struggled not to grind her teeth. “Lieutenant Dallas. Look at the badge, Ms. Prinze. You can scan it.”
“I don’t think I know how to do that. This whole security thingy is so complicated.”
Since she had some sympathy for technology fumblers, Eve dug for patience. “Okay. Do you know Brent—the doorman?”
“Oh, sure. He’s just a sweetheart.”
“You can call down, verify with him. I can wait.”
“Oh, well, shoot, that’s okay.” Locks clicked and snicked before the doors opened to frame a serious bombshell.
She couldn’t have been more than twenty-one or twenty-two. Curvy as a country road, she stood maybe five-two in her bare feet with their glittery red toes. Each big toe sported a painted snowflake in bright white.
She wore what Eve supposed would be called a peignoir—white as the snowflakes—a duet of a long silky gown, cut low on very healthy breasts, and an unbelted robe with fluffy white feathers decking the collar.
She had a heart-shaped face, all rose and cream, with a deeply bowed mouth—accented with a tiny beauty mark at the corner. Sleepy eyes in china-doll blue smiled out of a thick fringe of dark lashes.
“I’m not supposed to let just anybody in, you know? But since you’re the police . . . OH! I just love your coat. It’s so totally mag! I couldn’t carry it, but—OH! Is it real leather?”
Before Eve could respond or evade, Felicity reached out to stroke the sleeve. “OH! It is! It’s just gooshy-smooshy. I love real leather, don’t you? I wonder if they make it in red. I love red, and I could have it cut down to knee-length maybe. Where’d you get it?”
“It was a gift.”
The china-doll eyes sparkled. “I just love gifts, don’t you?”
“Can I come in and speak with you, Ms. Prinze?”
“Oh, sure, sorry. You can call me Felicity. I’m sort of thinking of dropping the last name—professionally, you know? It’s more fun, and sexier. Just one name. You know, like Roarke.”
“Huh” was the best Eve could think of.
“You know: Roarke. The abso-ult rich guy. And completely iced. He actually owns this building. I would die to meet him, wouldn’t you?”
“Well.” She decided it was best not to mention she’d just recently banged said abso-ult iced Roarke into a mutual puddle.
“Hey, sorry! You maybe want some coffee? I have a stash of real. Police probably don’t get real very much. I have a friend whose brother is a policeman back in Shipshewana. He’s a sweetheart, but they sure don’t make much money.”
“What ship?”
“Shipshewana,” Felicity said with a bubbly giggle. “Indiana. That’s where I’m from, but I’ve been in New York almost a whole year now. I just got up, so I could sure use some coffee. I’ll get us some, okay?”
“Great.”
It gave Eve a chance to think. She watched Felicity walk away—who knew an ass could move in so many directions—then took stock.
As love nests went, Eve considered it upscale. A good-sized living area with a stellar view of the river through a wall of glass. The holiday tree stood front and center, rising from floor to ceiling, topped by a white angel and covered with red and gold balls.
She suspected Copley had let Felicity have her way with the decor as it ran to bright and fussy, feathers and beads. Like a cheerful bordello, Eve decided, all plush and girlie.
She wandered, noted the dining alcove—large enough for dinner parties with a red lacquer table holding a center Santa easily three feet tall.
She moved quietly, took a quick scan of a powder room—red accents, fussy soaps, frilly towels—a room with a ballet bar, a keyboard, a wall screen, rolled yoga mats, a glass-fronted friggie stocked with bottled water. One wall held a screen, another was completely mirrored.
She took a quick glance in the master bedroom—golds and reds, more feathers and beads, a huge mirrored bed, a bureau topped with a half dozen fancy perfume bottles, a masculine chest of drawers. A chaise piled with stuffed animals and dolls.
Gauging the time, Eve slipped back into the living area just before Felicity came out carrying a red tray holding two flowery cups with a matching creamer and sugar bowl.
“I didn’t ask how you take your coffee.”
“Just black’s good.”
“Ugh! I like lots of cream and sugar.” She set the tray on a low table, sat. When she leaned over to doctor her coffee—and she did mean “lots”—Eve expected the impressive breasts to tumble right out of the peignoir.
“So.” Felicity sat back, holding her cup with her pinkie curled out. “Are you all