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“You know doctors, and they know other doctors. You know hospitals and health centers. I need to know who’s gotten bad news in the last twelve months. I can fine-tune that to male patients between the ages of twenty-five and sixty.”
“Oh well then, piece of cake.” Louise shook her head, and drained her coffee. “Dallas, even with cancer vaccines, early diagnosis, the success rates of treatments, there are quite a number of people who fall to incurable or inoperable conditions. Add to those, the ones who for whatever reason refuse treatment—religious reasons, fear factor, stubbornness, ignorance—and you’ve got hundreds just in Manhattan. Maybe thousands.”
“I can cull through that.”
“Maybe you can, but there’s one big problem. It’s called doctor–patient confidentiality. I can’t give you names, and neither can any other reputable doctor or health care provider.”
“He’s a killer, Louise.”
“Yes, but the others aren’t, and are entitled to their privacy. I’ll ask around, but no one’s going to give me names and I couldn’t, in good conscience, give them to you.”
Irritated, Eve paced the limited confines of the office while Louise pulled another lollipop out of her pocket and offered it to Peabody.
“Lime. Thanks.”
“Sugar-free.”
“Bummer,” Peabody replied, but ripped off the clear wrapping.
Eve huffed out a breath, settled herself. “Tell me this. What kind of shadow is most usually a death sentence?”
“You don’t ask easy ones. Assuming the patient took the recommended vaccines, went in for routine annual exams so early detection was a factor, I’d go for the brain. Providing the mass hasn’t spread, we can remove, kill, or shrink most bad cells, or if necessary, replace the involved organ. We can’t replace the brain. And,” she added, setting her empty cup aside, “this is ridiculously hypothetical.”
“Gotta start somewhere. Maybe you can talk to your brain doctor pals. The individual remains highly functional, able to plan and execute complicated acts. He’s articulate and he’s mobile.”
“I’ll do what I can. It’s going to be very little. Now I’ve got to get back to my own front lines. By the way, I’m thinking of having a little dinner party. Just friends. Both of you, Roarke and McNab, me and Charles.”
“Um,” Eve managed.
“Sounds great. Just let us know when. How’s Charles?” Peabody added. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to him in a while.”
“He’s great. Busy, but who isn’t. I’ll be in touch.”
“Hey. Give me a damn sucker.”
With a laugh, Louise tossed Eve one, then bolted out of the room.
Outside, Eve walked around her vehicle. Crouched as if to examine the tires. Then sent the two men still in the doorway a big, toothy smile before popping the lollipop into her mouth. She didn’t speak until she and Peabody were pulling away.
“Okay, none of my business, but why aren’t you weirded out by the idea of a cozy little dinner party with Louise and Charles?”
“Why should I be?”
“Oh, I don’t know, let me think.” As if contemplating, Eve rolled the round of candy in her mouth. Grape, she thought. Not bad. “Could it be that at one time you were dating Charles, and the fact that you were hanging around with our favorite licensed companion made your current bedmate swing so far out of orbit he knocked Charles on his undeniably adorable ass?”
“Kind of spices up the stew, doesn’t it. Anyway, Charles, of the und
eniably adorable ass, is a friend. He loves Louise. I like Louise. I wasn’t sleeping with Charles, and even if I had been, it shouldn’t matter.”
Playing mattress tag always mattered, no matter what anyone said. But Eve kept that opinion to herself. “Okay. If it shouldn’t matter, why haven’t you told McNab that you and Charles never did the mattress mambo?”
Peabody hunched her shoulders. “He acted like such a moron.”
“Peabody, McNab is a moron.”
“Yeah, but he’s my moron now. I guess I should tell him. I hate to give him the satisfaction though. It gives him the hand.”
“What hand?”
