"I want to keep it simple," she told them. "I just don't want her to look like a cop."
"What do you think, Trina?" Mavis leaned over Peabody's shoulder, pulling at her own curls so they lay over Peabody's cheeks. "This color'd rock on her. Festive, right? Holiday time. And wait till you see the wardrobe I got Leonardo to lend us." She bounced back, grinning. "There's this peekaboo skinsuit that's really you, Peabody."
"Skinsuit." Peabody paled, thinking of bulges. "Lieutenant."
"Simple," Eve said again, ready to desert her aide.
"What do you use on your skin?" Trina demanded, taking a firm hold of Peabody's chin. "Sandpaper?"
"Um -- "
"You got pores like moon craters here, girlfriend. You need a full facial treatment. I'm starting with a peeler."
"Oh God." Panicked, Peabody tried to jerk her chin free. "Listen -- "
"Are those tits yours or enhanced?"
"Mine." Instantly, Peabody crossed her arms over her chest and grabbed her own breasts before Trina could. "They're mine. I'm really happy with them."
"They're good tits. Okay, strip. Let's have a look at them, and the rest of you."
"Strip?" Peabody swiveled her head until her terrified eyes latched onto Eve's. "Dallas, Lieutenant. Sir?"
"You said you could handle undercover, Peabody." After one sympathetic shudder, Eve turned and started out. "You've got two hours with her."
"I need three," Trina called out. "I don't rush my art."
"You got two." Firmly Eve shut the door on Peabody's shocked squeak.
It seemed best all around, Eve thought, if she stayed as far away from what was happening to her aide as possible. She decided to pay a visit to an old friend.
Charles Monroe was a licensed comp
anion, as slick and attractive a prostitute as Eve had encountered, on or off the force. He'd once helped her with a case -- and then offered her his services for free.
She'd taken the help, and politely refused the offer.
Now she pressed the buzzer outside his elegant apartment in a high-priced midtown building. A building Roarke owned, she thought with a roll of her eyes.
When the security beam blinked green, she lifted a brow, aiming a look at the peephole and holding up her badge in case Charles had forgotten her.
When he opened the door, he proved she needn't have worried about his memory. "Lieutenant Sugar." He caught her off guard with a strong hug and a quick, slightly too intimate kiss.
"Hands off, pal."
"I never got to kiss the bride." He winked at her, a sleepy-eyed, handsome man with an elegant face. "So how do you like being married to the richest man in the universe?"
"He keeps me in coffee."
Charles cocked his head, studied her. "You're in love with him, all the way. Well, good for you. I see the two of you on screen now and then. At some glitzy do. I wondered how it was with you. Now I see, and I have to assume you're not here to take me up on that offer I made some months back."
"I need to talk to you."
"Okay, come on in." He stepped back, gesturing. He wore a black unisuit that showed off a very well-disciplined body. "Want a drink? I doubt my blend of coffee compares to what Roarke can supply. How about a tube of Pepsi?"
"Yeah, fine."
She remembered his kitchen. Neat, spartan, clean lined. A great deal like its tenant. She took a seat while he took two tubes out of the cold box and poured each into a tall clear glass. He rolled the tubes, slipped them into the recycle slot, then sat down across from her.