Some might have called Ian McNab's ramshackle apartment on the Lower West Side an alternate universe. It was a guy's space, badly decorated, heavy on the sports memorabilia, and scattered with dirty dishes.

While he did, occasionally, think to stuff some of the worst of the debris in some dusty closet when female company was expected, it was a long way from the sumptuous space of Roarke's home, and it smelled a great deal like overcooked veggie hash. But it worked for him.

At the moment, with his heart stuttering and his skin slick from sex, it worked just fine.

"Jesus, Peabody." He flopped over on his back, much like a landed trout. He didn't bother to gasp for air. He had a lush, naked woman in his bed. He could die a happy man. "We had to break a record that time. We ought to be writing this down."

She lay where she was, stunned as she always was when she found herself in this situation with Ian McNab. "I can't feel my feet."

Obligingly he propped himself on his elbow, but as they'd ended up crosswise on the bed, he couldn't see past her knees. She had, he noted, really cute knees. "I don't think I bit them off. I'd remember." But with a grunt, he scooted down, just to be sure. "They're there, all right, both of them."

"Good. I'm going to need them later."

As the shock wore off, she blinked, stared at McNab's pretty profile, and wondered, not for the first time, when she'd lost her mind.

I'm naked in bed with McNab. Naked. In bed. McNab.

Jesus.

Always self-conscious about body flaws, she tugged at the knotted sheets. "Cold in here," she muttered.

"Bastard super cut the main furnace back first of March. Like it's his money. First chance I get, I'm rerouting the system."

He yawned hugely, dragged both hands through his long and tangled blond hair. His narrow shoulders seemed weighed down by the mass of it. Peabody had to order her fingers not to reach up to play with the long loops of reddish gold. He had skinny hips, with the right one currently decorated with a temp tattoo of a silver lightning bolt. It matched the four earrings winking in his left earlobe.

His skin was milk white, his eyes a cagey green. She still couldn't figure out why anything about him attracted her on a physical level, much less how she'd ended up having regular and outrageous sex with him when out of bed they spent most of their time annoying each other.

She'd liked to have said he wasn't her type, but she didn't think she actually had a type. Her luck with men was usually, distressingly, piss-poor.

"I'd better get going."

"Why? It's early." When she sat up, he leaned over and nipped suggestively at her shoulder. "I'm starving."

"Christ, McNab, we just finished having sex."

"That, too, but I was thinking more of pizza, loaded." He knew her weaknesses. "Let's fuel up."

Her taste buds stirred to attention. "I'm dieting."

"What for?"

She rolled her eyes, yanking the rumpled sheet around her as she climbed out of bed. "Because I'm pudgy."

"No, you're not. You're built." He caught the edge of the sheet, surprising her with his quickness, and pulled it down to her waist. "Seriously built."

As she fumbled for the sheet, he sprang up, caught her around the waist with an affectionate squeeze that both disarmed and worried her. "Come on, let's eat, then see what happens next. I've got some wine around here."

"If it's anything like the wine you had last time, I'd as soon dip a cup in the sewer."

"New bottle." He picked his bright orange jumpsuit off the floor, stepped into it. "You want some pants?"

The fact that he would offer her his pants made her want to pinch all four of his cheeks. "McNab, I couldn't have squeezed into your pants when I was twelve. I actually have an ass."

"True. That's okay; I love a woman in uniform." He strolled off, struggling not to brood. He always had to talk her into staying.

In the corner of the living area that doubled for his kitchen, he pulled out the bottle of wine he'd bought the day before when he'd been thinking of her. He thought about her just often enough to be demoralized. If he could keep her in bed, they'd be fine. He didn't have to think about his moves there, they just happened.

He flipped on his 'link. The pizza joint was keyed in on memory, in the primo position due to frequency of transmissions. He ordered a mongo pie, loaded, then dug out a corkscrew.

The damn wine had cost him twice what he usually spent. But when a guy was competing with a slick, experienced LC, he needed to hold his own. He didn't doubt Charles Monroe knew all about fine wines. He and Peabody probably took baths in champagne.

Since the image infuriated him, he glugged down half a glass of wine. Then he turned as Peabody came out of the bedroom. She was wearing her uniform pants with her shirt open at the throat. He wanted to lick her there, just there where the stiff cotton gave way to soft flesh.

Goddamn it.

"What's the matter?" She asked, noticing the scowl on his face. "They run out of pepperoni?"

"No, it's coming." He held out her glass of wine. "I was thinking… about work."

"Mmm." She sipped the wine, pursed her lips at its smooth and subtle fruity taste. "This is pretty good. You're running backgrounds on the Draco case, right?"

"Already done. Dallas should have them by now."

"Quick work."

He answered with a shrug. He didn't have to tell her Roarke had dropped the data in his lap. "We in EDD aim to please. Even after eliminations and probability scans, it's going to take days to shift the list down to a workable number. Guy gets his heart jabbed in front of a couple thousand people, it's complicated."

"Yeah." Peabody sipped again, then wandered off to drop into a chair. Without being aware of it on a conscious level, she was as comfortable in McNab's mess of an apartment as she was in her own tidy one. "Something's going on."

"Something's always going on."

"No, not the usual." She struggled with herself, brooded into her wine. If she didn't talk to someone, she'd explode. And hell, he was here. "Look, this is confidential."

"Okay." Since the pizza wouldn't arrive for a good ten minutes more, McNab snagged an open bag of soy chips. He settled on the arm of Peabody 's chair. "What's the deal?"

"I don't know. Nadine Furst tagged the lieutenant today, and she was razzed. Nadine, I mean." Absently, Peabody reached into the bag. "You don't see Nadine razzed very often. She makes a meet with Dallas – a personal meet. It was serious. They stashed me across the room, but I could tell. And after, Dallas didn't say a word about it."

"Maybe it was just personal shit."

"No, Nadine's not going to ask for a meet like that unless there's trouble." Nadine was her friend, too, and part of Peabody was bruised that she'd been brushed aside. "I think it ties to the case. Dallas should've told me." Peabody crunched on chips. "She should trust me."

"Want me to poke around?"

"I can do my own poking. I don't need an E Division hotshot running plays for me."

"Suit yourself, She-Body."

"Just lay off. I don't even know why I told you. It's just sitting in my gut. Nadine's a friend. She's supposed to be a friend."

"You're jealous."

"Bullshit."

"Yeah, you are." He was beginning to have an intimate relationship with the feeling. "Dallas and Nadine are playing without you, so you're jealous. Girl Dynamics one oh one."

She shoved him off the arm of the chair. "You're an asshole."

"And there," he said as his security bell rang, "is the pizza."