Born in Death by Nora Roberts & J. D. Robb

Author:Nora Roberts & J. D. Robb
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Fiction:Detective
ISBN: 9781594132254
Publisher: Christian Large Print
Published: 2007-06-15T20:43:32+00:00

13

AT CENTRAL, SHE SPLIT OFF FROM ROARKE, asking him to go straight to Homicide and wait for her in her office while she arrowed off to MPU.

“I may need to offer whoever I deal with on this an incentive,” she told him.

He cocked his head and those wonderful lips curved in an easy smile. “You mean a bribe.”

“Bribe’s such a strong word. Yeah, I may need a bribe. Sports or booze, probably. Those are the usual hot tickets. I’ll keep it within reason.”

“Bribing cops not to do work is a time-honored tradition.”

“Hey.”

He laughed. “Do what you need to do, Lieutenant. I’ll be in your office.”

She didn’t know who might have caught weekend duty, or who might be at a desk, but she hoped it was someone she had at least a passing and cordial relationship with.

Otherwise, she’d have to start from scratch with whoever had the weekend command—and if things got sticky, and anincentive didn’t make the cut, she’d go straight to Whitney. But that was something she hoped to avoid.

She figured she lucked out when she spotted Lieutenant Jaye Smith grabbing what looked like an energy bar at Vending.

“Smith.”

“Hey, Dallas. Caught a Saturday tour, too?”

“Not exactly.” Eve dug credits out of her pocket. “Grab me a tube of Pepsi, will you?”

“Sure. It’s on me.”

“Thanks.”

“Great coat. Hell for leather, huh?”

“You could say. Thanks,” Eve repeated when Smith offered the tube. “You got a minute for me?”

“Sure. Want the lounge or the office?”

“Let’s take your office.”

“Business, then.” With a nod, Smith led the way.

She was near fifty, Eve remembered, and had better than a quarter century on the job. Married with a kid, maybe two. She was on the short side, about five-three with a boxer’s kind of build. Tough and muscular. Her hair was many shades of blonde, and worn straight with shaggy ends that swung past her jaw.

She wore her weapon as a sidearm at the hip, low, with a navy sweater over it.

Eve knew her to be a solid cop, so tucked away the idea of waving sports or booze into the mix. With Smith, she could be direct, and put it all straight up.

Lieutenant Smith’s office was bigger than Eve’s—but most were—and boasted what appeared to be two reasonably comfortable visitor chairs as well as a brushed steel desk that looked new.

On it were the standard d-and-c unit, stacks of files, and a framed picture of a couple of teenagers—one of each kind—who Eve took to be Smith’s kids.

From her office AutoChef, Smith got herself a mug of tea so dark it looked like coffee, then gestured to a chair. Instead of taking the desk, Smith settled into the other visitor’s seat.

“So, what’s up? Lose somebody?”

“Somebody looks to be lost. And I need you to do me a solid on it.”

“You want me to shuffle a MP to the top of the pile for you, I can do that.” Rising, she opened a desk drawer. She was reaching for a recorder and a note pad when Eve shook her head.

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