Obviously confused, he smiled a little. "And why, Lieutenant Sugar, should you care if I buy lip dye?"
"Just another detail, Charles. You did me a favor once, so I'm doing you one. Three people who used the services of Personally Yours are dead, killed in the same manner and by the same hand."
"Three? God."
"In less than a week. I'm not going to give you many details, and what I do give can't be passed on to anyone. It's my opinion that he's using the data from Personally Yours to select his victims."
"He's killed three women in less than a week."
"No." Eve leveled her gaze. "The last victim was a man. You're going to want to watch your step, Charles."
When he understood, the edge of resentment faded. "You think I could be a target?"
"I think anyone in the Personally Yours data bank could be a target. At this point I'm concentrating on the victims' match list. I'm telling you not to let anyone in your apartment you don't know. Anyone." She drew another breath. "He dresses up like Santa Claus and carries a large gift-wrapped box."
"What?" He set down the glass he'd just lifted. "Is this a joke?"
"Three people are dead. It's not very funny. He gets them to let him inside, he drugs them, restrains them, and he kills them."
"Jesus." He rubbed his hands over his face. "This is bizarre."
"If this guy comes to your door, keep it secured and call me. Stall him if you can, let him go if you can't. Don't, under any circumstances, open your door. He's smart, and he's deadly."
"I won't be opening the door. The woman I was seeing -- from the service -- I need to tell her."
"I've got your match list. I'll tell her. I need to keep this out of the media as long as I can."
"I'd rather the press didn't get ahold of the story of the lonely-hearts LC, thanks very much." He grimaced. "Can you get to her right away, to Darla McMullen? She lives alone, and she's ... naive. If Santa came knocking, she'd open the door and offer him milk and cookies."
"She sounds like a nice woman."
"Yeah." Now his eyes were bleak. "She is."
"I'll go see her." Eve rose. "Maybe you ought to call her again."
"No good." He rose and worked up a smile. "But you be sure to let me know if you decide to ditch Roarke, Lieutenant Sugar. My offer's open-ended."
* * *
The heart, Eve thought as she drove, was a strange and often overworked muscle. It was hard to connect the sophisticated, smooth-talking LC with the quiet, intellectual woman she'd just left. But, unless her instincts were way off, Darla McMullen and Charles Monroe were halfway in love.
They just didn't know what to do about it.
On that score, they had her full sympathy. Half the time, she didn't know what to do about the impossible feelings she had for her own husband.
She made three more stops on the way back to her home office, doing interviews with people on the match lists, giving them the basic and specific warning and instructions she had written up and had approved by the commander.
If Donnie Ray had been warned, she thought, he might still be alive.
Who was next in line? Someone she'd spoken with, or someone she'd missed? Driven by that, she accelerated and blew through the gates toward home. She wanted Peabody and McNab to sign up with Personally Yours and get their profiles in before the end of the business day.
She saw Feeney's vehicle parked in front of the house. The sight made her hope her campaign to add him to the investigative team had been successful. With Feeney and McNab doing the e-work, she'd be freed up for the streets.
She headed straight up to her home office, wincing when she heard the blast of music -- if it could be called music -- searing the air of the hallways.
Mavis had one of her video clips on screen. She sang along with herself, screaming out lyrics that seemed to have something to do with ripping out her soul for love. Feeney sat behind Eve's desk, looking bemused and slightly desperate. Roarke stood behind a chair, looking completely comfortable and politely attentive.
Knowing her chances of being heard over