The In Death Collection Books 6-10 - J. D. Robb [184]
“You’re going to stick her like a worm on a line and drop her into the pool? Goddamn it, Dallas. She’s not trained for undercover.”
“Mind your own business,” Peabody snapped as she lunged to her feet. “I know how to handle myself.”
“You don’t know squat about undercover.” McNab strode forward, turning on his heel so that they were nose to nose. “You’re a goddamn aide, a button pusher, next up from a droid.”
Eve saw the intent flash in Peabody’s eyes and managed to shove between them before her aide’s fist plowed into McNab’s nose. “That’s enough. Your opinion is noted, McNab, now shut up.”
“The son of a bitch isn’t going to stand there and call me a droid and get away with it.”
“Suck it in, Peabody,” Eve warned, “and sit down. Both of you sit the hell down and try to remember who’s in charge before I put the pair of you on report. The last thing I need on this case is a couple of hotheads. If you can’t maintain, you’re off.”
“We don’t need Detective Data Bank,” Peabody muttered.
“We need what I say we need. And we need inside information and bait. Bait,” she added, shifting her eyes from face to face, “of both sexes. You up for it, McNab?”
“Wait a minute. Wait.” Peabody was out of her chair again, as rattled as Eve had ever seen her. “You want him to go under, too? With me?”
“Yeah, I’m up for it.” McNab smiled thinly at Peabody as he agreed. It would be the perfect way to keep an eye on her—and keep her out of trouble.
“This is going to be mag!” Mavis Freestone danced around Eve’s home office in thigh-high boots. The material was clear and snug, molding her legs and showing them off while she balanced on their three-inch glittery red heels. The heels matched the slither dress that barely met the top of the boots.
Her hair was the exact same glittery Christmas red and fell in Medusa-like coils to her shoulders. She had a tiny heart tattoo under the peak of her left eyebrow.
“You’re on the departmental payroll.” Eve knew the reminder that this was official business was wasted. But she felt obliged to get it in as Mavis beamed at Peabody out of newly toned grass-green eyes.
“Pays shit.” This was from Trina. The beauty consultant circled Peabody as a sculpture might with a flawed piece of marble—with interest, caution, and faint derision.
Trina was wearing eyebrow rings today, a fact that made Eve wince when she looked at the tiny gold hoops pinned to the outer line. Her hair, a deep plum purple, was slicked up in a foot-high cone. Her choice of outfit was a somewhat conservative black jumpsuit with the holiday touch of naked Santas dancing over each breast.
And this, Eve thought as she pressed her fingers to her eyes, this was the pair she’d convinced Whitney to budget into the case account.
“I want to keep it simple,” she told them. “I just don’t want her to look like a cop.”
“What do you think, Trina?” Mavis leaned over Peabody’s shoulder, pulling at her own curls so they lay over Peabody’s cheeks. “This color’d rock on her. Festive, right? Holiday time. And wait till you see the wardrobe I got Leonardo to lend us.” She bounced back, grinning. “There’s this peekaboo skinsuit that’s really you, Peabody.”
“Skinsuit.” Peabody paled, thinking of bulges. “Lieutenant.”
“Simple,” Eve said again, ready to desert her aide.
“What do you use on your skin?” Trina demanded, taking a firm hold of Peabody’s chin. “Sandpaper?”
“Um—”
“You got pores like moon craters here, girlfriend. You need a full facial treatment. I’m starting with a peeler.”
“Oh God.” Panicked, Peabody tried to jerk her chin free. “Listen—”
“Are those tits yours or enhanced?”
“Mine.” Instantly, Peabody crossed her arms over her chest and grabbed her own breasts before Trina could. “They’re mine. I’m really happy with them.”
“They’re good tits. Okay, strip. Let’s have a look at them, and the rest of you.”
“Strip?” Peabody swiveled her head until her terrified eyes latched onto Eve’s. “Dallas, Lieutenant. Sir?”
“You said you could handle undercover, Peabody.” After one sympathetic shudder, Eve turned