“You taking those people to jail?”

“The uniforms are taking them. They don’t need the top bitch cop to turn the key,” she said, anticipating him. “Where are your digs, Tiko?”

He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t think I got digs?”

“If you’ve got them, tell me where so I can take you.”

“Round the corner. Apartment on the third floor, above the Greek place. Told you this was my yard.”

“Yeah, you did. Break it down. Let’s go.”

He wasn’t happy about it, she could see, but he did it. “Cost me five easy, quitting this early when I took off to go down and get you.”

“I bought you a fizzy.”

Because his stony stare appealed to her, she dug out some credits. Counted fifty. “That’s ten percent of the five you say you lost. I figure it covers your time and your transportation.”

“Solid.” The credits disappeared into one of several pockets. “You stun any of those people in there?”

“No.” What the hell, Eve thought. She could add some juice to the fifty. “But the woman screamed like a girl and tried to run. I told her to drop, or I’d stun her.”

“Would ya?”

“Damn right. They’d stolen from a lot of people, and they were making dupe cards in the back. Looks like they were lifting IDs, too.”

He shook his head in disgust. “Stealing’s lazy.”

Intrigued, she looked down at him. “Is it?”

“Shit, yeah. Any lazy dumbass can steal. Takes brains and some juice to make money. We up here.” He opened a door next to a tiny gyro place. The closet-sized lobby held an elevator. On it the Out of Order sign looked about a decade old. Eve climbed the stairs with the boy. The place smelled like onions and garlic, not entirely unpleasant. The walls were dingy, the steps stained and steep.

She imagined him climbing up and down them every day, hauling his case. Yeah, it took some juice.

On the third floor, he dug out a set of keys from one of his pockets, unlatched three locks. “You can come in if you want to meet my granny.”

Something was cooking. Eve caught the tomatoey scent when she stepped into the tiny room, which was sparse and lace-curtain tidy.

“That my boy?” someone called through a narrow doorway.

“Yes, ma’am, Granny. I got somebody with me.”

“Who you got?” The woman who stepped out of the doorway held a short-handled wooden spoon. Her hair was a white ball of fluff over a face mapped with wrinkles. But her eyes beamed that same vivid green as the boy’s. She wore a baggy brown sweater and pants over her thin frame.

Fear came into those eyes, and knowledge with it. She might as well have shouted Cop! and thrown her hands in the air like the counterman.

“There’s no trouble here,” Eve said.

“This is my granny. Granny, this is Loo-tenit Dallas. She’s the top…She’s a police.”

“He’s a good boy.” The woman held out a hand so Tiko hurried to her, and she held him tight against her side.

“He’s not in trouble.”

“We got them, Granny, that’s what we did. We got them good.”

“Who? What’s this about?”

Tiko tugged at her hand. “’Member how I told you I seen those suspicious characters? You said how they was likely stealing hand over fist. And they were. I went down and told Dallas, and I took her where they were, and she went on over there and arrested them good. Ain’t that the way?”

“Isn’t that the way,” his grandmother corrected absently.

“Tiko alerted me to suspicious activity, and assisted the NYPSD in identifying a front for street theft and identity fraud.”

“Oh, my sweet Lord.”

“Mrs…”

“I’m so sorry. I’m so flustered, I can’t hardly feel my head on my shoulders. I’m Abigail Johnson.”

“Mrs. Johnson, you have a very interesting grandson, and one who went above and beyond what most people would. A lot of people owe him for it.” She took out a card, searched her pockets until she came up with a pencil stub. “This is my contact information. There’s a reward.”

“I get a reward? Over my time and transpo?”

“A good deed is its own reward,” Abigail told him.

“Yes, ma’am, that’s true. However, the NYPSD would like to express its appreciation for good citizenship, and it has a program for just that. If you’ll contact the person I’ve listed on the back of my card, they’ll arrange it.” She handed the card to Abigail, held out a hand to Tiko. “Nice job, kid.”

“Back at cha. Sorry about the mouse.”

“Not the first, won’t be the last.”

“Tiko, go ahead and wash up for supper now. Say good-bye to Lieutenant Dallas.”

“See you around. You come on back to my yard, I’ll make you a good deal.” When he dashed off, Abigail drew a slow breath.

“I homeschool him two hours every evening, seven days a week. We go to church every Sunday. I make sure he’s got clothes and good food. I-”

“There’s no trouble here, Mrs. Johnson. If you have any, you contact me.”

Eve jogged down the stairs, and back out into the cold. A good deed might be its own reward, she thought as she pressed a hand to her aching cheek. But she could sure as hell use an icebag with hers.

EVE WALKED INTO THE HOUSE PREPARED FOR her daily snarkfest with Summerset, who would no doubt have something withering to say about the black eye she was brewing.

And he wasn’t there.

She stood for a moment in the empty foyer almost expecting him to materialize like smoke. Puzzled, she poked her head in the front parlor. Fresh flowers, nicely simmering fire-but no Bony Ass. Mild concern jabbed its way through the puzzlement. Maybe he’d caught something like what Feeney had-and there was no possible way she was playing nurse for the resident ghoul.

Still, if he was lying unconscious somewhere in a pool of fever sweat…Roarke would just have to get his ass home and deal with it.

She started to turn to the house comp to run a search for him, then the top cop bitch jumped like a rabbit when Summerset’s disembodied voice floated into the room.

“As I assume you might have some interest in your partner, you should be aware that Detective Peabody’s appearance on Now begins in approximately four minutes.”

“Fuck.” Eve breathed out the word, scowled at the intercom. “I know what time it is.” Or she did now. Annoyed, she started up the stairs, and his voice followed her.

“You’ll find cold bags in the top, far right drawer of your office kitchen.”

She hunched her shoulders-oh, she heard the smug satisfaction-and kept going. In her office she dumped the file bag on her desk, ordered the proper channel on screen. And because her cheek throbbed like a bitch in heat, retrieved and activated the stupid cold bag. With the blessed chill pressed against her face, she booted up her computer. Might as well deal with the next irritation on her list, she thought, and write up her report on the Times Square bust.

She’d barely begun when Now’s theme music boomed on. With half an ear, she listened to Nadine’s intro, spared a glance at the screen where the reporter’s cat’s eyes stared soberly back at her. Polished and powerful was the image, Eve supposed, with the streaky blonde hair, subtle jewelry, the good legs highlighted in a sleek copper suit. Of course, most of the viewing audience hadn’t seen Nadine dance half naked at a sex club after a pitcher of zombies.

She introduced Peabody as the dedicated, decorated police officer, and cited some of the more media-worthy cases she’d helped close. When the camera panned over to her partner, Eve pursed her lips.

Trina hadn’t gone freaky on her hair and face, Eve noted. She looked young, but not soft, so that was good. The suit, with its military cut, probably worked. And if you didn’t know her, you wouldn’t notice the utter terror in Peabody’s eyes.

“Don’t screw up,” Eve muttered.

Nadine led her in, softballing a few, and Eve could see Peabody begin to relax. Not too relaxed, Eve thought. She’s not your friend when you’re on air. Nobody’s your friend when you’re on air.