“Should I start taking notes?”
“I think you’ll remember. Do me a solid, Roarke, and be extra careful today. Don’t drive yourself anywhere today. Please,” she added, before he could say anything. “Last night had to make her crazy—crazier. And pissed. If she wants to hit at me where it hurts most, it would be you. Strap on one of the weapons you’re not supposed to carry.”
“Da
rling Eve.” He leaned over, kissed her. “I always have one of the weapons I’m not supposed to carry. You’re not to worry about me.”
“That’s the same bullshit as me telling you not to worry about me.”
“Fair enough. So you’ll take care of my cop, and I’ll take care of your criminal. Reformed.”
“Semi-reformed. Since you break the law every time you go out packing.” She hissed out a breath. “Take a clutch piece, too.”
He patted her hand, went back to his eggs.
He always had a clutch piece.
• • •
She could’ve worked at home. In fact, it might have been more efficient, but she wanted to be visible. So she had Peabody meet her at the lab. She’d make the rounds.
She harassed Dickhead because it was routine, and if anyone was watching, she wanted her to see routine. She flashed the sketch around—Roarke’s take, fully clothed.
She took it in to Harvo, asked the queen of hair and fiber to post it on her board. Then made the trip upstairs and tracked down Garnet DeWinter over skeletal remains.
Today’s lab coat was turquoise to match stacked-heel boots. DeWinter pushed her microgoggles up into her explosion of caramel hair, where they were all but lost.
“Dallas, Peabody. I’m in the middle here, so if it’s not urgent—”
“Recognize her?” Eve pushed a copy of the sketch under DeWinter’s elegant nose.
“I can’t say I do. She looks . . . ordinary, and in need of a makeover. Good bone structure, good potential, unrealized.”
Bone structure, Eve thought, inspired. “What can you tell me about her?”
DeWinter glanced at the bones on her table. Sighed. “Let me have that.”
She took the sketch, angled it toward the light. “It’s a composition, so it’s complete speculation. I can say, easily, she needs a better hair color and style.”
“Don’t care.”
“Everyone should and it would be a more attractive world.” She looked over the sketch at Eve. “This would be your UNSUB.”
“It would.”
“If this is accurate—the bone structure, the shape of the face, the mouth? Mixed race, but I find myself influenced by the tone of her skin. If I had her skull on the table—”
“I’ll try to arrange that.”
“I wouldn’t blame you,” DeWinter countered, frowning at the sketch. “I wouldn’t be surprised to find Greek in the heritage. Possibly Turkish descent, but not recent. Diluted, as so many of us are, Western Europe—some Anglo-Saxon blood. Her body appears well proportioned. And all of that’s guesswork—most probable conclusions, based on a sketch.”
“I’ll take it. Keep that. Give it a glance now and then, and show it to your people. She’s going to be ordinary, someone who disappears into the scenery. But smart, bright, good at the work, whatever the work is. She has solid e-skills, patience. She’s obsessive, organized.”
“You’ve just described about half the people in this facility.”
So Eve went with the gut. “She probably doesn’t have friends. Even her coworkers don’t think of her when it’s time to go out, have a drink. She’s single, no romantic relationship. She knows my cases inside and out.”
“That narrows it a bit more. There’s a nice camaraderie here. It’s often ugly work we do, so that camaraderie makes it bearable.”