched on a nearby stool, studying herself in the triple mirrors. ‘Maybe you could do me, too, Trina. The lawyers suggested I go for a more sedate look. You know, brunette or something.’
‘Fuck that.’ Trina pressed her thumbs under Eve’s jaw to lift it. ‘I’ve got some new shit that’ll blast any judge out of his robe, cutie. Bordello pink with silver tipping. Just on the market.’
‘Oh yeah.’ Mavis flipped her sapphire locks back and considered.
‘What I could do for you with a little highlighting.’
Eve’s blood ran cold. ‘Just the cut, right? We’re just snip-ping a little.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ Trina pushed Eve’s head onto her chest. ‘This color a gift from God, too?’ She chuckled to herself, yanked Eve’s head back, and dragged all the hair away from her face. ‘The eyes are good. The brows could use a little work, but we can fix that.’
‘Give me some more wine, Mavis.’ Eve shut the eyes that were good, and told herself whatever happened, it would grow back.
‘Okay, wet down.’ Trina whirled the chair and its reluctant occupant to a porta-sink, tipped it back until Eve’s neck was braced in the padded slot. ‘Close your eyes and enjoy, honey. I give the best shampoo and head massage in the business.’
There was something to be said for that. The wine or Trina’s clever fingers mellowed Eve’s mood toward some twilight world of relaxation. Dimly she heard Leonardo and Biff arguing over their preferences of crimson satin or scarlet silk for evening pajamas. The music Leonardo had programmed was something classical with sobbing piano arpeggios, and the scent of crushed flowers filled the air.
Why had Paul Redford told her about the Chinese box and the illegals? If he’d gone back for them himself, had them in his possession, why would he want their existence known?
Double bluff? A ploy? Maybe there had never been a box to begin with. Or he knew it was gone already so . . .