"I don't think that's true. You've been good with Delia. Exceptionally good. And don't tell me it's just the job, because I know it's not." Phoebe picked up a mug of tea, watching Eve as she drank. "There's been a change in her this past year. She's grown, as a person. Dee always seemed to know what she wanted to do, to be, but since working for you she's found her place. She's more confident, sadder in some ways, I think because of the things she's seen and had to do. But stronger for them. Her letters and calls are full of you. I wonder if you know how much it means to her that you made her a part of who you are."

"Listen, Mrs. Peabody... Phoebe," she corrected. "I don't-I haven't-"

She blew out a breath. "I'm going to say something about Peabody, and I don't want it getting back to her."

Phoebe's lips curved at the corners. "All right. What you tell me stays between us."

"She's got a good eye and a quick brain. Most cops do, or they don't last long. She remembers things, so you don't have to waste time going over the same ground with her. She knows what it means to serve and protect, what it really means. That makes a difference in what kind of cop you turn out to be. I went a long time working solo.

I liked it that way. There wasn't anybody I wanted with me after my old partner transferred to EDD."

"Captain Feeney."

"Yeah, when Feeney got his bars and went into EDD, I worked alone. Then I come across Peabody, all spit and polish and sneaky sarcasm. I wasn't going to take on a uniform. I never intended to be anybody's trainer. But... she has a spark. I don't know how else to say it. You don't see that kind of thing every day on the job. She wanted Homicide, and I figure the dead need all the spark they can get. She'd have gotten there without me. I just gave her a boost."

"Thank you. I worry about her. She's a grown woman, but she's my little girl. She always will be. That's motherhood. But I'll worry less after what you've told me. I don't suppose you'd tell me what you think of Ian McNab."

Something like panic tickled Eve's throat. "He's a good cop."

Phoebe tipped back her head and laughed until the rich, rollicking sound of it filled the room. "How did I know you'd say that? Don't worry, Eve, I like him very much, more so since he's so goofily in love with my little girl."

"Goofy covers it," Eve muttered. "Now, I know you need to get to work, but I have a gift for you." "You gave us a gift already." "That was from my man and me to you and your man. This is from me to you." She bent to pick up a box she'd set on the floor, then put it in Eve's lap. "Gifts shouldn't unnerve you. They're just tokens, of appreciation or affection. In this case both. I brought it with me before I was completely sure we'd come all the way to New York.

Before I was completely sure I'd give it to you. I had to meet you first.

Please, open it."

With no way out, Eve took off the lid. Inside was a statue of a woman, perhaps eight inches high, carved from some nearly transparent crystal. Her head was tipped back so that her hair rained down almost to her feet. Her eyes were closed, her mouth bowed up in a quiet smile. She held her arms out to her sides, palms up.

"She's the goddess," Phoebe explained. "Carved in alabaster. She represents the strength, courage, the wisdom, the compassion that is uniquely female."

"She's terrific." Holding it up, Eve watched the light streaming through the windows shimmer on the carved figure. "She looks old, in a good way," she added quickly and made Phoebe laugh again.

"Yes, she is old, in a good way. She was my great-great grandmother's. It's been passed down, from female to female until it came to me. And now you."

"She's beautiful. Really. But I can't take her. This is something you need to keep in your family."

Phoebe reached over, laid a hand over Eve's so that they both held the statue. "I am keeping it in my family."

Her office at Central was too small for a meeting where more than two people were involved. Her call in to book a conference room resulted in a short, bitter argument and no satisfaction.

With her options narrowed, she realigned and scheduled the briefing in her home office. "Problem, Lieutenant?" Roarke asked as he stepped from his office into hers.

"No conference rooms available until fourteen hundred? That's just bullshit."

"So I heard you say, rather viciously, into the 'link. I've a meeting myself in midtown." He crossed to her, skimmed his fingertip along the shallow dent in her chin. "Anything I can do for you before I leave?"

"I'm set."

He laid his lips on hers, lingered over them. "I shouldn't be late." He stepped back, then spotted the statue on her desk. "What's this?"

"Phoebe gave it to me."

"Alabaster," he said as he lifted it. "She's lovely. A goddess of some sort. She suits you."

"Yeah, that's me. Goddess cop." She stared at the cool, serene face of the statue, remembered being trapped in the cool, serene face of Phoebe Peabody. "She had me saying stuff. I think it's the eyes. If you want to keep your thoughts to yourself, never look directly into her eyes."

He laughed and set the statue down again. "I imagine a number of people say exactly the same thing about you."

She'd have given that some thought, but she had work to do. She called up files, slotted data on various screens, then dived back into Julianna Dunne.

She was well into a second page of fresh notes when Peabody and McNab came in. "Raid the AutoChef now," she ordered without looking up. "I want you settled when Feeney gets here."

"You got a new lead?" Peabody asked.

"I'll brief everyone at one time. I need more coffee here."

"Yes, sir." As Peabody reached for Eve's empty cup, she saw the statue. "She gave you the goddess."

She looked up now, and to her terror, saw tears swim into Peabody's eyes. McNab must have seen them, too. He muttered, "Girl thing," and hightailed it into the adjoining kitchen.

"Listen, Peabody, about that-" "And you put it on your desk." "Yeah, well... I figure this is supposed to come to you, so-"

"No, sir." Her voice was thick as she lifted those drenched eyes to Eve's. And smiled. "She gave it to you, and that means she trusts you. She accepts. You're family. And you put it there, right there on your desk, and that means you accept. It's a real moment for me,"

she added and dug out a handkerchief. "I love you, Dallas." "Oh jeez. If you try to kiss me, I'll deck you."

Peabody gave a watery laugh and blew her nose. "I wasn't sure you'd be speaking to me this morning. Dad called and said how they were staying here."

"Your mother put the whammy on Roarke. That takes some doing."

"Yeah, I had to figure. You're not pissed off?"

"Sam made croissants this morning. Your mother brought me one, with coffee." The grin lit Peabody's face. "So it's okay then."

"Apparently." Eve picked up her cup, pursed her lips as she looked inside. "But it seems I don't have coffee at the moment. How could that be?" "I'll correct that oversight immediately, Lieutenant."

Peabody snatched the cup, then hesitated. "Um, Dallas? Blessings on you."

"What?"

"Sorry, I can't help it. Free-Ager training. It's just... Thanks. That's all.

Thanks."

CHAPTER 5

"Julianna Dunne." Feeney gulped coffee, shook his head. He had the lived-in face of a basset hound, the droopy eyes of a camel.

His coarse ginger-colored hair, wired through with silver, looked as if it had been hacked at by some maniac with hedge sheers. Which meant it had recently been trimmed.

He sat in Eve's office, his rather stubby legs stretched out. Since he was wearing one brown sock and one black, Eve concluded his wife hadn't managed to give him the once-over that morning.

A fashion plate he wasn't. But when it came to electronics, he ruled.

"Never expected to get another shot at that one."

"We've got no prints or DNA at either the crime scene or the apartment leased to Julie Dockport to verify. But the visual-" She gestured to the split screen ID photos- "gives me an eyeball verification. I ran a probability for form, and got a ninety-nine percent that Julie Dockport and Julianna Dunne are the same woman."

"If she just got out of a cage the first part of the year," McNab commented, "she works fast."

"She works," Eve said. "She's thirty-four. By the time she was twenty-five, she'd married three men, killed three men. That we know of. On the surface, it was for profit. She targeted wealthy guys-older, established men. Each of them had been married previously and divorced. Her shortest relationship was seven months, her longest, thirteen. Again, in each case she received a large inheritance at the spouse's demise."

"Nice work if you can get it," Peabody put in.

"She targeted each man, researched him, his background, his likes, dislikes, habits, and so on. Meticulously. We know this as we were able to locate a bank box in Chicago that contained her notes, photographs, and data on husband number two, Paul O'Hara. That's one of the bricks we used to close her up. We were never able to find similar boxes in New York or East Washington."