She kicked her legs, waved her pink rattle, and made some sort of gooing, cooing sound.
Slightly less scary that way, especially with the drool sliding down her chin. And damned if she wasn’t ridiculously cute. Eve bent her elbows a fraction, gave the baby a small, experimental bounce. And something white bubbled out of her grinning mouth.
“What is that? What did I do? Did I push something?”
“It’s just a little milk puke.” Laughing, Mavis dabbed Belle’s mouth with a tiny pink cloth. “She ate like an oinker, too.”
“Okay. Well. Here you go.” She held the baby out to Mavis.
As Mavis took Belle, Leonardo whipped out a larger pink cloth—like a magician—and draped it over Mavis’s shoulder.
“Lieutenant.”
Summerset’s voice had Eve’s shoulders tightening. Here it comes, she thought. He’d ooze his disapproval all over her—like milk puke—because she’d forgotten they were having company and missed dinner.
She braced for it, ran several snarling responses through her brain, and turned. He simply handed her a glass of wine. “I’ll bring your meal i
n here.”
Her eyes stayed narrowed as she watched him leave the room. “That’s it? That’s all? Is he sick or something?”
“He knows why you’re late,” Roarke said. “That you’re investigating the murder of a fellow officer. Give him some credit.”
She frowned into her wine, drank some. “Do I have to?”
Since it was obvious she couldn’t head straight up to work, she sat on the arm of Roarke’s chair. “Anyway, I left you a message about being late. I remembered to do that. I get credit, too.”
“So noted.” Roarke rubbed a hand on her thigh. “Progress?”
“Not much. It’s hard enough when it’s another cop. But having to tell Morris, seeing his face . . .”
“Morris?”
“They had a thing, Morris and Coltraine—the vic. A serious thing.”
“Oh. No.” Mavis clutched Belle tighter. “This was Ammy? The woman he’s been seeing? We never turned the screen on today, never heard. Roarke just told us you’d caught a case, a cop killer. We didn’t know it was . . . Oh, Leonardo.”
He put his arm around her, drew both his girls closer. “This is . . . horrible. We ran into them at a club one night, sat down with them. You could see how much they . . . It was there between them,” Leonardo said with sorrow in his gilted eyes. “I’m so sorry, so sorry. Is there anything we can do for him?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“We only met her that one time.” A tear slid down Mavis’s cheek before she pressed it to the top of Belle’s head. “She seemed so up, and they were so into each other. Total vibe, total sparkage. Remember, honey-pot, how I said after they were just gone squared over each other.”
“I remember.”
“It’s good it’s you.” Mavis firmed her chin, patted Belle’s back. “You’ll find the bastard who did it. Morris knows that. We’re going to leave so you can do the cop stuff. If there’s anything—you know, stuff I know how to do—you just tag me. I’m there.”
They began to transfer Belle into her carrier as Summerset walked in with a tray. “You’re leaving.”
“Bellissimo needs to go night-night.” Mavis rose on her rainbow tip-toes to kiss Summerset’s cheek. “We’ll be back—us girls—for the big bash. A bridal shower and all that girl stuff’s just what we all need. And you guys.” She elbowed her husband. “Zipping off to Vegas for the man party.”
“Vegas?” Eve blinked. “Huh?”
“My duties as best man,” Roarke told her. “I’m looking forward to it.”
When she was alone with Roarke, the wine, and an elegantly arranged plate of food, she frowned. “Why do you have to go all the way to Las Vegas—shit, you do mean Las Vegas, right? You’re not going off planet to Vegas II.”
“No, we’re going to the original.”