As she pulled up to the gates, Roarke did actually stroll over to her car. He’d added a jacket—thin, soft black leather—and a pair of sunshades.
She wondered how many people along the lovely walk had had to wipe a little drool off after a glance at him.
He slid into the car, leaned over, kissed her.
“Not-quite-autumn in New York puts on a hell of a show.”
She had to agree. “I saw a woman wearing see-through pants as wideas the East River sashaying up First Avenue. She beat the indecency law by a skinny pink thong.”
“As I said, a hell of a show.”
Eve held up her badge for the scanner. “Lieutenant Dallas and consultant Roarke.”
As the gates opened, her ’link signaled. She answered on her wrist unit. “Dallas.”
“Lieutenant,” Whitney began. “An armored police vehicle and security team will arrive at Barrister House in about twenty. The items will be secured in a vault at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I’ll send you the particulars.”
“Yes, sir. I’m just pulling up to that location now. I can help coordinate the transfer.”
“Do that. Detective Willowby has contacted Feeney, and will be at your disposal.”
“Thank you, Commander. I’ll have an updated report for you by this evening.”
“I’ll be looking for it.”
When she pulled up, she turned to Roarke. “How secure is the Met?”
“As good as they come.” When she continued to study him, he smiled. “Once or twice.”
“Once or twice,” she muttered, and got out of the car.
John Tyler opened the door. The butler looked like a man who hadn’t slept in days.
“Thank you both for coming. The family is in the lounge.”
“Mr. Tyler.” She turned to the uniform who stepped up behind him. “Officer. An armored police vehicle and security escort will arrive shortly to transfer the contents of the vault to a secure location. Please verify their identification and give them entry.”
“Of course.”
“Officer, anything to report?”
“No, sir. Officers Upton, Harvet, and I have patrolled the grounds while one of us remains posted outside the crime scene door.”
“Continue that. When the transfer is complete, you’re all relieved.”
From there, she followed the butler, and paused again at the office door. The uniform rose from his chair to stand.
She looked past him, examined the door. Seal intact, locks engaged.
“Stand by, Officer. You’ll be relieved shortly.”
The family spread out in the big space. Anya, the younger daughter, blond-streaked brown hair as straight as her sister’s was curly, stood in the kitchen. The cook’s arms wrapped around her as Divine swayed and murmured.
The widow sat on the sofa with her older daughter, their hands clasped. Joy Barrister paced.
“We could hire our own investigators.”
“You’re certainly free to do that, Ms. Barrister,” Eve said as she came in.
