name.”
“You’re going to cost me my job if you don’t back off.”
“Full name,” Eve repeated.
“Allesseria Carter. If you have any more questions, I’m calling a lawyer.”
“That’ll do it for now. You remember anything, get in touch.” Eve laid one of her cards on the bar before she stepped away. “If that wasn’t Kent’s Prince of frigging Darkness pigs are currently dive-bombing Fifth Avenue.”
“Blood will tell,” Roarke said quietly.
“Bet your fine ass.”
Once they were out on the street, Peabody’s sigh was long and heartfelt. “Man. Creepshow—even if the Lord of the Undead is intensely sexy.”
“Looked like another freak to me,” McNab muttered.
“You’re a guy who likes women. If you were a woman who liked men, we’d still be rolling your tongue back into your mouth. He completely smoked, right, Dallas?”
Women had found her father attractive, Eve thought. No matter what he’d done to them.
“I’m sure Tiara Kent thought the same even as he was draining the life out of her. I’m going to call a black-and-white for you. I want you to take the blood sample directly to the lab, wait while it’s logged in.”
“Got it.” Peabody took the sample, stowed it in her bag.
“I’ll run our host, and the bartender. This isn’t his first time around the block—and she was lying about seeing him this morning. Lab comes through quickly enough, we’ll be giving Vadim a very unpleasant wake-up call.”
They separated, and as she walked Eve gave Roarke a quick hip bump. Now that she was on the street, away from Vadim, away from those pulsing lights, she felt herself again. “You’re quiet.”
“Contemplating. He was scoping you, you know. Subtle but quite deliberate.” When she started to jam her hands into her pockets, Roarke took one, brought it casually to his lips. “He wanted to see your reaction—and mine.”
“Must be disappointed we didn’t give him one. Or much of one on your part.”
“More puzzled, I’d think.”
“Okay, why didn’t you slap him back?”
“It was tempting, but more satisfying to let him wonder. In any case, he’s not your type.”
She snorted. “Nah. I don’t go for the tall, dark, gorgeous types who exude sexuality like breath.”
“You don’t go for sociopaths.”
She glanced up at him. He’d seen it, too, she realized. He’d seen at least that much, too. “You got that right.”
“Besides, I’m taller.”
Now she laughed, and because really, what did it hurt, she turned as she climbed the platform to the car, feigned judging his height as she laid her hands on his shoulders. She pressed her lips to his, warm, ripe, real, then eased back. “Yeah, I’d say you’re exactly tall enough to fit my requirements. You drive, ace. I want to start the runs on the way home.”
She used her PPC, and though it was limited to a miniscreen, Dorian Vadim’s ID photo still had punch. His hair had been shorter when it was taken, but it still brushed past his shoulders. It listed his age at thirty-eight, his birthplace as Budapest, where according to his data, he still had a mother.
It also listed a very impressive sheet.
“Grifting’s a specialty of our suave Mister V,” Eve related. “Lotsa pops there, starting with a juvie record that was never sealed. Bounced around Europe and came to the States, it seems, in his early twenties. Arrests for smuggling—no convictions on that. Illegals, some pops, some questioned and released. Worked as an entertainer—mesmerist and magician. Hmmm. A lot of dropped charges, heavy on the female vics. Was questioned about the disappearance of two women he reputedly bilked. Not enough evidence to arrest, and no DNA in his records.
“Slithered through the system like a snake,” she muttered. “No violence on record, but wits recant or poof with regularity.” She frowned over at Roarke. “You buy into that mesmo stuff?”
“Hypnotism is a proven art, you know Mira uses it in
“You’re going to cost me my job if you don’t back off.”
“Full name,” Eve repeated.
“Allesseria Carter. If you have any more questions, I’m calling a lawyer.”
“That’ll do it for now. You remember anything, get in touch.” Eve laid one of her cards on the bar before she stepped away. “If that wasn’t Kent’s Prince of frigging Darkness pigs are currently dive-bombing Fifth Avenue.”
“Blood will tell,” Roarke said quietly.
“Bet your fine ass.”
Once they were out on the street, Peabody’s sigh was long and heartfelt. “Man. Creepshow—even if the Lord of the Undead is intensely sexy.”
“Looked like another freak to me,” McNab muttered.
“You’re a guy who likes women. If you were a woman who liked men, we’d still be rolling your tongue back into your mouth. He completely smoked, right, Dallas?”
Women had found her father attractive, Eve thought. No matter what he’d done to them.
“I’m sure Tiara Kent thought the same even as he was draining the life out of her. I’m going to call a black-and-white for you. I want you to take the blood sample directly to the lab, wait while it’s logged in.”
“Got it.” Peabody took the sample, stowed it in her bag.
“I’ll run our host, and the bartender. This isn’t his first time around the block—and she was lying about seeing him this morning. Lab comes through quickly enough, we’ll be giving Vadim a very unpleasant wake-up call.”
They separated, and as she walked Eve gave Roarke a quick hip bump. Now that she was on the street, away from Vadim, away from those pulsing lights, she felt herself again. “You’re quiet.”
“Contemplating. He was scoping you, you know. Subtle but quite deliberate.” When she started to jam her hands into her pockets, Roarke took one, brought it casually to his lips. “He wanted to see your reaction—and mine.”
“Must be disappointed we didn’t give him one. Or much of one on your part.”
“More puzzled, I’d think.”
“Okay, why didn’t you slap him back?”
“It was tempting, but more satisfying to let him wonder. In any case, he’s not your type.”
She snorted. “Nah. I don’t go for the tall, dark, gorgeous types who exude sexuality like breath.”
“You don’t go for sociopaths.”
She glanced up at him. He’d seen it, too, she realized. He’d seen at least that much, too. “You got that right.”
“Besides, I’m taller.”
Now she laughed, and because really, what did it hurt, she turned as she climbed the platform to the car, feigned judging his height as she laid her hands on his shoulders. She pressed her lips to his, warm, ripe, real, then eased back. “Yeah, I’d say you’re exactly tall enough to fit my requirements. You drive, ace. I want to start the runs on the way home.”
She used her PPC, and though it was limited to a miniscreen, Dorian Vadim’s ID photo still had punch. His hair had been shorter when it was taken, but it still brushed past his shoulders. It listed his age at thirty-eight, his birthplace as Budapest, where according to his data, he still had a mother.
It also listed a very impressive sheet.
“Grifting’s a specialty of our suave Mister V,” Eve related. “Lotsa pops there, starting with a juvie record that was never sealed. Bounced around Europe and came to the States, it seems, in his early twenties. Arrests for smuggling—no convictions on that. Illegals, some pops, some questioned and released. Worked as an entertainer—mesmerist and magician. Hmmm. A lot of dropped charges, heavy on the female vics. Was questioned about the disappearance of two women he reputedly bilked. Not enough evidence to arrest, and no DNA in his records.
“Slithered through the system like a snake,” she muttered. “No violence on record, but wits recant or poof with regularity.” She frowned over at Roarke. “You buy into that mesmo stuff?”
“Hypnotism is a proven art, you know Mira uses it in
Similar Books
