“Son of a bitch!”
He grinned as he held it up. Shit-brown – she’d chosen the color as it was his usual choice of hue – the coat with its protective lining would, she saw, hit him about mid-thigh.
She’d left the design to Roarke, saw he’d gone roomy, simple, and had added the flash of captain’s bars as buttons.
“You got me a goddamn magic coat.”
“Well, Roarke —”
“Son of a bitch.” Still grinning, he punched her in the shoulder, then immediately pulled off his old shit-brown coat, dumped it on the floor.
“Bastard fits, too.” He folded it back, studied the lining with a shake of his head. “Freaking genius is what it is.”
More comfortable discussing the body armor aspect, she relaxed a bit. “No bulk, no weight, and it works. Deflects a full stun – I can attest. Sharps, too, though I haven’t personally tested that one.”
“Son of a bitch,” he said for a third time, and met her eyes. His ears had gone faintly pink. “??’Preciate it.”
“Sure.”
He bent to gather up his old coat, the box, and looked at her again. “Really appreciate it.”
“Really sure.”
“Wait till the wife gets a load of this.” He skimmed one hand down the leather. “Let’s go get some bad guys, kid.”
“It’s what we do.”
They walked out. She heard him murmur “son of a bitch” yet again as they peeled off to their separate vehicles.
The instant she was in the car, Peabody leaned forward from the backseat she shared with McNab. “Is that a magic coat? Did you get Feeney a magic coat? Awww!”
“What’s a magic coat?” Banner demanded. “What kind of magic?”
“It’s totally frosted. See?” Peabody opened her pink coat to show off the lining. With some relief Eve let them ramble about body armor while she drove.
McNab slid up, spoke quietly near Eve’s ear. “That would’ve meant a lot to him, coming from you.”
He touched her shoulder lightly, then slid back. Either knowing she’d welcome a distraction or because he was greedy, he lifted his voice again.
“Who wants hot chocolate?”
And that took care of that.
She dumped Banner and McNab at Central, waited for Peabody to switch to the front seat for the trip to the lab.
On the way, she took a tag from Santiago.
“We’re at the garage now, but Hanks is out on a service call. Due back in a few. We took a little poke at his head mechanic, but he’s tight-lipped. We can poke at a couple of the others – the woman he’s got running the service counter’s got the wide eyes. She’d spill.”
“If he’s not back in a few, poke. Otherwise, keep it all easy.”
“No hits on the APB?”
“Not yet. I’ll let you know. Get me a name, Santiago. One name.”
“Working on it. He’s rolling in now. Back at you.”
“You can feel it falling,” Peabody said, “piece by piece.”