After a long, tedious day—the first half spent in court, the second half with paperwork—Lieutenant Eve Dallas prepared to shut it all down.
At the moment all she wanted out of life was a quiet evening with her husband, her cat, and a glass—or two—of wine. Maybe a vid, she thought as she grabbed her coat, if Roarke hadn’t brought too much work home.
Tonight—do the happy-time boogie—she was bringing home none of her own.
She could extend that wish list, she decided as she dug out the scarf her partner had made her for Christmas. Maybe a swim, and pool sex. She figured no matter how many deals Roarke needed to wheel, he could always be talked into pool sex.
She found the silly snowflake cap in another pocket of her long leather coat. Since the sky was heaving down ice, she tugged it on. She’d sent her partner home, had a couple of detectives out in the cold, working a hot. They’d contact her if they needed her.
She reminded herself she had another detective, newly minted—whose induction ceremony was slated for the next morning.
But right now, on a particularly ugly January evening, she had nothing on her plate.
Spaghetti and meatballs, she decided.
That’s
what she wanted on her plate. Maybe she’d beat Roarke home, and actually put that together for both of them. With wine, a couple candles. Right down in the pool area—no, she corrected as she started out. Maybe at the dining room table, like grown-ups, with a fire going.
She could program a couple of salads, use a couple of his half a zillion fancy plates.
And while the ice snapped and crackled outside, they’d—
“Eve.”
She turned, spotted Mira—the department’s shrink and top profiler—all but leaping off a glide and rushing toward her, pale blue coat flying open over her deep pink suit.
“You’re still here. Thank God.”
“Just leaving. What’s the deal? What’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure. I . . . Dennis—”
Instinctively Eve reached up to touch the snowflake hat, one Dennis Mira had snugged down on her head in his kind way on a snowy day in the last weeks of 2060.
“Is he hurt?”
“I don’t think so.” The normally unflappable Mira linked her fingers together to keep them still. “He wasn’t clear, he was upset. His cousin—he said his cousin’s hurt, and now is missing. He asked for you, specifically. I’m sorry to spring this on you, but—”
“Don’t worry about it. Is he home—at your place?” She had already turned away, called for the elevator.
“No, he’s at his grandparents’—what was their home—in SoHo.”
“You’re with me.” She steered Mira into the elevator, crowded
with cops going off shift. “I’ll make sure you both get home. Who’s his cousin?”
“Ah, Edward. Edward Mira. Former Senator Edward Mira.”
“Didn’t vote for him.”
“Neither did I. I need a moment to gather my thoughts, and I want to let him know we’re coming.”
As Mira took out her ’link, Eve organized her own thoughts.
She didn’t know or care much about politics, but she had a vague image of Senator Edward Mira. She’d never have put the bombastic, hard-line senator—sharp black eyebrows, close cropped black hair, hard and handsome face—on the same family tree as the sweet, slightly fuddled Dennis Mira.
But family made strange bedfellows.
Or was that politics?
Didn’t matter.
When they reached her level in the garage, she pointed toward her slot, strode to the unremarkable-looking DLE her husband had designed for her. Mira hurried after her, hampered by spike-heeled boots and shorter legs.
Eve moved fast—sturdy boots and long legs—slid behind the wheel, a tall, leanly built woman with choppy brown hair currently under a watch cap with a sparkling snowflake emblem she, cop to the bone, wore because it had been an impromptu gift given by a man she had a helpless, harmless crush on.
“Address?” she asked when Mira, in her elegant winter coat and fashionable boots, got in beside her.
Eve plugged the address into the computer, pulled out of the slot. And bulleted out of the garage, hitting lights and siren.
“Oh, you don’t have to . . . Thank you,” Mira said when Eve merely flicked her a glance. “Thank you. He says he’s fine, not to worry about him, but . . .”
“You are.”
The DLE looked like your poky uncle’s economy vehicle—and drove like a rocket. Eve swerved around vehicles whose drivers considered the sirens a casual suggestion. She hit vertical to leapfrog over others until Mira simply closed her eyes and hung on.
“Fill me in. Do you know why they were at the grandparents’ house—who else would be there?”
“Their grandmother died about four years ago, and Bradley—Dennis’s grandfather—just seemed to fade away. He lived about a year after her death, putting his affairs in order. Though knowing him, most of them already were. He left the house in equal shares to Dennis and Edward—the two oldest grandsons. That maxibus—”
Eve whipped the wheel, sent the DLE up. And took a corner as if in pursuit of a mass murderer. “Is behind us. Keep going.”
“I can tell you Dennis and Edward have been at odds over the house. Dennis wants to keep it in the family, per Bradley’s wishes. Edward wants to sell it.”
“He can’t sell it, I take it, unless Mr. Mira signs off.”
“That’s my understanding. I don’t know why Dennis came down here today—he had a full day at the university, as one of his colleagues is ill and he’s filling in. I should have asked him.”
“It’s okay.” Eve double-parked, turning the quiet, tree-lined street into a battlefield of blasting horns. Ignoring them, she flipped up her On Duty light. “We’ll ask him now.”
But Mira was already out of the car, running in those treacherous heels across the slick sidewalk. Cursing, Eve bolted after her, grabbed her arm.
“You run in those things, I’m going to end up driving you to the ER. Nice place.” She let Mira go as they went through the gate and onto cleared ground. “In this neighborhood, it’s probably worth, what, five or six million?”
“I imagine. Dennis would know.”
“He would?”
Mira managed a smile as she hurried up the steps. “It’s important. He knows what’s important. I don’t remember the code.” She pressed the buzzer, used the knocker.
When Dennis, disheveled gray hair, baggy pine-colored cardigan, opened the door, Mira grabbed his hands. “Dennis! You
are
hurt. Why didn’t you tell me?” She took his chin, turned his head to study the raw bruise on his temple. “You angled this away so I wouldn’t see it on the ’link.”
“Now, Charlie. I’m all right. I didn’t want to upset you. Come in out of the cold now, both of you. Eve, thank you for coming. I’m worried about Edward. I’ve been all through the house. He’s just not here.”
“But he was?” Eve prompted.
“Oh, yes. In the study. He was hurt. A black eye, and his mouth was bleeding. I should show you the study.”
When he turned, Mira let out a sound as much of frustration as distress. “Dennis, your head’s bleeding.” He hissed when she reached up to feel the knot. “You come in the living room and sit down, right now.”
“Charlie, Edward—”
“You leave Edward to Eve,” she said, pulling him into a big space that had either been decorated in a severely minimalist style, or several pieces of furniture had been removed. What remained appeared comfortably used and cheerful.
Mira took off her coat, tossed it carelessly aside, then dug into her enormous purse.
Eve got her first real clue why so many women carried handbags the size of water buffalos when Mira pulled a first aid kit out of hers.
“I’m going to clean up these lacerations, and ask Eve to drop us off at the nearest emergency room so you can have this X-rayed.”
“Now, sweetie.” He hissed again when Mira dabbed at the wound with an alcohol wipe, but managed to reach back and pat her leg. “I don’t need X-rays or other doctors when I have you. I just have a bump on the head. I’m as lucid as I ever get.”
Eve caught his smile, sly and sweet, when Mira laughed at that.
“No double vision, no dizziness or nausea,” he assured her. “Maybe a little headache.”
“If, after we get home and I give you a thorough exam—”
This time he turned around, wiggled his eyebrows, and grinned in a way that had Eve swallowing an embarrassed laugh of her own.
“Dennis.” Mira sighed, and cupping his face in her hands, kissed him so softly, so tenderly, that Eve had to look away.
“Ah, maybe you could tell me where to find the study—where you last saw your cousin.”
“I’ll take you back.”
“You’re going to sit right here and behave until I’m finished,” Mira told him. “It’s straight back, Eve, and then on the left. Lots of wood, a big desk and chair, leather-bound books on shelves.”
“I’ll find it.”
She could see where more art had been removed, more furniture—in fact, she found a room empty but for stacks of packing boxes. Yet she didn’t see a single mote of dust, and caught the light scent of lemon as if someone had crushed their blossoms with the air.
She found the study, and at a glance decided nothing—or nothing much—had been taken out of this space.
Organized, attractive with its heavy wood trim, its sturdy masculine furniture and deep tones.
Burgundy and forest, she mused, taking a long look from the doorway. Family photos in black or silver frames, polished plaques from various charitable organizations.
The desk itself still held a coffee-colored leather blotter, matching accessories, and a slick little data and communication center.
Beside the fireplace with its thick mantel stood a bar—small, old, certainly valuable. On it sat two crystal decanters, half full of amber liquid, with silver labels. Whiskey. Brandy.
She moved from the wood floor to the rug stretched on it. The softly faded pattern told her it was likely old and valuable like the bar, like the crystal, like the pocket watch on display under a glass dome.
She saw no sign of struggle, no indication anything had been stolen. But when she crouched down, examined the space before the fringe of the rug brushed over wood, she saw a few drops of blood.
She circled the room slowly, carefully, touching nothing as yet. But she began to see . . . maybe.
She started back, paused at the doorway of the living room to see Mira competently applying ointment to her husband’s temple.
“Don’t go in there yet,” Eve said. “I’m just going out for my field kit.”
“Oh, it’s nasty out. Let me get that for you.”
“I’ve got it,” she said quickly when Dennis started to rise. “Just give me a minute.”
She went back into the icy rain, got her field kit out of the trunk. As she went back she studied the neighboring houses, and pulled out her own ’link to send Roarke a quick text.
Got hung up. Will explain when I get home.
And considered she’d obeyed the Marriage Rules.
When she came back in, she set the kit down to take off her coat, scarf, hat. “Okay, let’s take this by the numbers. Have you tried to contact your cousin?”
“Oh, yes. I did that right away. He didn’t answer his ’link. I did try
him at home as well, and reached his wife. I didn’t want to alarm her,” Dennis added, “so I didn’t mention any of this. She told me he wasn’t home, and would probably be running late. She may not know about his appointment here, but if she did, she wouldn’t tell me.”
“Appointment?”
“Oh, I am sorry. I haven’t explained any of this.” He gave Mira one of his absent smiles. “I tried to reach him earlier today, to see if the two of us could just . . . sit down and discuss our differences about the house. I got an assistant who seemed a little harried at the time. Otherwise she might not have mentioned he had an appointment here with a Realtor to assess the house for sale. It . . . Well, it set me right off. He shouldn’t have done that behind my back.”
Eve nodded, opened her kit to take out a can of Seal-It. “Pissed you off.”
“Eve,” Mira began, but Dennis patted her hand.
“Truth is best, Charlie. I was very upset. He wouldn’t answer his personal ’link, so when I finished my last class, I came here. Terrible traffic conditions. Something should be done.”
“Yeah, I think that all the time. When did you get here, Mr. Mira?”
“Oh, I’m not at all sure. Let me see. I finished my last class . . . it must have been about four-thirty. My TA and a couple of students had questions, so that took a bit of time. Then I had to get my papers together, and it may have been five or so before I left. Then getting here.” He added that sweet, vague smile, but his eyes, that dreamy green, held worry. “I couldn’t really say exactly.”
“Good enough,” Eve told him, as clearly trying to determine the timing distressed him. “There’s security on the house. Was it active?”
“It was. I have the passcode, and a swipe. My palm print is authorized.”
“There’s a cam.”
“Yes!” The idea obviously delighted him. “Of course there is! It would show my arrival—and Edward. I never thought of it.”
“Why don’t we take a look at that first? Do you know where the security station is?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll show you. Never thought of it,” he said again, shaking his head as he rose. “If I’d just looked for myself, I’d have seen Edward coming and going. You relieve my mind, Eve.”
“Mr. Mira, you were attacked.”
He stopped, blinked. “I suppose I was. That’s very upsetting. Who would have done that?”
“Let’s see if we can find out.”
He led her back, made a turn, then showed her a large, modern kitchen with some old-fashioned touches that suited the house.
It all looked . . . comfortable, and reminded her in some ways of the Miras’ house uptown.
“There are viewing stations in several rooms,” Dennis explained as he opened a door off the kitchen. “So my grandparents or the staff could see who was at the door. But this is the main hub.”
He looked at it, gave everything a vague glance. “I’m afraid I’m not very good with complex electronics.”
“Me, either.” But she walked over to where she was damn sure a component should be. “But I can tell you somebody took the whole damn deal—the drive or whatever the hell it is, the discs.”