«Avril Icove,» Eve interrupted. «Could you tell if she'd had any work done? Sculpting, reconstruction, surgical enhancements.»
«You get a body naked under the scanners, you know all the dish. Sure, she had some. Little face work, little boob job. Top work, but you'd expect that.»
Her husband had claimed she was just blessed, Eve remembered. «You're sure about that?»
«Hey, you know your job, I know mine. Why?»
«Just curious.» Eve closed her eyes again. Thinking about murder made a facial almost bearable.
13
After an endless evening, and more wine than was probably wise—but extremely necessary — Eve trudged up to her office. Maybe a couple hits of strong coffee would counteract the alcohol, and she could squeeze in an hour of work.
First on the list was a check of Avril's standard medicals. She'd be interested to see just what sort of elective surgery she'd find.
Then she wanted a closer look at Brookhollow Academy.
She was taking the first slug of coffee when Roarke walked in from his office.
«Yellow belly,» she said.
«Excuse me?»
«Your belly's as yellow as Nadine's was a couple hours ago.»
«I don't even want to know what that means.»
«You skipped out, left me alone.»
He gave her a look that would have passed for innocence on anyone else.
«It seemed obvious that tonight's festivities were for women only. Respecting female ritual, I discreetly got lost.»
«To quote you, Yellow Belly, 'Bollocks.' You slithered out as soon as Mavis started yapping about coaching classes.»
«Guilty as charged, and I'm not ashamed. Lot of good it did me, for all that.» He took her coffee, drank. «She hunted me down.»
«Oh yeah?»
«Oh aye, look smug—for you're in it, my friend, as deep as me. Sometime between the body scrub and polish, she scouted me out and gave me the contact information and schedule for the instruction we're going to be forced to take in order to participate in the birthing. There's no escape for us.»
«I know. We're doomed.»
«Doomed,» he repeated. «Eve, there are vids.»
«Oh God.»
«And simulations.»
«Stop. Stop now.» She grabbed her coffee mug and chugged. «It's still months away.»
«Weeks,» he corrected.
«That's like months. It takes weeks to make a month. It's not now, that's the important thing. I have to think of something else. I have to work. And you know,» she added as she walked to her desk, «things could happen. Like… we could get abducted by terrorists right before she goes into labor.»
«Oh, if only.»
She had to grin as she called up the Icoves' client and patient lists. «It turns out Trina slopped cream on Avril Icove once, and claims she found sculpting when she was under the scan. Now, it's most likely that one of the Icoves would've done the work, or at least consulted.»
«Consulted, most likely. I'd think working on a family member might be tricky, ethically.»
«If one or both of them consulted, she'd be listed. That's legal standard. Computer, search for Avril Icove, medical consult and/or procedures.»
Working…Avril Icove is not listed in selected files.
«You see, that just doesn't jibe for me. You're in a medical family—top of the line—and you don't use them for any of your elective work?
You don't have your beloved husband consult on a procedure, one in which he's a leading expert?» She drummed her fingertips. «If I had a cargo ship of money I wanted to invest, I'd go to you, not to some stranger. If I wanted to break into the National Treasury—«
«Now, wouldn't that be fun?»
«I'd go to you.»
«Thank you, darling. They might have examined and consulted off record.»
«Why? See that's the thing. I can get Dr. Will claiming his wife's perfect face and body is God-given—privacy. And hey, nosy cop, none of your business. But I don't get this kind of secrecy for some fine-tuning or whatever. If she had the procedures, on record, and used the Icove Center—which is logical—why not document the consult? It's covering your legal ass, for one thing.»
«So she might have had the procedures off record, at another of their facilities.»
«That's my thought, which leads to another why. I need images of her. Old images, for comparison. Then there's Brookhollow. The most logical place for Avril and Dolores to have met—if they've worked together on the murders—is the school. But there's no Dolores listed on their registry, not as a graduate anyway. So I'm going to generate ID images of everyone who attended during Avril's time there, then do a match search with the image I have of Dolores.»
«Which is, again, logical. It'll take a bit, and you smell delicious.»
«It's the stuff.»
«I'm a helpless victim of cosmetic merchandising.» To prove it he slipped behind her and nipped the nape of her neck.
She gave him an elbow nudge back. «I need to get started on this.»
«Me, too. Computer. Access registry for Brookhollow Academy and College—«
«Hey, this is my machine.»
Ignoring her, he wrapped his arms around her waist. «Search and mark ID photos of students, staff—«
«Female spouses and offspring of staff and any female employees, female spouses, and offspring of employees.»
«Very thorough,» Roarke commented.
«Let's keep being thorough.»
«Doing my best,» he said and slid his hands under her sweatshirt.
«Not that way. I'm going to let it run for the whole time. Maybe she met Dolores at some alumni function. Computer, search for a match with—Jeez, Roarke, hold on a minute.»
His hands were very busy. «What did Trina put on you this time? Let's buy a vat of it.»
«I don't know. I'm losing my track. Match the generated images with the ID photo and security image on file for Nocho-Alverez, Dolores.»
Multiple commands acknowledged. Working…
«Or she met her off-site, at the center, at the fricking salon. Hired her. Dozens of options.»
«Have to start with one.» Roarke turned Eve around to face him. «Your hair smells like autumn leaves.»
«Dead?»
«Burnished. And you taste like… let me see.» He nibbled his way down her temple, over her cheekbone, to her mouth. «Sugar and cinnamon, warmed together.» He flipped open the button of her pants as he deepened the kiss.
«Now I have to do a search of my own, see if Trina's left any surprises for me.»
«I told her I'd twist her arms into knots if she put any temp tattoos on me this time.»
He cruised his hands up, over her breasts, and her heart began to shudder.
«You know that only challenges her. Nothing here,» he said as he drew her sweatshirt up, off. «Just my wife's lovely, unadorned breasts.»
«Mavis's are mongo.» Eve let her head fall back as his lips skimmed over her.
«Yes, I noticed.»
«She had Trina paint one nipple blue and the other pink.»
He lifted his head slightly. «That may be just a bit too much information. Why don't I just say I prefer yours.»
Her stomach tightened, pleasurably, as he closed his mouth on hers. «You could say that. I had too much wine. Otherwise, I wouldn't be making this so easy for you.»
He flipped open the next button, and her pants slid down her hips. «Step out,» he murmured.
«You're still dressed.» And her head was spinning.
«Step out,» he repeated, sliding those hands over her as she did.
«You're all naked and soft, and I like the idea of riding my tongue over you, top to bottom, bottom to top until you… Well, well. What have we?»
Her brain had gone dull on her, so she only blinked at first when she followed Roarke's gaze down her own body.
There, low on either side of her belly, were three small, sparkling red hearts, with a long silver arrow piercing through each trio. Pointing, she realized, at the goal.