Page 89 of Obsession in Death

She sniffed the air, caught the scent of chocolate, and glanced back to see Peabody and McNab each with steaming cups—courtesy of the rear AutoChef, she assumed.

“Hot chocolate.” Peabody smiled, a little on the sheepish side. “Real as opposed to morgue. Want one?”

Eve only grunted, turned back—in time to brace as a little silver mini skidded sideways into the intersection. Roarke swerved, hit vertical, and hopped over the silver roof with a couple of inches to spare.

In the back, Peabody mopped a spill of chocolate off her lap, and wisely said nothing.

To take her mind off a potential wreck, Eve sent updates to Whitney, Mira, Feeney. Then using her PPC, brought up the latest e-mail, studied it again.

The change in tone, she thought, a little dramatic. Starts off with an apology, feeling bad, feeling sad.

Doesn’t like feeling bad and sad, doesn’t like the idea of screwing up. That’s the turn. It isn’t my fault, so it’s yours.

She glanced up, then put the handheld away when Roarke pulled to the curb in front of Ledo’s flop.

“Whatever anti-theft and vandalism features you’ve got, light them up,” she told Roarke. “Even in this weather somebody’s going to try for a rig like this.”

“It’s standard and auto. It’s slippery as a nest of eels out here,” he added when he stepped out. “Watch your footing.”

He wasn’t wrong, Eve noted, but her boots held traction. “The city probably leaves this sector alone when it comes to ice and snow, hoping it holds back crime.”

“Making it suck sideways for people who have to get to work or buy provisions,” McNab observed, skidding a little on his hyper-fashionable airboots. “I had some blades I could skate on this.”

“He really can,” Peabody added, striding with confidence on her hot-pink Christmas boots. “We’ve hit the rinks—I literally hit them—in Rock Center and Central Park a few times.”

“Lake or river ice is where it’s happening.”

Ignoring them, Eve yanked open the unsecured exterior door. She didn’t even consider the elevator, but started up, taking the stairs two at a time.

Both beat droids—the same as she’d encountered two days before, stood at attention.

“No movement from inside, Lieutenant. We booted up our enhanced auditory, heard nothing. The probability is ninety-six-point-three the apartment is empty of living organism other than insects or possibly rodents. No booby traps scanned.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” But Eve drew her weapon anyway. “You’re backup,” she reminded Roarke, and took the door with Peabody.

She didn’t expect the UNSUB to be waiting, maybe picking through one of Ledo’s grimy skin discs, but interior booby traps still held some concern.

“Watch your step,” she ordered Peabody. “We do the sweep and clear slow.”

“There’s a new message, Dallas.”

“I see it. Clear first. She might have left us a surprise.”

But they found nothing but dirt, sweeper’s dust, dried blood, and a battalion of annoyed cockroaches.

“McNab, have the droids canvass the building. Start with across the hall. Misty Polinsky. She might— Shit.” She glanced at Roarke. “Did you follow up on getting her a place at Dochas?”

“She moved in yesterday.”

“Yeah, yeah, good deeds kick you in the ass. Have them canvass.”

Then she holstered her weapon, studied the latest message.

This time the letters were huge, written in red rather than black. Uneven, Eve mused.

Angry.

IT MATTERS!