Seduction In Death

Crowds didn't bother her; she thrived on them. If she hadn't been so busy writing the script for her meeting with Sebastian, she'd have struck up any number of conversations with her fellow passengers.

It was only with one-to-one encounters with men she found herself shy and tongue-tied. But she was sure, she was positive, she'd be neither with Sebastian.

It was as if they were made for each other.

When the train jerked to an abrupt halt, and the lights dimmed, she was tossed unceremoniously against the burly black man wedged in beside her.

"Excuse me."

"That's cool, sister. Ain't enough to you to put a dent in."

"I wonder what's wrong." She tried to see through people, over them in the greenish wash of emergency lighting.

"Always some mess with this uptown train. Don't know why they don't fix the sumbitch." He skimmed his gaze down her and up again. "You got you some date, doncha?"

"Yes. I hope we're not delayed long or I'll be late. I hate being late."

"Look like you, guy's not go

Melissa jolted, snatched her purse around to press it to her belly. She glanced back and caught a glimpse of the small man in a dark trench coat as he slithered back into the jammed bodies.

"Oh. Thank you! Sometimes I forget to be careful."

"Don't pay to forget. You keep that purse close."

"Yes, I will. Thank you again. I'm Melissa. Melissa Kotter."

"Bruno Biggs. They just call me Biggs… 'cause I am."

During the ten-minute delay, she chatted with him. She learned he worked in construction, had a wife named Ritz and a baby boy they called B.J. for Bruno, Junior. By the time they'd reached her stop, she'd given him the name of the restaurant where she worked and had invited him to bring his family in for di

Bruno saw her trying to hurry along, her purse once again trailing behind her.

He shook his head and muscled his way off just before the doors closed.

Melissa broke free of the crowd and raced up the stairs. She was going to be late unless she ran the last three blocks. She made a dash for the corner. Something hit her from behind, low on the back, and sent her pitching forward. The strap of her purse snapped clean. She managed one short scream as she tumbled off the curb. There were shrieking brakes, shouts, then a bright, blinding pain as she hit the street.

She heard something else snap.

"Ms. Kotter? Melissa." Bruno bent over her. "God almighty, sister, I thought you'd get yourself run over. Got this back for you." He shook her purse.

"I – I forgot to be careful."

"Okay now, okay. You need the MTs? How bad you hurt?"

"I don't know… my arm."

She'd broken the arm. And saved her life.

"Eight hundred and sixty-eight names." Eve squeezed the bridge of her nose. "Just couldn't be simple."

"That doesn't include building maintenance, or straight clerical."

"This will do for now. We'll focus on the ones your source lists as being reprimanded for recreational use, and those he remembers being named in any lawsuits. But we need to work with all of them. I need to separate them out – medical, administration, e-drones, lab techs. Divide them by age groups. Those with families, and the age of their children. Another list of any who were terminated during the project run."

She looked up at him, the slightest glint in her eye.

"Have I just been demoted to e-drone?"

"You could do it faster."

"Unquestionably, but – "

"Yeah, yeah, it'll cost me. Pervert." She considered, brightened. "Tell you what. We'll do a trade. You give me a hand with this, and I'll consult with you on whatever business deal you're currently wheeling."

He paled a little. "Darling, that's so sweet of you. I couldn't possibly infringe on your valuable time."

"Coward."

"You bet."

"Come on, give me a shot. What have you got cooking?"

"I've a number of pots simmering just now." He dipped his hands in his pockets and tried to think which project or negotiation currently on his plate she could poke into with the least possible damage.

Her desk 'link beeped.

"Saved, so to speak, by the bell."

"We'll get back to this," she warned him.

"I sincerely hope not."

"Dallas."

"Lieutenant Dallas? Stefanie Finch. You've been trying to reach me?"

"That's right. Where are you located?"

"Just got back to New York. Had the last couple runs cancelled. What can I do for you?"

"We need to have a conversation, Ms. Finch. In person. I can be there in twenty minutes."

"Hey, listen. I just walked in the door. Why don't you tell me what this is about?"

"Twenty minutes," Eve repeated. "Stay available."

She cut Stefanie off on an oath, snagged her weapon harness. "You happen to own Inter-Commuter Air?"

He was sca

"You wait till they roll over dead." She pursed her lips. "Good plan, but it nixes the idea of taking you along so you can put the elbow on an employee. I'll tag Peabody. The uniform's always a nice touch."

"Agreed, and so's that robe. But you might want to put your boots back on."

She frowned down at herself. "Shit." She grabbed the boots and trotted out. "See you later."

Stefanie didn't pretend to be pleased. She opened the door and led with a scowl. "ID," she snapped.

Eve flipped open her badge, holding it out while Stefanie took a good, long look. "I've heard about you. The cop who hooked Roarke. Nice job."

"Gee, thanks. I'll let him know you said so."

Stefanie merely jerked a thumb toward Peabody. "What's with the uniform?"

"My aide. Do we come in, Stefanie, or do we discuss this in the hallway?"

Stefanie stepped back, closed the door behind them. "I just had two lucrative runs cancelled, my union rep is talking strike, which is going to put me in a bind. The shuttle they stuck me with should've been in the fucking scrap heap, and my gut's telling me I could be out of a job within the year."

"He never misses," Eve muttered.

"I've got a cop hounding me to Europe and back, so I'm in a pisser of a mood, Lieutenant. If this is about my bastard ex, I've got one thing to say: He's not my problem."

"I'm not here about your bastard ex. You've been corresponding, via e-mail, with an individual who calls himself Wordsworth."

"How do you know? E-mail's private."

"The individual who calls himself Wordsworth is a suspect in two murders and one attempted murder. Now, do you want to do a dance about the violation of cyber-privacy?"

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Peabody, look at my face. Is this my jokey face?"

"No, sir, Lieutenant."

"Now that we've cleared that up, why don't we sit down?"

"I've got a date with him tomorrow afternoon," Stefanie said, and hugged her arms as if chilled. "When my runs were cancelled, I did some e-mail from the pilot's lounge at Heathrow. He suggested we get together tomorrow for a picnic in Greenpeace Park."

"What time?"