Leverage in Death (In Death, #47)

by J.D. Robb

“Soup. Vegetable Beef.” Eve took a sniff, then a swallow before she started winding out of the underground lot. It smelled like pepper and tasted like spicy, liquefied cardboard, heated to cautiously approach lukewarm. “Beef of what?” “They didn’t say, and I thought it wiser not to ask.” Peabody took a gulp, coughed a little. “It’s bad, it’s bad. I should’ve gone for the mini berry pies.” “They had mini berry pies and you went for liquid mystery meat?” “And veg.” Peabody choked down another swallow. “I told myself to be an adult, to think of loose pants. Is it gamey? There’s a little bit of gamey aftertaste. Gak.” “It could be rat. Liquefied, peppered rat.” Eve shoved her cup into Peabody’s hand.

“I know it. The idea’s a little scary, but exciting, too. And it wasn’t rat soup. There’s maybe, possibly, a scant ten percent chance it was squirrel.” Eve pulled into Central’s underground lot. “What’s the difference?” “Squirrels are sort of cute and fuzzy. And they can have personality.” After zipping into her slot, Eve shifted in her seat. “Look in a squirrel’s eyes next time you see one scampering along like a fuzzy rat. Right in the eyes. They’re lunatics.”