by J. D. Robb
"As you can see, I'm dandy. Just hosting a little breakfast party." She picked up the bowl of berries McNab was rapidly depleting. "Hungry?"
Nadine pressed her fingers to her lips to control the trembling. "I know this is my fault. I know you could have been killed because of what I did."
"Look, Nadine—"
"It was easy enough to put together," Nadine interrupted. "I go on air with that statement I hammered out of you, and a couple hours later, your car blows up. He came after you because he heard the report, because I put it on the air."
"Which is exactly what I intended." Eve set the bowl down again. The last thing she needed on her conscience was a hysterical, guilty reporter. "You didn't hammer anything out of me. I said what I wanted to say, and what I wanted you to broadcast. I needed him to make a move, and I needed him to make it in my direction."
"What do you mean you—" As it struck home, Nadine held up a hand. It took a moment before she was certain she could speak. "You used me?"
"I'd say that was quid pro quo, Nadine. We used each other."
Nadine took a step back. Her face was bone white now, her eyes blazing. "Bitch. Goddamn cop bitch."
"Yeah." Weary again, Eve rubbed her eyes. "Wait a minute. A minute," she repeated before Nadine could stalk out. "Would you all give Nadine and me some space here? Peabody, McNab, set up in my office. Roarke…please."
Peabody and McNab were already out the door when he walked to the bed, leaned down close. "I think we'll have to discuss this latest development, Lieutenant."
She decided it was best to say nothing, and waited for him to go out and quietly close the door behind him. "He's not going to understand," she murmured, then looked over at Nadine. "Maybe you will."
"Oh, I get it, Dallas. I get it. You want to move your investigation along, why not fake a statement to a credible on-air reporter. Just use her—after all, what does she matter? She doesn't have any feelings. She's just another idiot reading the news."
"The statement wasn't faked. It was what I wanted to say." Eve set the breakfast tray aside. Doctor's recommendation or not, she wasn't going to have this confrontation while lounging in bed. "It was what I felt, and what, under most circumstances, I'd have kept to myself."
She tossed the covers aside, got to her feet. Then realizing her legs weren't quite ready to support her, she abandoned pride for dignity and sat on the edge of the bed.
"It was impulse. That's not an excuse. I knew exactly what I was doing, and where you would go with it. But one thing, Nadine. It wouldn't have happened if you hadn't come after me with a camera."
"That's my fucking job."
"Yeah, and it's my fucking job to catch this guy. I've got lives on the line here, Nadine, and one of them may be Roarke's. That means I'll do anything it takes. Even use a friend."
"You could have told me."
"I could have. I didn't." Her head was starting to pound, so she rested it in her hands. Meds wearing off, she supposed. It was just as well. "You want me to tell you something in confidence, Nadine, I will. And where you go with it is your choice. I'm scared." She moved her hands to cover her face, just for a moment. "I'm scared to the bone because I know the others are just layers. He's working his way through them to get to the core. And the core is Roarke."
Nadine stared. She'd never seen Eve really vulnerable. Hadn't known she could be. But the woman sitting on the bed, her sleep shirt hiked on her thighs, her head in her hands, wasn't a cop. Not then. She was just a woman.
"So, you wanted to make sure they had to go through you first."
"That was the idea."
A softened heart couldn't hold anger. She sat on the bed beside Eve, draped an arm around her shoulders. "I guess I do understand. And I wish I wasn't so damn jealous. I've scouted around a lot and never hunted up what you've got with Roarke."
"I figure it doesn't work that way. It finds you, and it grabs you by the throat and you can't do a damn thing about it." She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, then sighed. "But I stepped over the line with you, and I'm sorry."
"Jesus, you must have a big bruise on the brain if you're apologizing to me."
"Since there's nobody else here, and I think you're feeling sorry for me, I'll tell you I feel like I've been run over by a fleet of airbuses."
"Go back to bed, Dallas."
"Can't." She scrubbed her hands over her face, hard, rolled her aching shoulders. "He's still a step or two ahead, and I'm going to fix that." When the thought occurred, she turned her head and studied Nadine. "But if some hotshot on-air reporter were to broadcast that Lieutenant Dallas's injuries are serious, that she is recuperating at home and is expected to be laid up for a couple days…"
"You want me to lie to the public?" Nadine arched a brow.
"My injuries are pretty serious. Everybody's been saying so until I want to deck them. And I am recuperating at home, aren't I? You can see that for yourself."
"And you will be laid up, as you put it, for a couple of days."
"It already feels like a couple of days. It might buy me time, Nadine. He'll want to wait until I'm on my feet again before he tries to take the next one out. He isn't playing solo. He wants an opponent." She shook her head. "No, he wants me. Particularly. I can't play if I'm flat on my back and tranq'd."
"I'll do it." She rose, looked down at Eve. "And let me tell you, Dallas, I wouldn't be surprised if Roarke sees to it that you are flat on your back and tranq'd for the next few days." Hitching her bag on her arm, Nadine smiled. "Anyway, I am glad you're not dead."
"Me, too."
When Nadine left her, Eve managed to rise and make her way slowly into the shower. Bracing both hands against the tile, she ordered water, full force at one hundred degrees. Ten minutes later, she felt steadier, and by the time she was dressed, nearly normal.
But when she walked into her office, it took only one long stare from Roarke to have her inching back.
"I figured I'd just stretch out in the sleep chair. I feel pretty straight," she hurried on when he said nothing. "I guess that stop at the hospital last night was a good move. I appreciate it."
"Do you think you'll get around me that way?"
"It was worth a shot." She tried a smile, then let it go. "Look, I'm okay. And I need to do this."
"Then you'll do it, won't you? I have some things to see to myself." He moved to his office door, then flicked a glance over his shoulder. "Let me know when you have a free moment, Lieutenant. For more personal matters."
"Well, shit," Eve sighed when his door shut.
"Never seen anybody steam that cold," McNab commented. "He even gave me the shakes."
"Do you ever shut up, McNab? I want to see the disc, garage security." Skirting the sleep chair, Eve sat behind her desk. "Cue it up, Peabody, start at sixteen hundred. That's about the time I logged in to Central."
Struggling not to sulk over more personal matters, Eve kept her eyes glued to the monitor as the image flicked on. "Keep it on the access doors. He had to come from somewhere."
They watched cars and vans pull in and out. Each time, the scanner eye above the access doors blinked green for cleared.
"That wouldn't be a problem for him, would it, McNab? Anybody who can pull the electronic magic he's been pulling could skim by the security eye for garage level."
"Security's tight there. With the bombs in public buildings plague during the Urban Wars, all government and state facilities had new security installed at all access areas." He nodded, kept watching. "Even with budget cuts, they get maintained and upgraded twice a year. That's federal law. A specialized droid unit does spot inspections on a regular basis."
"Could he do it?"
"He could, but it wouldn't be a round of Rocket Racers. And it's a hell of a lot riskier than a vid-game. If the alarm trips, all access and exit areas are automatically sealed. He'd be in a box."
"He was pissed, and he's cocky." Eve leaned back. "He'd have risked it—and since he didn't t
rip any alarm, he pulled it off. He got into Cop Central garage, planted the boomer, and got out. That's the only place he could have gotten to my car during the time frame. Computer, split screen, second image section AB, level two. There's my vehicle, safe and sound."
"You don't want to see it now," Peabody commented and managed to suppress the shudder. "They hauled it in to vehicle analysis. I shot through the automatic requisition for a new unit."
"They'll probably stick a couple of bolts in it and expect me to make do." However foolish and sentimental it was, she almost hoped they did. "Idiot bureaucrats are always…wait, wait, what's this?"
Turbo-van, the computer told her helpfully. Model Jet-stream, manufactured 2056—
"Stop, freeze image. Look at this." Eve gestured Peabody closer. "The windows are privacy tinted. Surveillance vans aren't allowed to have that tint on the driver's area. And those plates, see the plates? That's not a van ID. It's a cab plate, for God's sake. Our boy's in there, Peabody."
"Good catch, Dallas." Impressed, McNab tapped some keys and had the frozen image printing out in hard copy. "I'll run the plates for you."
"Let's see what he does," Eve murmured. "Continue, computer." They watched the van circle the first level, climb slowly to the next. And stop directly behind Eve's car. "We've got him. I knew he'd get sloppy."
The van door opened. The man who stepped out was concealed in a long coat, and his hat was pulled low. "Police issue. That's a beat cop's overcoat. It's a uniform's hat.…But he got the shoes wrong. He's wearing air treads. Damn it, you can't see his face. He's wearing sunshades."
Then he turned, looked directly into the camera. Eve got a glimpse of white, white skin, just a hint of the curve of a cheek. Then he lifted a slim wand, pointed it, and the picture swam with color.
"Fucking hell, he jammed it. What the hell was that he had in his hand? Play back."
"I've never seen a jammer like it." McNab shook his head both in bafflement and admiration as the image replayed and froze. "It's no more than six inches long, barely thicker than a ski pole. You ought to have Roarke look at it."
"Later." Eve waved that away. "We've got coloring, we've got height and build. And we've got the make of a van. Let's see what we can do with it."
She continued to stare at the screen as if she could somehow see through the concealing shades and hat to his face. To his eyes. "Peabody, run the make and model of the van. I want a list of everyone who owns one. McNab, find out when that cabbie lost his tag. And figure this: He's driving into the garage at six twenty-three—that's less than one hour after Nadine's broadcast. Maybe he already had the boomer made up, but he had to have time to rig it for transport, to decide on a plan, to find my location. And you bet your ass he needed time to have a temper fit. How much time did he spend in transpo?"
She sat back again and smiled. "I'm betting he's located downtown, within a ten-block radius of Cop Central. So we're going to start working our own backyard."
Smiling, she ordered her computer to continue. She wanted to see just how long it took the son of a bitch to rig her car.
*** CHAPTER FOURTEEN ***
Eve wasn't in the mood for another marital bout, but she thought it best to get it over with. She needed Roarke's eye, his contacts—and, since she was going to follow her commander's request and travel to Ireland, his expertise in a foreign country.
Since Peabody and McNab had begun sniping at each other like longtime cohabitants, she'd separated them, shooing them off to different assignments in different locales. With their current competitive level, she hoped to have her answers from both of them by midday.
She paused outside Roarke's office door, sucked in a bracing breath, and gave what she hoped was a brisk and somewhat wifely knock.
When she entered, he held up a finger, signaling her to wait while he continued to address two hologram images. "… Until I'm free to travel to the resort personally, I'll trust you'll handle these relatively minor details. I expect Olympus to be fully operational by the target date. Understood?"
When there was no response other than respectful nods, he leaned back. "End transmission."
"Problem?" Eve asked when the holograms faded.
"A handful of minor ones."
"Sorry to interrupt, but have you got a minute?"
Deliberately, he glanced at his wrist unit. "Or two. What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"
"I really hate when you use that tone."
"Do you? Pity." He leaned back, steepled his fingers. "Would you like to know what I hate?"
"Oh, I figure you'll tell me, but right now I'm pressed. I've got McNab and Peabody in the field chasing leads. I'm locked in here because I planted a story through Nadine that I'm busted up and recuperating at home."
"You're getting good at that. Planting stories."
She jammed her hands in her pockets. "Okay, we'll run through it and clear the air. I made the statement, crossed the official line, to insult and challenge the killer to make a move on me. I'm supposed to serve and protect and I had to figure if he swung his aim in my direction, I'd buy time for whoever he'd targeted next. It worked, and as I'd calculated, he was pissed off enough to be sloppy, so we've got some leads we didn't have twenty-four hours ago."
Roarke let her finish. To give himself time he rose, walked to the window. Absently he adjusted the tint of the glass to let in more light. "When did you decide I was gullible, or simply stupid, or that I would be pleased to know that you had used yourself to shield me?''
So much for the cautious route, she decided. "Gullible and stupid are the last things I believe you are. And I wasn't considering whether or not you'd be pleased that I deflected his attention from you to me. Having you alive's enough—even pissed off and alive is fine by me."
"You had no right. No right to stand in front of me." He turned back now, his eyes vividly blue with temper that had gone from frigid to blaze. "No fucking right to risk yourself on my behalf."
"Oh really. Is that so?" She stalked forward until they were toe to toe. "Okay, you tell me. You keep looking me dead in the eye and you tell me you wouldn't have done the same if it was me in jeopardy."
"That's entirely different."
"Why?" Her chin came up and her finger jabbed hard into his chest. "Because you have a penis?"
He opened his mouth, a dozen vile and furious words searing his tongue. It was the cool, utterly confident gleam in her eyes that stopped him. He turned away and braced both fists on the desk. "I don't care for the fact that you have a point."
"In that case I'll just finish it out so you can swallow it all in one lump. I love you, and I need you every bit as much as you love and need me. Maybe I don't say it as often or show it as smoothly, but that doesn't make it any less true. If it pricks your ego to know that I'd protect you, that's just too bad."
He lifted his hands, dragged them up through his hair before he turned to her. "That's a hell of a way to defuse an argument."
"Did I?"
"Since any argument I could attempt would make me sound like a fool, it would seem you have."
"Good thinking." She risked a grin at him. "So, if you're finished being mad at me, can I run a few things by you?"
"I didn't say I was finished being mad, I said I was finished arguing with you." He sat on the corner of his desk. "But yes, feel free to run a few things by me."
Satisfied with that, she handed him a disc. "Put that in. I've got a still on it you can project on screen. Enhance it to full."
He did as she requested, then studied the image. He could see the fingers of a gloved hand wrapped around a wand-shaped device. The hilt was blocked from view but the pattern of notches and buttons on the stem were clear. A light at the tip glowed green.
"It's a jammer," he said. "More sophisticated and certainly more compact than anything I've seen on the market." He stepped closer to the screen. "The manufacturer's ID—if there is one—is likely on the hilt and hidden by his hand, so that's no help. One of my R a
nd D departments has been working on a smaller, more powerful jammer. I'll have to check the status."
That caught her off guard. "You're manufacturing this kind of thing?"
He caught the tone, smiled a little. "Roarke Industries handles a number of contracts for the government—for a number of governments, as it happens. The Defense and Security Department is always looking for new toys such as this. And they pay well."
"So a device like this might be in the works in one of your departments? Brennen was in communications. One of his research arms could have been working on one."
"It's easy enough to find out. I'll check which one of my particular arms has something along these lines on the boards, and have one of my moles check Brennen's organization."
"You have spies?"
"Data gatherers, darling. They object to being called spies. Have you got the rest of your man on here?"
"Click one back."
"Computer, display previous image on screen."
Roarke frowned at the picture and, using the vehicles for points of reference, speculated. "About five-ten, probably about one-sixty by the way that coat hangs on him. He's very pale from the looks of that swatch of skin you can see. I wouldn't say he spends a lot of time outdoors, so his profession, if he has one, is likely white collar."
Roarke tilted his head and continued. "No way to tell age, except he… holds himself youthfully. You can see part of his mouth. He's smiling. Smug bastard. His taste in outerwear is miserably inferior."
"It's a beat cop's topcoat," Eve said dryly. "But I'm inclined away from thinking he's got a connection with the department. Cops don't wear air treads, and no beat cop's going to have access to the kind of knowledge or equipment this guy has or EDD would have snatched him up. You can pick up one of those coats at a couple dozen outlets in New York alone." She waited a beat. "But we'll run it anyway."
"The van?"
"We're checking. If he didn't boost it, and it's registered in the state of New York, we'll narrow the field considerably."