Page 102 of Concealed in Death

He pulled her in, caught her mouth with his. “I like my odds,” he told her, taking another quick nip before he let her go.

They were probably pretty good, she admitted as she headed down. She flipped her coat off the newel post, shrugged into it as she headed out into the frosty, ear-numbing morning. And as she engaged her in-dash ’link to contact Mira, she thought as she often did, if Roarke had turned right instead of left, he’d have made a damn good cop.

“Eve. You’re moving early today.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a full plate. I’m hoping you can make room for me on yours. I’ve got some thoughts on the Jones siblings I want to run by you. Get your sense.”

“I have an hour now if you can come to my home.”

“Oh. I don’t want to push into your off time.”

“It’s not a problem. I was about to review the notes you sent me in any case.”

“I’m on my way then. Thanks.” She switched off, contacted Peabody as she made the first turn out of the gates. “I’m swinging by Mira’s for a quick consult, then I want to hit Jones and Jones again. I want to talk to them separately.”

“You want me to meet you there?”

“No. Arrange for the sister to come in. Play it nice, but firm. I want her in my space. Then we’ll take her brother. While I’m with Mira, contact Owusu in Zimbabwe. I want—”

“I get to talk to Africa? Major score!”

“Glad I could start your day off with a bang. See if she’s talked to her people yet about the younger Jones. And ask if she can—if she hasn’t—get a sense of him. Did he put in the work? Was he good at the work? And get those details of the lion mauling. And if she can find anyone who has a picture of him from back then.”

“I’m all over it, like a hyena. No crazy and mean. Like a howler monkey.”

“Hold the howling and get a clear picture of him over there. I want specific details I can use in the interviews with the siblings.”

“I’ll get what’s to get. Then you’ve got to give me the deep deets on this Sebastian. I can’t believe Mavis knew—”

“Basics are in the notes. We’ll get deeper later. Get me something from Africa.”

Eve shut off, and began to hunt for parking.

She took the block-and-a-half walk in stride. Fast strides as the air froze her fingers and cheeks. Too early for the off-to-school brigade, she noted, but not for the domestics. Nannies, maids, cooks poured off maxibuses, streamed up from the subway, hoofed it over the sidewalk toward the day’s work.

Owners, or those owners paid, walked a variety of dogs. She smelled fresh bread, chestnuts roasting, coffee, sugar-dusted pastries.

Not a bad place to call home, she thought as she walked up to the Miras’ front door. Even before she rang the bell, the door opened.

As always when she saw the kind and dreamy eyes of Dennis Mira, her heart gave a little tug. Just something about him, she thought, with his cardigans and mussed hair, bemused smile.

“Eve. Come in out of the cold.” He took her hand to draw her inside. “Where are your gloves? Your hands are freezing. Charlie! Find Eve some gloves.”

“Oh, no, I have them. I just forget to—”

“And a hat! You should always wear a hat in the cold,” he said to Eve. “It keeps the heat in.” He winked at her. “Warms the brain. Who can think with a cold brain?”

In her life he was the only person she actively wanted to hug the minute she saw him. Just press up against him, rest her head on his sloping shoulder and just... be there.

“You can sit by the fire,” he said, nudging her into the living area with its sparkling Christmas tree, its family photos, and lovely, lovely sense of home. “I’ll make you hot chocolate. It’ll do the trick.”

“You don’t—” Hot chocolate? “Really?”

“It’s my secret recipe, and the best. Charlie will tell you.”

“It’s incredible,” Mira confirmed as she came in—looking nothing like a Charlie in an icy blue suit and heeled boots in metallic sapphire. “We’d love some, Dennis.” Then she tugged on the frayed sleeve of his cardigan. “Didn’t I put this sweater in the donation box?”

“Did you?” He smiled in that absent way he had. “Isn’t that strange? I’ll make the chocolate. Where did I put the...”

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