J. Robb - Big Jack

“He had a kid?” And she kicked herself for not going back in and checking the runs after they’d returned home the night before.

“He did, apparently. Though it’s not in Gannon’s book. He was married, divorced and had a son who’d have been just shy of seven when the heist went down. I couldn’t find anything on her with a standard starting six months after the divorce.”

Interest piqued, she walked back to the sitting area. “She went under?”

“She went under, the way it looks, and stayed there.”

He’d gotten another bagel while he spoke, and more coffee. Now he sat again. “I could track her, if you like. It’d take a bit more than a standard, and some time as we’re going back half a century. I wouldn’t mind it. It’s the sort of thing I find entertaining.”

“Why isn’t it in the book?”

“I imagine you’ll ask Samantha just that.”

“Damn right. It’s a thread.” She considered it as she disbursed her equipment in various pockets: communicator, memo book, ’link, restraints. “If you’ve got time, great. I’ll pass it to Feeney. EDD ought to be able to sniff out a woman and a kid. We’ve got better toys for that than they did fifty years ago.”

She thought of the Electronic Detective Division’s captain, her former partner. “I bet it’s the sort of thing that gets him off, too. Peabody’s picking me up.” She checked her wrist unit. “Pretty much now. I’ll tag Feeney, see if he’s got some time.”

She scooped up the disk. “The ex-Mrs. Crew’s data on here?”

“Naturally.” He heard the signal from the gate and, after a quick check, cleared Peabody through. “I’ll walk you down.”

“You going to be in the city today?”

“That’s my plan.” He skimmed a hand over her hair as they started down the steps, then stopped when she turned her head and smiled at him. “What’s that about?”

“Maybe I just think you’re pretty. Or it could be I’m remembering other uses for stairs. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because I know there’s no bony-assed, droid-brained puss face waiting down there to curl his lip at me on my way out.”

“You miss him.”

The sound she made was the vocal equivalent of a sneer. “Please. You must need a pill.”

“You do. You miss the little routine, the dance of it.”

“Oh ick. Now you’ve got this picture in my head of Summerset dancing. It’s horrible. He’s wearing one of those… ” She made brushing motions at her hips.

“Tutus?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“Thanks very much for putting that in my head.”

“Love to share. Know what? You really are pretty.” She stopped at the bottom of the steps, grabbed two handfuls of his hair and jerked his head toward hers for a long, smoldering kiss.

“Well, that put other images entirely in my head,” he managed when she released him.

“Me too. Good for us.” Satisfied, she strode to the door, pulled it open.

Her brow knit when she saw Peabody along with the young EDD ace McNab climbing out of opposite sides of her pea-green police unit. They looked like… She didn’t know what the hell they looked like.

She was used to seeing McNab, Central’s top fashion plate, in something eye-searing and strange, so the shiny chili-pepper pants with their dozen pockets and the electric-blue tank shirt covered with-ha-ha-pictures of chili peppers didn’t give her more than a moment’s pause. Neither did the hip-length vest in hot red, or the blue air boots that climbed up to his knobby knees.

That was just McNab, with his shiny gold hair slicked back in a long, sleek tail, his narrow and oddly attractive face half covered by red sunshades with mirrored blue lenses and a dozen or so silver spikes glinting at his ears.

But her aide-no, partner now, she had to remember that-was a different story. She wore skinpants that stopped abruptly mid-calf and were the color of… mold, Eve decided. The mold that grew on cheese you’d forgotten you stuck in the back of the fridge. She wore some sort of drapey, blousy number of the same color that looked like it had been slept in for a couple of weeks, and a shit-colored jacket that hung to her knees. Rather than the fancy shoes she’d suffered through the day before, she’d opted for some sort of sandal deal that seemed to be made of rope tied into knots by a crazed Youth Scout. There were a lot of chains and pendants and strange-colored stones hanging around her neck and from her ears.

“What are you supposed to be, some upscale street peddler from a Third World country and her pet monkey?”

“This is a nod to my Free-Ager upbringing. And it’s comfortable. All natural fabrics.” Peabody adjusted her sunshades with their tiny round lenses. “Mostly.”

“I think she looks hot,” McNab said, giving Peabody a quick squeeze. “Sort of medieval.”

“You think tree bark looks hot,” Eve tossed back.

“Yeah. Makes me think of the forest. She-body running naked through the forest.”

Peabody elbowed him, but she chuckled. “I’m searching for my detective look,” she told Roarke. “It’s a work in progress.”

“I think you look charming.”

“Oh shut up” was Eve’s response as Peabody’s cheeks pinked in pleasure. “You fix that heap?” she asked McNab.

“There’s good news and bad news. Bad news is that’s a piece of crap with a faulty comp system, which makes it about the same as every other police-issue on the streets. Good news is I’m a fricking genius and got her up and running with some spare parts I keep around. She’ll hold until you get lucky and wreck it or some asshole who doesn’t know better boosts it.”

“Thanks. Backseat,” she ordered. “Behind the driver. I’m afraid if I keep catching sight of you in the rearview I’ll go blind.” She turned to Roarke. “Later.”

“I’ll look forward to it. Hey.” He caught her chin in his hand before she could walk away, then, ignoring her wince, brushed his lips lightly over hers. “Be careful with my cop.”

Peabody sighed as she slid into the car. “I just love the way he says that. ‘My cop.’ ” She scooted around to face McNab. “You never call me that.”

“It doesn’t work when you’re a cop, too.”

“Yeah, and you don’t have the accent anyway. But you’re cute.” She pursed her lips at him.

“And you’re my absolutely female She-body.”

“Stop it, stop it, stop it! The neurons in my head are popping.” Eve slapped her safety harness in place. “There will be no gooey talk in this vehicle. There will be no gooey talk within ten yards of my person. This is my official ban on gooey talk, and violators will be beaten unconscious with a lead pipe.”

“You don’t have a lead pipe,” Peabody pointed out.

“I’ll get one.” She slid her eyes over as she drove toward the gates. “Why do you wear something that’s wrinkled all to shit?”

“It’s the natural state of the natural fabric. My sister wove this material.”

“Well, why didn’t she smooth it out or something while she was at it? And I can’t believe how much time I waste these days discussing your wardrobe.”

“Yeah. It’s kind of frosty.” Her smile turned to a frown as she looked down at her legs. “Do you think these pants make my calves look fat?”

“I can’t hear you because something just burst in my brain and my ears are filled with blood.”

“In that case, McNab and I will return to our rudely interrupted gooey talk.” She yipped when Eve snaked out a hand and twisted her earlobe. “Jeez. Just checking.”

Eve considered it a testament to her astounding self-control that she didn’t kill either one of them on the way to Central. To keep her record clean, she strode away from them in the garage, nabbing the elevator alone. She had no doubt they’d have to exchange sloppy words or kisses before each separated to check in with their squad.