Even as she realized the relaxation program had been reactivated, she sank under it.
In Roarke’s home computer lab, Feeney sat back at his station and pressed the heels of his hands hard against his aching eyes.
“You ought to take something for that eye strain headache,” Roarke commented. “Before it blows on you.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Feeney puffed air into his cheeks, let it out. “Don’t do as much geek work as I used to.” He studied the unit currently laid out in sections and small bits over his counter. “Got spoiled handing this sort of detail over to one of my young guns.”
He glanced over at Roarke’s station and was somewhat mollified to see the civilian’s progress was as slow and exacting as his own. “You got an estimate on when we might have one of these up and running again—working like this, just the two of us?”
“I figure sometime in the next decade if we’re lucky, into the fourth millennium if we’re not. This bitch is toasted.” Roarke shoved back, scowled at the burned-out guts of his current project. “We can replace, repair, reconfigure, and beat it with a hammer. We’ll retrieve data. I’m annoyed enough at the moment to make it my bloody life’s work. But Christ knows we could do it all faster and easier with a few more hands and brain cells. McNab’s good. He’s got the hands and the geek quotient to keep him at something like this for hours on end, but he won’t be enough.”
They sat in brooding silence for a moment, then eyed each other.
“You talk to her,” Roarke said.
“Oh no, I’m not married to her.”
“I’m not a cop.”
“It’s your setup here.”
“It’s an NYPSD investigation.”
“Like that means a damn to you. Okay, okay.” Feeney waved a hand before Roarke could speak again. “Let’s settle this like men.”
“Want to arm wrestle?”
Feeney let out a snort, then dug into his pocket. “We’ll flip a coin. You call it.”
Eve heard what sounded like flutes. For a moment she saw herself running naked through a flower-strewn meadow where small, winged creatures played long, reedlike instruments. Birds sang, the sun shone, and the sky was a perfect bowl of cerulean blue.
She woke with a start and said: “Gak.”
“Wow, Dallas, you were really out.”
Blinking, Eve focused on the figure spread out on the table beside her. She thought it was Mavis. It sounded like Mavis, but it was tough to make a positive ID when the form was covered with hot pink from shoulders to toes, the face coated with electric blue, and the hair plastered down with a mix of green, red, and purple.
She’d have said gak again, but it seemed redundant.
“You didn’t drool or anything,” Mavis assured her. “In case you were worried.”
“Let out a couple of sex moans.” Trina’s voice came from somewhere near her feet, and Eve froze.
“What are you doing?”
“My job. You’re all rinsed off. Blissed right through that part. Got your derma revitalizer rubbed in. Your man’s going to like this one. Going to finish up with your hair and face after I do your feet.”
“Do what to my feet?” Gingerly, Eve boosted herself on her elbows and looked down. “Oh my God! God almighty! You painted my toes.”
“Just a delux ped. It’s not a satanic ritual.”
“My toes are pink.”
“Yeah, I went conservative with you. Sun-kissed Coral. Nice with your skin tone. Your feet were a disgrace,” Trina added as she sprayed on sealer. “Good thing you were under VR while I was working on them.”
“How come she’s not under?” Eve demanded, pointing at Mavis.
“I get more out of it if I’m aware of the treatments. I like getting souped and rubbed and scrubbed down and painted. It’s the ult of ults for me. You hate it.”