“Morning eats! Told ya.” “I just said you shouldn’t count on it.” Peabody shifted her file bag and wished the scent of grilled bacon didn’t wrap around her system like a lover. But since it did, she dumped the bag and surrendered to temptation, crunching into the first slice as Roarke came in. “Morning,” she managed. “Best briefings ever.” “No point in solving murders on an empty stomach. You’re looking rosy this morning, Peabody.” “It’s the bacon.” “Woot! French toast.” McNab grinned as Roarke poured himself some coffee. “Thanks for the spread.” “Feeding cops has its rewards.” And this one, Roarke assumed, had the metabolism of a manic chipmunk to eat as he did and remain thin as a wafer. “We got here a little early,” McNab told him, “so Peabody could help Dallas set up.”
