Now Feeney stepped back—almost reeled back—slapped a hand to his heart. “Do you even know me at all? What did I have playing when I trained you on stakeouts?”
“Music. Rock music,” she muttered when he stared holes in her. “But—”
“And who would be my favorite rock band?”
Mentally—she knew better than to try it physically with him staring at her—she rolled her eyes. “The Stones.”
“That is correct. What did I try, and obviously fail, to teach you about music? About Jagger and Clapton, about Springsteen, about Kirkland, Dobbler, and Jake fucking Kincade?”
“They, ah, rock?”
“They are each the voice of their generation! My old man’s and his, mine, yours. Jake Kincade and Avenue A followed in the footsteps of the greats, and made their own. Have you even heard their cover of ‘Paint It Black’?”
“Ah …”
“But he’s in our house, and you don’t tell me.”
“I’ll get him back.”
“You’ll get him back.”
“Yeah, I’ll … fix it. I’ve got to get back down, but I’ll fix it.”
She escaped.
“ ‘Burn It Up’ is the rock anthem of your generation!” Feeney shouted after her.
She quickened her pace, grabbed her ’link on the fly. “Nadine, I need a favor.”
Nadine’s feline eyes narrowed. “Really?”
“For Feeney,” Eve corrected before she ended up trading for an appearance on Now. “A favor for Feeney.”
She fixed it, put it away, and planned to close herself in her office and will the facial recognition to hurry the hell up.
Peabody waylaid her in the bullpen. “Leonardo’s coming in.”
“In? He doesn’t have to come in. Just show him the damn sketch.”
“I did, and she didn’t pop for him, but he was just leaving his studio anyway, and said he’d come in, take another look. And maybe we can give him some details that could help. He’ll talk to his team, and spread the word.”
“Okay, that works.”
“Everything okay? You look hassled.”
“Because I am. I am hassled. Did you know Feeney has a hard-on—musically speaking—for Jake Kincade?”
“Dallas, anybody who spins rock does, and for Feeney rock’s a religion. Santiago’s sulking a little bit because you pulled Jake out before he could meet him. That on top of not getting to meet DeLano has bummed him pretty wide.”
“We’re cops,” Eve groaned. She turned toward the slightly sulky Santiago, then lifted her arms to the rest of the bullpen. “We’re cops.”
“Murder cops!” Baxter called out.
“Protecting and serving,” Jenkinson added.
“Because you could get dead,” Carmichael finished.
Trueheart grinned. “Go, team.”