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“Yeah, thanks.”
She thought of Roarke, imagined a lot of people looked at him and saw perfection. She knew differently, and decided she had a whole bunch of fun and sweetness in her life.
Even as she thought it he walked in with a jumbo mug of coffee.
“Where did you get that? I get these little girlie cups.”
“Which is why I asked the housekeeper for something more formidable.”
When he set it in front of her, Eve crooked her finger so he leaned down. She kissed him. “You’re not perfect,” she said.
“See if I bring you a giant mug of coffee again any time soon.”
“You’re not perfect, and that makes you just exactly right.”
“Being just exactly right has it all over perfection.”
“Bet your ass.” She lifted the coffee, took a long, lifesaving swallow. “Want to sit in on my interview with Nadine?”
“I would if you share that coffee. If you want an update, Peabody and McNab just finished up their end of interviews. Peabody didn’t want to interrupt yours, and asked if I’d let you know they’ve headed back up to the roof to check on the status of the sweepers. The body’s been removed.”
“Yeah, I got a text from the morgue guys. Undetermined. We’ll need her on a slab before they can rule it accidental or homicide. I’d say self-termination’s out, but you’ve got to keep it in the mix until.”
Nadine carried in her own coffee and a plate of cookies. She plopped the cookies on the table. “Now, look—”
“No, you sit, and you now look.” Eve grabbed a cookie, just in case Nadine got pissy and snatched them away. “You’re a witness to a suspicious death. I’m required to interview you, get a statement.”
“I’ll give you a statement,” Nadine said darkly. “I want my goddamn ’link, my PPC. You’ve got no right to—”
“Oh, knock it off.” Eve bit into the cookie—not bad. “You’re not getting either until I clear it because you’re damn well not contacting your producer or editor or whatever the hell so Channel 75 can throw up a big special bulletin that K.T. Harris was found facedown in Mason Roundtree’s lap pool—details to fucking follow.”
“I’m a reporter, and it’s my job to do exactly what you just laid out. I’m on the scene. I had dinner with the corpse.”
Tossing back her streaky hair, Nadine narrowed her cat’s eyes to slits.
“If you think for one hot minute I’m letting another reporter, another channel, another anything or anybody scoop me on this, then think a-fucking-gain. What are you smiling at?” she snapped at Roarke.
“I’m a man, and I’m sitting here having coffee and cookies while two beautiful women snarl at each other. Being a man I’m required to wonder—perhaps imagine—whether there will soon be physical contact. Clothing may be ripped away. Why wouldn’t I smile?”
“Not perfect,” Eve muttered. “Shut up for five seconds,” she ordered Nadine, “before we’re in his head naked, oiled up, and rolling around on the floor.”
“And my smile grows wider.”
“You’ll get your story,” Eve said after baring her teeth at Roarke. “You’ll have the jump on it, and my cooperation—as far as it goes.”
“Which means?”
“What it means. But you did have dinner with the corpse, and when there’s a body in the mix my job trumps yours.”
“I want a one-on-one with you, as soon as we’re done here.”
“I’ll give you what I can give you when we’re done here. You’re not bringing a camera in, not at this point. The longer you argue or try to negotiate, the bigger the window for one of the staff to get word out to one of your competitors. I need your eye, Nadine. Here’s what I know. K.T. Harris is dead. The three people in this room didn’t kill her or cause her to die. The Miras didn’t. Peabody and McNab didn’t. Mavis and Leonardo didn’t. Other than that? It’s up for grabs. So I need your eye, your impressions, and your catlike ear for gossip, innuendo, and bullshit.
“Now let’s get started.”
Chapter 5
Nadine slapped her purse on the table, opened it, and pulled out a number of cocktail napkins.
