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But then . . .

Nadine breathed deep. “Dark complexion, dark brown hair—short, just the tips of it showing under this big hat with earflaps. Dark hat, dark coat. I’d just studied the latest sketches, and she didn’t match—not really. She had a pronounced overbite, and . . . the nose was off.

“And her eyes, Dallas.” She had to stop, to drink because somehow the water helped keep her head from floating away. “They’re the same color as yours. Like custom-made eye dye.

“I . . . I don’t think she was five-ten. Seemed shorter—taller than me, shorter than you. Smaller all around than the earlier descriptions. Peacoat,” she remembered. “She wore a dark peacoat, and a dark scarf, the hat had flaps and a bill.”

“Hear that?” Eve said to the uniforms. “Canvass, now. Start knocking on doors, and get whoever’s in charge to get me the security feed from tonight. Push it!”

She moved over to Nadine, crouched, studied her friend’s face. Still pale, maybe not as glassy. But her description had been lucid enough Eve decided to nix the idea of tagging MTs against Nadine’s wishes.

“Why are you wearing cats on your pants?”

“They’re pajama bottoms and they’re kittens. They’re cozy.”

“They’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah.” Nadine reached out, gripped Eve’s hand. Breathed out. “That’s what I like about them.”

“Okay. Tell me what happened. Exactly.”

“I was working—researching, reading correspondence. I— Roarke.”

When he came in, he went straight to her, leaned down, cupped her chin in his hand. After a moment, he nodded, brushed his lips to her forehead. “Why don’t I get you a soother?”

“Actually . . . I’ve got a bottle of bourbon, far left cabinet, top shelf, kitchen. I could use a double, straight up.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Nadine.”

“Okay.” She kept Eve’s hand in hers, needed that link. “I got an e-mail, supposedly from an intern at the station, telling me my producer was messengering over a packet.”

“Which, of course, you verified.”

Nadine winced, clearly hearing the temper and sarcasm in the cool words. “It’s not unusual for Bing to shoot me out something this way.”

“You opened the fucking door.”

“Not exactly.” She puffed out a breath. “But I would have, I see that now, and it pisses me off. I would have if you hadn’t sent that last nagging e-mail about not opening the door, period. I was still rolling my eyes at it—at you—when she buzzed.”

She paused, swiped at her eyes when they watered up. “Damn it. I hate being stupid, being played. She had the names right. My producer, my assistant producer, her intern, even the name of the messenger service we use most regularly. And as I said, Bing’s been known to send something off hours. I asked for ID, Dallas—she showed it, and it cleared the building scan. She didn’t match the description. Shorter, slimmer, the hair showing. I was about to open the door when I could feel you snarling at me for it.”

She swiped at tears again, looked up as Roarke brought her drink. “Thanks.” Swiped then sighed when he sat on the arm of her chair, took out a pristine white handkerchief, dabbed at the tears.

“There now, darling. You’re safe now.”

“God. Why didn’t the Icoves clone you, then I could have one? Sorry, it’s just reaction. Stun streams freaking hurt, I now have reason to know, even when they’re just glancing.”

“You opened the door,” Eve said again.

“I left the chain on. Don’t beat me up over it, I’m doing such a good job of it myself. I thought, compromise, not really opening the door, but getting whatever Bing’s sending me. I had her show me the packet through the peep, and then I left the chain on, told her to pass it through.”

After letting out a cleansing breath, she took a hit of bourbon.

“She hesitated, and it set off an alarm, then . . . I looked through the peep again, and she was looking at the door. Your eyes, Dallas. About the same color as this bourbon.” She took another hit—long and slow this time.

“More alarms, and I should’ve listened to them and slammed the door right then, but she angled the stunner in the gap, caught me on the arm. It still feels strange. Still tingles some, but it’s not hurting like it did. She threw herself against the door, and she got that damn stunner angled, caught me on the leg. Dropped me.”


Tags: J.D. Robb In Death Mystery