by J. D. Robb
A woman munched on canapés, eating them with a speed and precision to rival a factory droid stamping out computer chips. Her hair was in short corkscrew curls, with each twist a different jewel tone. Her left earlobe was encased in silver hoops that draped a twisted chain around and under her pointed chin to her other ear where it was affixed with a single thumb-size stud. There was a tattoo of a rosebud along the side of her thin, pointed nose. Over electric blue eyes, her brows were sharp Vs of royal purple.
Which matched, Eve saw in amazement, the micro-size suspendered playsuit that ended in cuffs just south of her crotch. The suspenders were strategically placed over bare breasts to cover the nipples. The breasts were the size of farm-grown cantaloupes.
Beside her, a man with what appeared to be a map tattooed on his bald pate watched the action through rose-tinted glasses and guzzled what Eve deduced to be some of Roarke’s vintage white. His party clothes consisted of baggy shorts that hung to bony knees and a chest plate of patriotic red, white, and blue.
She considered, seriously, sneaking upstairs unobserved and locking herself in her office.
“Your guests,” Summerset said in dismissive tones from behind her, “have been waiting for you.”
“Look, pal, they’re not my—”
“Dallas!” Mavis squealed it, and leaped dangerously across the room in her fashionable stilts. She caught Eve in a tipsy bear hug that nearly felled them both. “You’re so late. Roarke had to go somewhere, and he said it was all right if Biff and Trina came by. They’ve been dying to meet you. Leonardo will fix you a drink. Oh, Summerset, the goodies are just mag. You’re so sweet.”
“I’m delighted you’re enjoying them.” He beamed at her. There was no other description for the bright, moony look that shot out of his stony face before he faded back into the hall.
“Come on, Dallas, join the party.”
“Mavis, I’ve really got a lot of work—” But Eve was already being dragged into the parlor.
“Can I get you a drink, Dallas?” Leonardo offered her a sad, puppy dog smile. Eve crumbled.
“Sure. Fine. A glass of wine.”
“Absolutely extraordinary wine. I’m Biff.” The man with the map on his head offered a slim, delicate hand. “It’s an honor to meet Mavis’s champion, Lieutenant Dallas. You’re absolutely right, Leonardo,” he continued with his eyes intense behind the rosy lenses. “The bronze silk is perfect for her.”
“Biff is a fabric expert,” Mavis explained in a voice that continued to bubble and froth. “He’s worked with Leonardo for just ever. They’ve been plotting your trousseau.”
“My—”
“And this is Trina. She’s going to do your hair.”
“She is?” Eve felt the blood drain out of her head and into her feet. “Oh well, I don’t . . .” Even women with little vanity can panic when faced with a stylist boasting rainbow curls. “I don’t really think—”
“Gratis,” Trina announced in a tone that was the vocal equivalent of rusted iron. “When you clear Mavis, I’m giving you free hair consultations and styling for the rest of your life.” She grabbed a handful of Eve’s hair and squeezed. “Good texture. Good weight. Bad cut.”
“Here’s your wine, Dallas.”
“Thanks.” She needed it. “Listen, it’s nice to meet you, but I’ve got some work I have to get to.”
“Oh, but you can’t.” Mavis latched onto Eve’s arm like a leech. “Everyone’s here to start doing you.”
Now the blood flowed out of her toes. “Doing what to me?”
“We’re all set up upstairs, too. Leonardo’s work space, Trina’s, Biff’s. All the other worker bees will be buzzing around by tomorrow.”
“Bees?” Eve managed. “Buzzing.”
“For the show.” Cold sober, and less likely to assume welcome, Leonardo patted Mavis’s arm to try to restrain her enthusiasm. “Little dove, Dallas might not want the house full of people at this point. I mean . . .” He dodged around the investigation. “With the wedding so close.”
“But it’s the only way we can be together and finish the designs for the show.” The plea naked in her eyes, Mavis turned back to Eve. “You don’t mind, do you? We won’t be in the way. Leonardo just has so much to do. Some of the designs have to be altered now because . . . because Jerry Fitzgerald is going to be the headliner.”
“Different coloring,” Biff put in. “Different body type. From Pandora,” he finished, saying the name they had been avoiding.
“Yeah.” Mavis’s smile went bright and fixed. “So it’s a lot of extra work, and Roarke said it was all right. The house is so big and everything. You won’t even know they’re all here.”
People, Eve thought, scurrying in and out. Security nightmares. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. She would.
“I told you it would be all right,” Mavis said, planting a kiss on Leonardo’s chin. “And I promised Roarke I wouldn’t let you bury yourself tonight, Dallas. You’re going to sit back and be pampered. We’re getting pizza.”
“Oh goodie. Mavis—”
“Everything’s working out,” Mavis went on, almost desperately, her fingers tightening on Eve’s arm. “On Channel 75 they were talking about this new lead, and these other murders, a drug connection. I didn’t even know the other people who got whacked. I didn’t even know them, Dallas, so it’s going to come out that it was somebody else. And it’s all going to be over.”
“It’s going to take a little time yet, Mavis.” Eve stopped, felt her heart drop at the flickers of panic in Mavis’s eyes, worked up a smile. “Yeah, it’s all going to be over. Pizza, huh? I could use some.”
“Great. Mag. I’m going to find Summerset and tell him we’re ready for it. Take Dallas up and show her, okay?” She darted out.
“It really lifted her,” Leonardo said quietly. “That news report. She needed a lift. The Blue Squirrel let her go.”
“Let her go?”
“Bastards,” Trina muttered around a canapé.
“Management decided it wasn’t in their best interest to have an accused murderer headlining. It shook her bad. I had the idea to take her mind off it this way. I’m sorry, I should have cleared it with you first.”
“No, it’s fine.” Eve took another sip of wine and braced herself. “Let’s go do me then.”
chapter twelve
It wasn’t so bad, Eve decided. Not when compared to the riots of the Urban Wars, the torture chambers of the Spanish Inquisition, a test ride on the XR-85 moon jet. And she was a cop, a ten-year vet, used to facing danger.
She was certain her eyes wheeled like a panicked horse’s when Trina tested her cropping sheers.
“Hey, maybe we could just—”
“Leave it to the experts,” Trina said. Eve nearly whimpered with relief when she set the shears down again. “Let’s see about this.”
She approached, unarmed, but Eve watched warily.
“I’ve got a hair consult program.” Leonardo looked up from the long table, covered with fabrics where he and Biff muttered together. “Full morphing capabilities.”
“I don’t need a stinking program.” To prove it, Trina caught Eve’s face in her firm, wide hands. Eyes narrowed, she began to move up then around Eve’s head, over the jaw, up the cheekbones. “Decent bone structure,” she approved. “Who do you use?”
“For what?”
“Face sculpting.”
“God.”
Trina paused, snickered, then let out an ear-blasting laugh, the tone of a rusted tuba. “I like your cop, Mavis.”
“She’s the best,” Mavis said drunkenly. She perched on a nearby stool, studying herself in the triple mirrors. “Maybe you could do me, too, Trina. The lawyers suggested I go for a more sedate look. You know, brunette or something.”
“Fuck that.” Trina pressed her thumbs under Eve’s jaw to lift it. “I’ve got some new shit that’ll blast any judge out of his robe, cutie. Bordello pink with silver tipping. Just on the market.”
“Oh yeah.” Mavis flipped her sapphire locks back and considered.
“What I could do for you with a little highlighting.”
Eve’s blood ran cold. “Just the cut, right? We’re just snip-ping a little.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Trina pushed Eve’s head onto her chest. “This color a gift from God, too?” She chuckled to herself, yanked Eve’s head back, and dragged all the hair away from her face. “The eyes are good. The brows could use a little work, but we can fix that.”
“Give me some more wine, Mavis.” Eve shut the eyes that were good, and told herself whatever happened, it would grow back.
“Okay, wet down.” Trina whirled the chair and its reluctant occupant to a porta-sink, tipped it back until Eve’s neck was braced in the padded slot. “Close your eyes and enjoy, honey. I give the best shampoo and head massage in the business.”
There was something to be said for that. The wine or Trina’s clever fingers mellowed Eve’s mood toward some twilight world of relaxation. Dimly she heard Leonardo and Biff arguing over their preferences of crimson satin or scarlet silk for evening pajamas. The music Leonardo had programmed was something classical with sobbing piano arpeggios, and the scent of crushed flowers filled the air.
Why had Paul Redford told her about the Chinese box and the illegals? If he’d gone back for them himself, had them in his possession, why would he want their existence known?
Double bluff? A ploy? Maybe there had never been a box to begin with. Or he knew it was gone already so . . .
Eve didn’t stir until something cold and sticky was slapped on her face. Then she yelped.
“What the hell—”
“A Saturnia facial.” Trina glopped on more dun-colored goo. “Clear out your pores like a vacuum. It’s a crime to neglect your skin. Mavis, get out the Sheena, will you?”
“What’s the Sheena—never mind.” With one final shudder, Eve closed her eyes and surrendered. “I don’t want to know.”
“Might as well have the full treatment.” Trina slicked more mud under Eve’s jaw, quick fingers working up. “You’re tight, honey. Want me to plug in a nice VR program for you?”
“No, no. This is about as fanciful as I can handle, thanks.”
“Okay. Want to tell me about your man?” Briskly, Trina tugged open the robe Eve had been ordered to wear and clamped her mud coated hands on Eve’s breasts. When Eve’s eyes popped open, fired, she laughed. “Don’t you worry, I’m not into females. Your man’s going to love your tits when I’m done with them.”
“He likes them just fine now.”
“Yeah, but Saturnia’s breast smoother is top of the line. They’ll feel like rose petals. Take my word. Is he a nibbler or a sucker?”
Eve just closed her eyes again. “I’m not even here.”
“There you go.”
She heard water run, then Trina was back and rubbing something into her hair that smelled appealingly of vanilla.
People paid for this, Eve reminded herself. Huge amounts that put gaping holes in their credit accounts.
People were obviously insane. She kept her eyes stubbornly closed as something warm and wet was laid over her mud-covered breasts, her face. Conversations went on cheerfully around her. Mavis and Trina discussed various beauty aids, Leonardo and Biff consulted over line and color.
Very insane, Eve thought, then let out a groan as her feet were massaged. They were dipped in something hot and oddly pleasant. She heard the crackle of something, felt her feet being lifted, covered. Then her hands received the same treatment.
She tolerated it, tolerated even the quick buzz of something around her eyebrows. And felt heroic when she heard Mavis laugh easily and flirt with Leonardo.
She had to keep Mavis’s spirits up, she thought. It was as vital as every step in the investigation. It wasn’t enough to represent the dead.
She squeezed her eyes tighter when she heard the snip of Trina’s shears, felt the light tugs, the comb through. Hair was just hair, she told herself. Appearances didn’t matter.
Oh Jesus, don’t let her scalp me.
She forced her mind to focus on work, ran through questions she would ask Redford in the morning, considered his possible answers. It was likely she would be called to the commander’s office about the news leak. She would deal with that.
She needed a conference with both Feeney and Peabody. It was time to see if any of the data the three of them had dug up would dovetail. She’d go back to the club, have Crack turn her on to some of the regulars. Someone might have seen whoever had spooked Boomer that night. And if that same person had talked to Hetta—
She jerked when Trina adjusted the chair to recline and began to scrub off the mud. “She’ll be ready for you in five,” Trina told an impatient Leonardo. “I don’t rush my genius.” She grinned down at Eve. “You’ve got decent skin. I’m going to leave some samples with you. Use them, you’ll keep it decent.”
Mavis peered down and Eve began to feel like a patient on an operating table. “You did a wonderful job on the eyebrows, Trina. They look so natural. All she needs to do is dye her lashes. They don’t even need a lengthener. And don’t you think that dimple in her chin is mag?”
“Mavis,” Eve said wearily. “I don’t want to have to hit you.”
Mavis only grinned. “Pizza’s here. Have a bite.” She stuffed some in Eve’s mouth. “Wait till you see your skin, Dallas. It’s gorgeous.”
Eve only grunted. The hot cheese had seared the roof of her mouth, but it also stirred juices. She risked choking and took the rest of the slice while Trina bound up her hair in a silver turban.
“It’s thermal,” Trina told her as she shot the chair back up. “I’ve got a root and shaft penetrator on it.”
Eve eyed the reflection. Maybe her skin did look dewy, and at a wary stroke of her fingers, it certainly felt smooth. But she couldn’t see even a single strand of hair. “I’ve got hair under there, right? My hair?”
“Sure you do. Okay, Leonardo. She’s yours for twenty minutes.”
“At last.” He beamed. “Take off the robe.”
“Oh, look—”
“Dallas, we’re all professionals. You have to try on the foundation for the wedding dress. It will certainly need a few adjustments.”
She’d already been felt up by a stylist, Eve decided. Why not stand naked in a roomful of people? She shrugged out of the robe.
Leonardo came at her with something white and sleek. Before she could do much more than squeak, he had it around her torso and snugged at her back. His big hands reached under the material, fussily adjusted her breasts. Bending down, he drew a swatch of material between her legs, secured it, stepped back.
“Ah.”
“Holy hell, Dallas. Roarke’s tongue’s going to land on his feet when he gets you down to that.”
“What the hell is it?”
“A variation on the old Merry Widow.” With quick nips and tucks, Leonardo perfected the fit. “I call it a Curvaceous. Added a bit of lift under the breasts for you. Yours are quite nice, but this line adds more contour. Just a touch of lace, a few pearls. Nothing too ornate.” He turned her to face the mirror.
She looked sexy, curvy. Ripe, Eve realized with some amazement. The material had a faint gleam to it, as though it was damp. It nipped at her waist, molded her hips, and, she had to admit, lifted her bustline to new, fascinating heights.
“Well . . . I guess . . . for, you know, wedding nights.”
“For any nights,” Mavis said dreamily. “Oh, Leonardo. Are you going to make me one?”
“I already have, in Rascal Red satin. Now, Dallas, does it pinch anywhere? Rub?”
“No.” She couldn’t get over it. It should have been torturous, but it was as comfortable as a sprint suit. Experimentally she bent, twisted. “It’s just sort of there.”
“Excellent. Biff found the material at a little cottage shop on Richer Five. Now the dress. It’s only basted, so we take care. Lift your arms, plea
se.”
He slipped it over her, let it float down. The material was stunning. Eve could see that, even when it was streaked with tailor’s marks. It seemed perfect to her, the sleek column, the snug sleeves, the simple line, but Leonardo creased his brow and tugged at the material, folded, bunched.
“The neckline works, yes. Where is the necklace?”
“Huh?”
“The copper and stone necklace. Didn’t I tell you to ask for it?”
“I can’t just tell Roarke I want a necklace.”
Leonardo sighed, turned Eve around, and exchanged a look with Mavis. He nodded, then tested the line at Eve’s hips.
“You’ve lost weight,” he accused.
“No, I haven’t.”
“Yes, at least two pounds.” He clucked his tongue. “I won’t take it in yet. See that you put them back on.”
Biff marched over and held a bolt of material next to her face. With a nod, he marched away, muttering into his notebook.
“Biff, would you show her the other designs while I note the adjustments to the gown?”
With a flourish, Biff switched on a wall monitor. “As you can see, Leonardo has taken both your lifestyle and your body line into consideration with these designs. This simple day suit is perfect for a corporate lunch, a press conference, unrestricted, yet très, très chic. The material we’re using is a blended linen with just a whisper of silk. The color is citrine with trim of garnet.”
“Uh-huh.” It looked like a nice, simple suit to Eve, but it was a jolt to see the computer-generated image of herself modeling it. “Biff?”
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“Why do you have a map tattooed on your head?”
He smiled. “I have a very poor sense of direction. Now this next design continues the theme.”
She viewed a dozen. They blurred together in her mind. Rayspan in citrus lemon, Breton lace with velvet, classic black silk. Every time Mavis oohed or aahed, Eve ordered recklessly. What was being in debt for the rest of her life compared to her closest friend’s peace of mind?
“That’ll keep you two busy awhile.” The minute Leonardo slipped the dress back off, Trina bundled Eve into the robe. “Let’s take a look at the crowning glory.” After unwinding the turban, she pulled a wide forked comb out of her twirling curls and began to pick, smooth, and fluff.