The in Death Collection Books 11-15 - J. D. Robb [185]
“I won’t buy anything.” She spotted one of the enhancement displays with all those fascinating colors. Girl toys, she thought. And yearned.
But all the color and flash was nothing compared to Martin.
Denise hurried out in front of him, clicking her three-inch red heels over the white floor, like a handmaiden before royalty. She didn’t bow, but Eve was certain she thought about it before scurrying away and out the glass doors again.
Martin swept up, his long trailing cloak of sapphire brushing the floor, the skinsuit of silver beneath it sparkling over a long, muscled body. His pecs rippled, his biceps strained, his privates bulged.
His hair, as silver as his suit, was swept up from a sharply planed face in a complex arrangement of twists that were caught in sapphire cord and left to dangle down his back.
He smiled, held out a hand crowded with rings.
“Lieutenant Dallas.” His voice was seductively French, and before she could stop him, he’d taken her hand and kissed the air an inch above her knuckles. “We’re honored to welcome you to Paradise. How may we be of service to you?”
“I’m looking for a man.”
“Cherie, aren’t we all?”
“Ha. This particular man,” she said, amused despite herself. She drew a hard-copy image of Yost out of her file bag.
“Well.” Martin studied the photo. “Handsome in a brute fashion. The Distinguished Gentleman does not, in my opinion, suit his facial features nor his style. He should have been gently dissuaded from that purchase.”
“You recognize the wig?”
“Hair alternative.” And his eyes twinkled as he said it. “Yes. It’s not one of the more popular styles as the gray is something most looking for alternatives wish to avoid. May I ask why you’re seeking this man here in Paradise?”
“He bought the hair alternative here, along with a number of other products. May third. Cash. I’d like to talk to whoever waited on him.”
“Hmmm, do you have a list of the products he purchased?”
Eve pulled it out, handed it over.
“Quite a lot for a cash purchase. As for the Captain Stud, much more appropriate for him, don’t you agree? Just one moment.”
He strolled off, showed the list and photograph to a brunette at the near skin-care section. She frowned, studied the papers, then with a nod, hurried away.
“We think we may know the consultant who tended to this customer. Would you prefer to use a privacy area?”
“No, this is fine. You didn’t recognize him?”
“No, but I don’t interact with customers unless there’s a problem of some sort. Or unless the customers are, such as yourself, VIPs. Ah, here’s Letta now. Letta, ma coeur, I hope you’ll give Lieutenant Dallas your assistance.”
“I’m sure.” And there was just enough Midwestern twang in the voice to make Martin wince.
“You waited on the man in this photograph?” Eve asked, tapping a finger on the picture Letta held.
“Yes. I’m almost sure it’s him. He’s had a little sculpting around the eyes and mouth in the picture, but it’s the same basic facial structure. And this product list fits.”
“Was this the first time you’d seen him?”
“Well . . . I think he’s been in before. But he wears different wigs—hair alternatives,” she corrected, sliding an apologetic glance toward Martin. “And he varies his skin tones, eyes. He likes a lot of different looks. A number of customers—clients,” she amended, shaking her head at herself, “do. It’s one of the services we provide at Paradise. Varying your looks can vary your mood and improve—”
“Save the sales pitch, Letta. Tell me about the day he bought those items.”
“Okay. I mean, yes, madam. I think it was early afternoon, because we still had some of the lunch crush. I’d spent a lot of time with a woman who had to look at everything we had in blonde. I mean everything, and then she ended up doing the ‘I’ll think about it’ routine.”
She rolled her purple eyes, caught Martin’s, then after a jolt, relaxed when she saw his smile of sympathy. “So when this client