Page 134 of Concealed in Death

“Nash is very protective. He wouldn’t want me to worry.”

Maybe that was true, Eve thought. Maybe that was the core of it.

She walked out, ridiculously thrilled to be outside again even with the thin spit of sleet splatting on the sidewalk.

“Go with McNab,” she told Peabody.

“Always my plan.”

“Ha-ha. Do another round on the retreat list, in case he decides to try a late check-in. And let’s have the locals have a talk with both the father and the other sister. Just tie that off. Otherwise... I’m going to work from home,” she said as she started to her car. “If he digs out those contacts, or anything else, I know the second after he does.”

“You got that. Hey, you never got your consult with Mira.”

“Shit.” She stopped, shoved at her dampening hair—and what the hell, dragged the snowflake cap out of her pocket and pulled it on. “Shit,” she said again, and yanked out her ’link as she hoofed to the car.

Mira’s office contact went straight to the off-hours recording. Cursing again, Eve gave in, pulled on the red gloves, and formulating apologies, tried Mira’s personal ’link.

“Eve. I’m sorry we couldn’t manage that five minutes between us today.”

“I got hung up at HPCCY. Some things are breaking—I think. I’ve got new information, and a direction. But I could use corroboration on that direction. I’m just heading out now. I hate to ask again, but if I could stop by for just a few minutes...”

“I’m actually not quite home yet myself, as I got hung up a bit, too. Dennis and I are going out to see some friends later this evening.”

“Oh well, fine.” Damn actual life, Eve thought. “If we could set something up for tomorrow.”

“We could stop by your home on our way.”

“I don’t want to mess up your night.”

“It’s practically on the way. We could be there in about... let’s say ninety minutes if that works.”

“If it does for you, that’s great.”

“About ninety minutes then. I’ll tell Dennis you wore the cap. He’ll be pleased.”

“Oh, ha. These, too.” She waved a red-gloved hand in front of the screen.

Mira laughed. “Very pleased. See you shortly.”

She attacked traffic. She wanted home—home where she could take a few minutes to think, to organize her thoughts, put her theories in order before meeting with Mira.

Was she supposed to let Roarke know the Miras were coming? It wasn’t a social visit; it was work. He didn’t have to let her know if he had a business associate come by. Did he?

Oh hell, she’d never figure all the rules out, so better to err on the side of caution.

She’d just send him a quick text, and that hit somewhere in the middle, she decided.

She ordered his personal ’link, ordered text mode. And had barely begun to compose the text when the whole thing shifted. He came on screen.

“I’d rather hear your voice.”

“I’m going to be home in... a couple of weeks if this traffic doesn’t Get The Hell Moving! How did that asshole get a license to drive a maxibus? How? You have to take a test. Just hold it a minute. Fucker.”

She skimmed in front of a shiny limo, muttered, “Bite me,” at the dignified protest of horns, shimmied in beside the offending bus, then around.

“I swear I’d pull the asshole over and impound the goddamn bus and everyone in it if I had time.”

“Yes, I’d rather hear your voice, anytime.”