Page 121 of Calculated in Death

“My jacket?”

“Ditch it.”

“Okay.”

When Peabody took it off, Eve fisted her hands on her hips, took a hard study. “Unbutton the shirt.”

Peabody’s eyes popped, shocked brown balloons. “What!”

“Two—no three buttons down. Jesus, Peabody.” Eve strode over to do it herself. “We’ve all seen tits before.” She arched her eyebrows at the fancy lace number Peabody wore under the shirt, which nearly matched the color that currently heated her cheeks. “We could get blown up or something, and this is what you want people to see an NYPSD detective wearing under her clothes?”

“I wasn’t planning on getting blown up today. Or undressed by my partner.” She lifted a hand to draw the shirt back together. Eve slapped it away.

“Shove them up,” Eve ordered.

“What?”

“Shove them up there.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Stand down, McNab,” Eve said mildly. “You know what I mean. Pump them up some.”

When Eve started to do it for her, Peabody jumped back. “I can do it myself, thanks.” Muttering, she turned her back. Her shoulders wiggled. And flushing furiously, she turned around again.

“Mmm. She-Body.”

Ignoring McNab’s comment, Eve circled her partner. “It’s going to work.”

“Classic,” Roarke said.

“What’s going to work? What’s classic? I want my jacket.”

“Forget it. You’re going to walk right up to Milo the Mole’s front door, and he’s going to answer.”

“I am? He is?”

“Damsel in distress, right?” Eve said to Roarke.

“A very alluring damsel. Clever, Lieutenant.”

“Oh, okay. I get it. I look like I’m in trouble—all alone, unarmed. Harmless. Girl. He opens up to find out what’s what. You should do it,” Peabody told Eve.

“You’re the one with the tits. Men are stupid for tits.”

“Harsh,” Roarke observed. “But largely true.”

“Plus, you’re the type, obviously, who appeals to skinny geeks.”

“Oh yeah,” McNab confirmed. “Completely.”

“Maybe a short skirt and ankle-breakers. Somebody around here has to have them. All he sees is the half-naked woman with big tits knocking on his door. Lucky day. And while he’s focused on the tits, we take him.

“McNab, go find me the skirt and shoes. Peabody, go slut up your face and hair and don’t try to tell me you don’t know how. I’ll get the warrant and put this together. Move it.”

As they moved it, she pulled out her ’link to arrange for the warrant. “You know how these guys think,” she said to Roarke. “Help me put this together.”

“Delighted.”

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