Marlo gestured as they went out into the sun-blasted October of 2060. “If we go this way, you’ll see some of the Roarke/Dallas house set. It’s spectacular. Preston, our AD, told you they were going to want some publicity shots while you and Peabody are on set? Valerie Xaviar, that’s the publicist, is handling it. She’s on top of everything.”

“It was mentioned.”

Marlo smiled again, gave Eve’s arm a quick, light rub. “I know it’s not something you’d choose to do, but it’ll be great publicity for the vid—and it’ll make the cast and crew happy. You’re going to make the dinner tonight, I hope. You and Roarke.”

“We’re planning on it.” Couldn’t get out of it, Eve thought.

Marlo let out a laugh, shot Eve a look. “And you’re wishing you had a hot case so you could skip it.”

“I guess you are good at your work.”

“It’ll be more fun than you think. Which won’t be hard because you think it’ll be torture.”

“Have you got my office wired?”

“No, but I like to think I’m wired into you.” Marlo tapped her temple. “So I know you’ll enjoy yourself a lot more than you think. And you’ll love Julian. He’s nailed Roarke—the accent, the body language, that indefinable sense of power and sex. Plus, he’s gorgeous, funny, charming. I’ve loved working with him. Are you on an investigation now?”

“We just closed one a few days ago.”

“The Whitwood Center case, at least that’s what the media calls it. As I said, I’m steeped. Still, even when you’re not working something active, you’re supervising other investigations, testifying in court, consulting with the officers and detectives in your division. It’s a full plate. Dealing with—”

Marlo broke off when Eve’s communicator signaled.

“Dallas.”

Dispatch, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. See the officer at Twelve West Third. Possible homicide.

“Acknowledged. Dallas and Peabody, Detective Delia, en route.” She clicked off, signaled Peabody. “We caught one. Meet me at the vehicle.”