When she came back into the bedroom, he’d switched to the morning news. She headed straight for the coffee.

“You didn’t rest well,” he said with a long look at her face.

“Case is bugging me.”

“Wish I could’ve been more help.”

She shrugged, carried the coffee to the closet. “Maybe something will loosen up today.”

“There’s a change of clothes in the bag there, for your spot tonight with Nadine.”

She frowned at the hanging bag. “Why do I need to change?”

“Consider it a precaution in the event you have a normal day and end up with blood on you, or tear your pants while tackling a suspect after a mad foot chase.”

“The way things are going, I’ll spend most of today buried in paperwork and getting nowhere.”

“In that unhappy event-no, not that jacket.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Though she scowled in irritation, a part of her was so happy with his comment-the normalcy of it-she wanted to grin like an idiot.

“It’s not particularly screen-friendly.”

“Neither am I.”

“True enough. However…” He rose, wandered to her closet.

“I don’t need you to pick out my clothes.”

“Oh, darling Eve, you so absolutely do.” He pulled out a jacket in bronze tones she swore she’d never seen before, paired it with deep brown trousers, a cream-colored turtleneck.

“Be wild and crazy,” he added as he draped the pieces over the back of the sofa. “Wear some earrings. Small gold hoops, perhaps.”

When she started to snarl, he caught her face in his hands and kissed her-long, slow, and deep. “I love that mouth,” he murmured, “especially when it’s about to be sarcastic. How do you feel about bacon and eggs?”

“More enthusiastic than I feel about small gold hoops hanging from my earlobes.”

But she found a pair, dressed, pleased that he’d poked at her about her clothes.

And just as she was about to sit down with him, as the cat leaped on the arm of the sofa to eye the bacon, Roarke’s pocket ’link beeped.

She knew the minute he pulled it out to check the display. “Take it,” Eve said, even as he started to slide the ’link back in his pocket. “I guess she’s an early riser.”

“I switched her to voice mail. Let’s eat before this gets cold.”

“Take it,” Eve repeated. “ Peabody ’ll be here any minute anyway. I’ll see you later.”

“Damn it, Eve.”

“Later,” she said again, and kept walking.

“NICE THREADS,” PEABODY COMMENTED, COMING in as Eve was coming down. “Roarke, right?”

“Who else? Since obviously if left to my own devices I’d commit such fashion felonies as would frighten small children and embarrass multitudes.”

“Misdemeanors, anyway. We’re not going up to your office? Your AutoChef?”

“No.” Eve yanked on her coat as Summerset stood silently by. “Everybody’s getting a goddamn early start today. My vehicle better be where I left it,” she snapped at him. “Or I’m getting it myself, dragging you out, and running you over with it.”

“What you call a vehicle is outside, currently embarrassing the house.”

“ Peabody.” Eve gestured for the door. Eve waited until Peabody went outside. “I want to know if she comes here. I want to know if she comes into this house. You got that?”

“Yes.”

She marched out into the cold, hatless, gloveless, then slid behind the wheel. “First address.”

Peabody gave it to her, then cleared her throat. “Rough night?”

“Life’s full of rough nights.”

“Look, if you want to talk about it or just spew, that’s what partners are for.”

“There’s a woman.”

“No possible way.”

It was said so quickly, and with such easy confidence, Eve would have been comforted under any other circumstances. “There’s a woman,” she repeated. “One he used to be involved with a long time ago. Seriously involved. She’s back, and she’s making moves. He doesn’t see them as moves. He doesn’t see what she is under the gloss. We’ve got a problem.”

“You’re sure-” It only took one look from Eve for Peabody to blow out a breath. “Okay, you’re sure. First I’m going to say he wouldn’t twist on you, not with anyone. But having some bitch put moves on him is a steamer. You want to go have a talk with her, put a little muscle into it. We can tune her up, put her ass on a shuttle for Siberia.”

“Sounds good.” She stopped at a light, scrubbed her hands over her face. “Can’t do it, can’t touch her, can’t beat her to death with a hammer and bury her in White Plains.”

“ Bloomfield would be better than White Plains anyway.”

It got a weak laugh. “I don’t know how to do this, how hard to push him, how far to stand back. I don’t know the steps and strategy. I think I’ve already screwed up.”

“ Dallas? I think you should tell him this hurts you.”

“I’ve never had to tell him something like that before. He sees stuff in me before I have to.” She shook her head. “It’s fucking me up. It’s fucking us up. And I’ve got to put it away and do my job.”

She ran down her conversation with Lissette Foster, and the deletion of the key ingredient in the contents of the go-cup.

“So it indicates that the poison was added to the drink prior to coming into the school, and most likely in a dupe vessel.”

“Well…” Peabody juggled it in her head. “Poison’s a method females opt for more often than males.”

“Statistically, yeah.”

“According to Lissette, Mirri Hallywell knew about the key ingredient. What if, knowing we’d cop to the recipe, she deliberately left it out. Lissette would end up being her alibi.”

“Convoluted,” Eve mused. “But not impossible.”

“Or Lissette could have left it out deliberately, same reason. And yeah,” Peabody said before Eve could comment, “it doesn’t bounce very well.”

“If you don’t toss the ball, it never bounces. We’ll keep the possibilities in the mix.”

Eve angled toward the curb, and when she got out it did her spirits good to see the disdain in the doorman’s eagle eyes.

“Can’t leave that heap there, lady.”

“Hey, you know how many sexual favors my partner here had to promise to score that ride?”

“You were supposed to perform them,” Peabody reminded her.

“Maybe I’ll get around to that. Meanwhile…” She pulled out her badge. “You’re going to watch over that heap like it was an XR-5000, fresh off the showroom floor. And you’re going to buzz up and tell-Who are we seeing here, Peabody?”

“The Fergusons.”

“You’re going to tell the Fergusons that we’ve come to chat.”

“Mr. Ferguson’s already left the building this morning. Breakfast meeting. Mrs. Ferguson’s still inside.”

“Then get hopping.”

He looked none too pleased, but rang the apartment and cleared them inside.

Into chaos.

Eileen Ferguson had a child of indeterminate age on her hip. He had some sort of pink goo circling his mouth and was wearing footed pajamas decorated with grinning dinosaurs.

Eve figured if dinosaurs grinned it was because dinner was about to be served. So why did adults decorate their offspring with carnivores? She’d never get it.

In the background came screams and barks and whoops that may have been glee or terror. Eileen herself wore a rust-colored sweater, loose black pants, and fuzzy slippers the color of cotton candy. Her brown hair was slicked back in a long tail and her eyes, a quiet hazel, seemed eerily calm given the noise level.

Eve wondered if she’d toked before answering the door.

“This must be about Craig Foster. Come in at your own risk.” She stepped back. “Martin Edward Ferguson, Dillon Wyatt Hadley.” She didn’t shout, but her voice, perfectly pleasant, carried. “Settle down right now, or I’ll dismantle that dog and shove the parts into the recycler. Sorry, coffee?” she said to Eve and Peabody.

“Ah, no.”

“Dog’s a droid-terrier mix. I had a moment of complete insanity and bought it for Martin for his birthday. And now, we pay the price.”