Immortal in Death (22 page)

“It’s going to take a little time yet, Mavis.” Eve stopped, felt her heart drop at the flickers of panic in Mavis’s eyes, worked up a smile. “Yeah, it’s all going to be over. Pizza, huh? I could use some.”

“Great. Mag. I’m going to find Summerset and tell him we’re ready for it. Take Dallas up and show her, okay?” She darted out.

“It really lifted her,” Leonardo said quietly. “That news report. She needed a lift. The Blue Squirrel let her go.”

“Let her go?”

“Bastards,” Trina muttered around a canape.

“Management decided it wasn’t in their best interest to have an accused murderer headlining. It shook her bad. I had the idea to take her mind off it this way. I’m sorry, I should have cleared it with you first.”

“No, it’s fine.” Eve took another sip of wine and braced herself. “Let’s go do me then.”

It wasn’t so bad, Eve decided. Not when compared to the riots of the Urban Wars, the torture chambers of the Spanish Inquisition, a test ride on the XR-85 moon jet. And she was a cop, a ten-year vet, used to facing danger.

She was certain her eyes wheeled like a panicked horse’s when Trina tested her cropping sheers.

“Hey, maybe we could just — “

“Leave it to the experts,” Trina said. Eve nearly whimpered with relief when she set the shears down again. “Let’s see about this.”

She approached, unarmed, but Eve watched warily.

“I’ve got a hair consult program.” Leonardo looked up from the long table, covered with fabrics where he and Biff muttered together. “Full morphing capabilities.”

“I don’t need a stinking program.” To prove it, Trina caught Eve’s face in her firm, wide hands. Eyes narrowed, she began to move up then around Eve’s head, over the jaw, up the cheekbones. “Decent bone structure,” she approved. “Who do you use?”

“For what?”

“Face sculpting.”

“God.”

Trina paused, snickered, then let out an ear-blasting laugh, the tone of a rusted tuba. “I like your cop, Mavis.”

“She’s the best,” Mavis said drunkenly. She perched on a nearby stool, studying herself in the triple mirrors. “Maybe you could do me, too, Trina. The lawyers suggested I go for a more sedate look. You know, brunette or something.”

“Fuck that.” Trina pressed her thumbs under Eve’s jaw to lift it. “I’ve got some new shit that’ll blast any judge out of his robe, cutie. Bordello pink with silver tipping. Just on the market.”

“Oh yeah.” Mavis flipped her sapphire locks back and considered.

“What I could do for you with a little highlighting.”

Eve’s blood ran cold. “Just the cut, right? We’re just snipping a little.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Trina pushed Eve’s head onto her chest. “This color a gift from God, too?” She chuckled to herself, yanked Eve’s head back, and dragged all the hair away from her face. “The eyes are good. The brows could use a little work, but we can fix that.”

“Give me some more wine, Mavis.” Eve shut the eyes that were good, and told herself whatever happened, it would grow back.

“Okay, wet down.” Trina whirled the chair and its reluctant occupant to a porta-sink, tipped it back until Eve’s neck was braced in the padded slot. “Close your eyes and enjoy, honey. I give the best shampoo and head massage in the business.”

There was something to be said for that. The wine or Trina’s clever fingers mellowed Eve’s mood toward some twilight world of relaxation. Dimly she heard Leonardo and Biff arguing over their preferences of crimson satin or scarlet silk for evening pajamas. The music Leonardo had programmed was something classical with sobbing piano arpeggios, and the scent of crushed flowers filled the air.

Why had Paul Redford told her about the Chinese box and the illegals? If he’d gone back for them himself, had them in his possession, why would he want their existence known?

Double bluff? A ploy? Maybe there had never been a box to begin with. Or he knew it was gone already so…

Eve didn’t stir until something cold and sticky was slapped on her face. Then she yelped.

“What the hell — “

“A Saturnia facial.” Trina glopped on more dun-colored goo. “Clear out your pores like a vacuum. It’s a crime to neglect your skin. Mavis, get out the Sheena, will you?”

“What’s the Sheena — never mind.” With one final shudder, Eve closed her eyes and surrendered. “I don’t want to know.”

“Might as well have the full treatment.” Trina slicked more mud under Eve’s jaw, quick fingers working up. “You’re tight, honey. Want me to plug in a nice VR program for you?”

“No, no. This is about as fanciful as I can handle, thanks.”

“Okay. Want to tell me about your man?” Briskly, Trina tugged open the robe Eve had been ordered to wear and clamped her mud coated hands on Eve’s breasts. When Eve’s eyes popped open, fired, she laughed. “Don’t you worry, I’m not into females. Your man’s going to love your tits when I’m done with them.”

“He likes them just fine now.”

“Yeah, but Saturnia’s breast smoother is top of the line. They’ll feel like rose petals. Take my word. Is he a nibbler or a sucker?”

Eve just closed her eyes again. “I’m not even here.”

“There you go.”

She heard water run, then Trina was back and rubbing something into her hair that smelled appealingly of vanilla.

People paid for this, Eve reminded herself. Huge amounts that put gaping holes in their credit accounts.

People were obviously insane. She kept her eyes stubbornly closed as something warm and wet was laid over her mud-covered breasts, her face. Conversations went on cheerfully around her. Mavis and Trina discussed various beauty aids, Leonardo and Biff consulted over line and color.

Very insane, Eve thought, then let out a groan as her feet were massaged. They were dipped in something hot and oddly pleasant. She heard the crackle of something, felt her feet being lifted, covered. Then her hands received the same treatment.

She tolerated it, tolerated even the quick buzz of something around her eyebrows. And felt heroic when she heard Mavis laugh easily and flirt with Leonardo.

She had to keep Mavis’s spirits up, she thought. It was as vital as every step in the investigation. It wasn’t enough to represent the dead.

She squeezed her eyes tighter when she heard the snip of Trina’s shears, felt the light tugs, the comb through. Hair was just hair, she told herself. Appearances didn’t matter.

Oh Jesus, don’t let her scalp me.

She forced her mind to focus on work, ran through questions she would ask Redford in the morning, considered his possible answers. It was likely she would be called to the commander’s office about the news leak. She would deal with that.

She needed a conference with both Feeney and Peabody. It was time to see if any of the data the three of them had dug up would dovetail. She’d go back to the club, have Crack turn her on to some of the regulars. Someone might have seen whoever had spooked Boomer that night. And if that same person had talked to Hetta —

She jerked when Trina adjusted the chair to recline and began to scrub off the mud. “She’ll be ready for you in five,” Trina told an impatient Leonardo. “I don’t rush my genius.” She grinned down at Eve. “You’ve got decent skin. I’m going to leave some samples with you. Use them, you’ll keep it decent.”

Mavis peered down and Eve began to feel like a patient on an operating table. “You did a wonderful job on the eyebrows, Trina. They look so natural. All she needs to do is dye her lashes. They don’t even need a lengthener. And don’t you think that dimple in her chin is mag?”

“Mavis,” Eve said wearily. “I don’t want to have to hit you.”

Mavis only grinned. “Pizza’s here. Have a bite.” She stuffed some in Eve’s mouth. “Wait till you see your skin, Dallas. It’s gorgeous.”

Eve only grunted. The hot cheese had seared the roof of her mouth, but it also stirred juices. She risked choking and took the rest of the slice while Trina bound up her hair in a silver turban.

“It’s thermal,” Trina told her as she shot the chair back up. “I’ve got a root and shaft penetrator on it”

Eve eyed the reflection. Maybe her skin did look dewy, and at a wary stroke of her fingers, it certainly felt smooth. But she couldn’t see even a single strand of hair. “I’ve got hair under there, right? My hair?”

“Sure you do. Okay, Leonardo. She’s yours for twenty minutes.”

“At last.” He beamed. “Take off the robe.”

“Oh, look — “

“Dallas, we’re all professionals. You have to try on the foundation for the wedding dress. It will certainly need a few adjustments.”

She’d already been felt up by a stylist, Eve decided. Why not stand naked in a roomful of people? She shrugged out of the robe.

Leonardo came at her with something white and sleek. Before she could do much more than squeak, he had it around her torso and snugged at her back. His big hands reached under the material, fussily adjusted her breasts. Bending down, he drew a swatch of material between her legs, secured it, stepped back.

“Ah.”

“Holy hell, Dallas. Roarke’s tongue’s going to land on his feet when he gets you down to that”

“What the hell is it?”

“A variation on the old Merry Widow.” With quick nips and tucks, Leonardo perfected the fit. “I call it a Curvaceous. Added a bit of lift under the breasts for you. Yours are quite nice, but this line adds more contour. Just a touch of lace, a few pearls. Nothing too ornate.” He turned her to face the mirror.

She looked sexy, curvy. Ripe, Eve realized with some amazement. The material had a faint gleam to it, as though it was damp. It nipped at her waist, molded her hips, and, she had to admit, lifted her bustline to new, fascinating heights.

“Well… I guess… for, you know, wedding nights.”

“For any nights,” Mavis said dreamily. “Oh, Leonardo. Are you going to make me one?”

“I already have, in Rascal Red satin. Now, Dallas, does it pinch anywhere? Rub?”

“No.” She couldn’t get over it. It should have been torturous, but it was as comfortable as a sprint suit. Experimentally she bent, twisted. “It’s just sort of there.”

“Excellent. Biff found the material at a little cottage shop on Richer Five. Now the dress. It’s only basted, so we take care. Lift your arms, please.”

He slipped it over her, let it float down. The material was stunning. Eve could see that, even when it was streaked with tailor’s marks. It seemed perfect to her, the sleek column, the snug sleeves, the simple line, but Leonardo creased his brow and tugged at the material, folded, bunched.

“The neckline works, yes. Where is the necklace?”

“Huh?”

“The copper and stone necklace. Didn’t I tell you to ask for it?”

“I can’t just tell Roarke I want a necklace.”

Leonardo sighed, turned Eve around, and exchanged a look with Mavis. He nodded, then tested the line at Eve’s hips.

“You’ve lost weight,” he accused.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Yes, at least two pounds.” He clucked his tongue. “I won’t take it in yet. See that you put them back on.”

Biff marched over and held a bolt of material next to her face. With a nod, he marched away, muttering into his notebook.

“Biff, would you show her the other designs while I note the adjustments to the gown?”

With a flourish, Biff switched on a wall monitor. “As you can see, Leonardo has taken both your lifestyle and your body line into consideration with these designs. This simple day suit is perfect for a corporate lunch, a press conference, unrestricted, yet tres, tres chic. The material we’re using is a blended linen with just a whisper of silk. The color is citrine with trim of garnet.”

“Uh-huh.” It looked like a nice, simple suit to Eve, but it was a jolt to see the computer-generated image of herself modeling it. “Biff?”

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“Why do you have a map tattooed on your head?”

He smiled. “I have a very poor sense of direction. Now this next design continues the theme.”

She viewed a dozen. They blurred together in her mind. Rayspan in citrus lemon, Breton lace with velvet, classic black silk. Every time Mavis oohed or aahed, Eve ordered recklessly. What was being in debt for the rest of her life compared to her closest friend’s peace of mind?

“That’ll keep you two busy awhile.” The minute Leonardo slipped the dress back off, Trina bundled Eve into the robe. “Let’s take a look at the crowning glory.” After unwinding the turban, she pulled a wide forked comb out of her twirling curls and began to pick, smooth, and fluff.

Eve’s initial relief that she had hair to be fussed with faded quickly as she stared directly at a snaking pink spring. “Who does your hair, Trina?”

“Nobody touches me but me.” She winked. “And God. Take a look.”

Braced for the worst, Eve turned. The woman in the mirror was definitely Eve Dallas. At first she thought it had all been some elaborate joke, and nothing had been done at all. Then she looked closer, stepped closer. Gone were the wild tufts and stray spikes. Her hair was still casually cropped, unstructured, but it seemed to have a shape after all. And certainly it hadn’t had that pretty shine before. It followed the lines of her face nicely, the fringe of bangs, the curve at the cheeks. And when she shook her head it fell back into place obediently.