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“McNab’s a moron the majority of the time, but he’s in love with you.”

“Dallas!” Peabody shifted in her seat so sharply her cap tipped over one eye. “You said the ‘L’ word and ‘McNab’ in the same sentence. Voluntarily.”

“Just shut up.”

“Happy to.” With a happy smile, she squared her cap. “I’m just going to savor in silence.”

They walked three houses down to a three-story home that Eve imagined had once been a multifamily dwelling. Writing about killers was obviously profitable if Breen could afford something this up-market.

She went up a short flight of flagstoned steps to the main entrance, noted the full security system that must have made the man confident enough to keep the etched glass panes on either side of the front door.

There was a wife as well, she knew from her quick background check, and a two-year-old boy. Breen collected partial professional father pay from the government as primary at-home parent while his wife earned a substantial salary as a VP and managing editor of a fashion rag called Outre.

A nice, tidy setup, Eve mused, as she rang the bell and held up her badge for scan.

Breen answered the door himself with his son sitting astride his shoulders. The boy was holding on to Breen’s blond hair like the reins on a horse.

“Go, ride!” the boy shouted and kicked his feet.

“Only this far, partner.” Breen hooked his hands around the boy’s ankles, either to anchor him, Eve thought, or to stop the busy little heels from digging holes in his armpits. “Lieutenant Dallas?”

“That’s right. I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me, Mr. Breen.”

“No problem. Always happy to talk to the cops, and I’ve followed your work. I’m hoping to do a book on New York murders eventually, and figure you’ll be one of my prime sources.”

“You’ll have to talk to public relations at Central about that. Can we come in?”

“Oh yeah, sure. Sorry.”

He stepped back. He was in his thirties, of strong, medium build. From the definition in his arms, Eve doubted he sat at a computer all day. He had a good face, handsome without being soft.

“Blaster!” the boy called out as he spotted Eve’s weapon under her jacket. “Zappit!”

Breen laughed, flipped the child off his shoulders in a rapid and smooth move that had the kid squealing in delight. “Jed here’s a little bloodthirsty. Runs in the family. I’m just going to set him up with the droid, then we can talk.”

“No droid!” The kid’s face went from angelic to mutinous in a heartbeat. “Stay with Daddy!”

“Just for a little while, champ; then we’ll go out to the park.” He tickled the boy into giggles as he charged up the steps with him.

“Nice to see a guy handle a kid that way, and enjoy it,” Peabody commented.

“Yeah. Wonder what a guy, a successful guy, thinks about pulling in a professional father stipend, dealing with an offspring, while the mother’s being a busy exec at a major firm every day. Some guys would resent that. Some might think the little lady’s pushy, domineering. Maybe his mother was the same—Breen’s mother is a neurologist and his father went the professional parent route. You know,” Eve added, looking up the stairs, “some guys would build up a nasty little resentment of women over that kind of setup.”

“That’s really sexist.”

“Yeah, it is. Some people are.”

Peabody frowned up the steps. “It’s some brain that could take a nice, homey scene like we just witnessed and turn it on its head into a motive for murder.”

“Just one of my natural-born talents, Peabody.”

Chapter 9

Breen set them up in a roomy office just off the kitchen. Two large windows faced the rear, where they could see a kind of tidy patio skirted by a low wall. Behind the wall were leafy trees. With the view, they might have been in some quiet suburb rather than the city.

Someone had put pots of flowers on the patio, along with a couple of loungers. There was a small table shaded by a jaunty blue-and-white striped umbrella.

A couple of big plastic trucks lay on their sides,