The in Death Collection Books 11-15 - J. D. Robb [403]
Eve sat while her three keepers took several steps back and studied her.
“I’ve got one thing to say,” Trina began. “I am good.” She snapped a finger. “Wardrobe and accessories.”
Two hours after the transformation began, Eve stood in front of the mirror Leonardo hauled in. After the first jolt, she settled down to study and critique.
She knew what a swish was now. It was exactly that—a swish of material that swirled down in a kind of open-fronted skirt. This one was murderous red and fell to midcalf. It did nothing, as far as she could see, to make the skinsuit more modest. Nothing could. They were called skinsuits for a reason, the same reason she never wore the damn things.
Might as well walk around naked.
The body she was walking around in was curvier than her own. Despite the fact the breasts weren’t hers, she felt uncomfortable having them so prominently displayed. Another inch of flesh, and she’d have had to cite herself for indecent exposure.
Her hair was lighter, longer. Sort of a subtle blonde that scooped into points at her chin. A rounded, undented chin, with soft and rounded cheeks. Her mouth didn’t look quite so wide with those cheeks, that chin. Still, with the rich red dye, it practically popped off the face.
Her eyes were hazel with hints of green. But the expression in them was all Eve.
“Okay.” She nodded, watched Stefanie’s face nod back at her. “You are good. But let’s give it the big test.”
She crossed the room, walked into Roarke’s office.
He was on the ’link, had a laser fax coming in and a holo-blueprint of a building hovering over his desk. “I’ll approve the changes to the first level. Yes. But I’ll need to see . . .” He trailed off, stared for a full five seconds. “Sorry, Jansen, I’ll have to get back to you.” He ended transmission, tapped something that had the holo evaporating.
He rose, walked to her, around her. “Amazing. Truly. Are you in there?” he murmured then looked into her eyes. “Ah yes. There you are.”
“What tips it?”
“Trina may be a miracle worker, but she can’t do anything about those cop’s eyes.” When she frowned, Roarke lifted her chin with his hand. “Feels very natural,” he added with a gentle rub of his thumb.
“Check the boobs,” Trina invited from behind Eve. “They’re the latest temps. Can’t tell them from Godmade. Go ahead. Take a squeeze.”
“Well, if you insist.” Ignoring Eve’s growl of warning, he cupped the breasts. “You feel very . . . healthy.”
“They come off the minute I take him down. So don’t get any sick ideas.”
“They taste real, too,” Trina assured him.
Roarke’s eyebrow arched. “Really?”
“Don’t even think about it.” She slapped his hands away. “Give me the verdict. Will he buy it?”
“Hook and line, Lieutenant. You might want to adjust your gait a bit. Saunter rather than stride.”
“Saunter. Check.”
“And try not to look at him as though you already had him in Interview. You’re going to a picnic in the park. Try to remember what that’s like.”
“I’ve never had a picnic in the park.”
He skimmed a finger down her chin, just where the dent would be. “We’ll have to fix that. Soon.”
She rode to the north end of the park in the surveillance vehicle, leaning over Feeney’s shoulder as he did the checks.
“Running sweeps. Baxter.”
The first of Feeney’s screens showed a fountain fed by a leaping dolphin. She could hear the tinkle of water against water, snatches of conversations as people strolled, and Baxter’s whiny plea for contributions. The screen jumped slightly as he circled.
“Doing your gimp routine, Baxter?” Eve demanded.
“Roger that,” he replied.
“Just remember, whatever you take in from the suckers goes in the Greenpeace fund.”
As Feeney moved from man to man, she gauged the situation. As she’d predicted, the park was a popular place on a bright June afternoon. She watched a trio of teachers herding a school group like woolly sheep through the botanical gardens.
“Possible sighting.” Peabody’s voice came over the speakers. “Male, Caucasian, shoulder-length black hair, wearing tan trousers, light blue shirt. Carrying