Secrets in Death (In Death #45)(2)

“Cesca will be taking care of you this evening,” the hostess announced. “She’ll be right with you.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Thirty minutes, Eve promised herself as she unwound her scarf—knitted by her partner’s artistic hands—stuffed it in her coat pocket. Accepting her fate, she shrugged out of her coat as the waitress, her hair a short, blunt swing of purple, stepped to the booth.

“Good evening, I’m Cesca, and I’ll be your server. What can I get for you?”

Eve considered ordering a cheap American beer, just to be contrary. “Wine, red’s fine.”

“A glass, a half bottle, or a bottle?”

“Just a glass.”

Cesca tapped a remote on her belt. The screen on the separating wall of the booth came on, and displayed a list—a long list—of red wines by the glass.

“Would you like some time to decide?”

“No…” Eve knew a little about wines. A woman couldn’t live with Roarke and not absorb some basic knowledge. She tapped a cabernet she knew she’d had at home, and knew came from one of Roarke’s vineyards.

“Oh, that’s a lovely wine. I’ll have it brought right out to you. Would you care for any appetizers, hors d’oeuvres, accompaniments?”

“No. No, thanks.”

The young waitress never lost her smile. “If you change your mind, we have a lovely selection—you can order from the screen. I’ll get your wine.”

Even as she stepped away, Eve saw DeWinter walk through a doorway at the far end of the bar.

DeWinter wore a body-skimming dress, nearly the same tone as the waitress’s hair, and matched the outfit with tall, supple boots in a silver gray—with killer, wire-thin heels.

Her lips, dyed a red that edged toward purple, curved when she spotted Eve, and humor lit her eyes—a cool, crystal blue against the smooth caramel tone of her skin.

With her dark hair sleek, her stride confident, she crossed the polished floor, slid gracefully into the booth.

She said, “Alone at last.”

“Funny.”

“I expected a text telling me you had to cancel.”

“No DBs to deal with tonight.”

“That’s cheery.”

“Won’t last.”

“No, but then what would you and I do if it did? You need a drink.”

“One’s coming.”

DeWinter picked up her own, leaned back as she sipped. “I love the drinks here. This one, the Nuage Rose, is a favorite. What’s yours?”

“First time here. I’m sticking with red wine.”

“I assumed you’d been here before since Roarke owns it.”

Figured, Eve thought. “If I hit every place Roarke owns, just in the city, I wouldn’t have time to do anything else.”

“You’ve got a point. It’s a favorite of mine.” Obviously relaxed, DeWinter glanced around as she drank. “Close to work, beautiful decor, great people watching, and excellent service.”

As if to prove the last, Cesca set Eve’s wine on the table.

“You didn’t order any, but…” Cesca held out a black plate filled with thin, golden sticks.

“Olive straws. Cesca, you know my weakness. Thanks,” DeWinter said.

“No problem.” The waitress set down the straws, two little plates, some fancy napkins. “Just let me know if you need anything.”

“They’re terrific,” DeWinter told Eve, placing a few on her plate.

No point in being rude, Eve decided—plus they looked pretty damn good. And were, she thought when she sampled one.

“Why don’t we just get to it.” DeWinter nibbled on an olive straw. “I don’t need everyone to like me. I don’t even need to know why the people who don’t, don’t. You know as well as I: When you’re in a position of authority, some don’t. And when you’re a woman in that position, even though we’re in the second half of the twenty-first century, that just adds to it.”

She paused to drink again.

“But, even though you and I don’t and likely won’t work together routinely, there has been and will be times we do.”

With a shrug DeWinter gestured with her drink. “I can get around that, as can you. We’re both professionals, and good at what we do. But we also have personal connections.”

Eve gave the wine a try—really good—while she studied DeWinter’s striking face. “Did you practice all that?”

Though one perfect eyebrow shot up, DeWinter maintained the same even tone. “No, but I’ve had plenty of time to think about it. So … I’m friendly with some of your friends. Nadine, Mavis, for instance. Friendly enough that Mavis and Leonardo had my daughter and me to Bella’s birthday party. And wasn’t that an event?”

“For Mavis, Tuesday mornings are events.”

“That’s part of her charm and appeal. I like her quite a bit. I understand she’s one of your people—”

“She doesn’t belong to me,” Eve interrupted.

“She’s part—a key part—of your circle. A very tight circle. You’re careful who comes into that circle, and I respect that. I don’t expect you and I will be the B of Bs, but—”