“She’s not naive, not soft. I can go in harder, shove it at her. She used the illusion of romance as an excuse to pay Ziegler for sex, so I can hammer on that. And I can push how she’s so worried Copley will find out. Maybe he has, what then? And I might be able to play the same angle as you—your sister’s husband is on my short list. Like you, I’ll play i
t so I get in, go from there.”
“Is it okay if I take McNab? We’re a couple, and I can use that. I get what it’s like to be in love, and all that. I have a sister, too, all the common-ground business.”
“Maybe I can talk her into letting me wire up the house ’link, her personal ’link,” McNab speculated. “Put it out there like it’s for her protection, her sister’s protection.”
“If she bites on that she’s more naive than I figured, but throw it in. If she bites, make damn sure you get her to officially sign off. I don’t want it coming around to kick us in the ass later.”
“Solid,” McNab promised. “I’ll take some toys with me, in case she goes for it.”
“Full report when you’re done. But first, for God’s sake go home and put cop clothes on.”
“I get to wear my pink magic coat.” Peabody jumped up, did a quick dance. “Hot dog! Thanks again for all of it, for every bit of it.”
“Send us a picture of your lady in her coat,” Roarke said to McNab.
“You got it. We’ll totally rock it out with her coat, my boots. Ultimate thanks for all. Solid.”
“Then get out,” Eve said. “Solid.”
When they’d gone, Eve turned to Roarke. “What boots?”
“The custom airboots we gave him for Christmas. I’m sure I told you.”
“Maybe. Who can remember? Don’t say they’re pink.” Even the thought had her squeezing the bridge of her nose. “Just don’t.”
“They’re the McNab tartan, a bold and rather attractive red-and- green plaid.”
“Red-and-green plaid airboots. Well, they’re not pink, so that’s something. I’m going to get going so I can get back and we can do that vid-and-popcorn thing.”
“I’m with you,” he said. “And like McNab, I’ll get a few toys in case she agrees to a tap.”
“She won’t. You don’t have to screw up your day on this.”
“How could it be screwed up? With you?”
“You could be handy,” she considered. “Money, social status—it’s her language. And if he’s there, you could lure him off to show you his golf clubs or something.”
“Now, that might screw up my day, but I’ll risk it.”
“Get your toys. I’ll meet you out front.”
By the time she got down, the vehicle was waiting. Not her deceptively bland-looking DLE, but a big, brawny, black SUV.
“Are we driving up a mountain?” she asked Roarke when he came out.
“Who can say? I did a little due diligence on Copley and Quigley when I poked into his finances, but I assume you took more time with that end. You can fill me in while we drive.”
“They’re both cheaters,” she said flatly. “Were both attached when they fooled around, then he fooled around some more, then took her off to Hawaii for an elopement he planned, using her family’s facilities.”
“You don’t like either of them.”
“Not a whole lot.”
“Which is why you sent Peabody off to the sister and brother-in-law, because you do like them.”
“I don’t like or dislike. But they strike me as pretty straight. Not squeaky. Martella thought she’d screwed Ziegler voluntarily, and paid him off to keep it secret instead of sucking it up and dealing with it. And he struck me as a little too calm about the whole thing once it came out. Quigley, Copley? They’re lying outright, but the other two hide things. Maybe they’re hiding murder.”