by J. D. Robb
Feeney glanced over at Morris, puffed out his cheeks. “We may have something that does, on Detective Coltraine. The ’link used to check the Zurich account. We dug in there and ID’d it. It’s registered to Varied Interests.”
“Alex Ricker’s company.”
“Yeah, company ’link—and we nailed it, and dumped the transes. We got them going to another ’link. Toss-away, can’t trace it for ownership, but we got the ID and frequencies. There are transmissions between the ’links, from New York to New York, the day before the murder, the day of, the day after.”
“Can you pin it down any closer?”
“Cheap toss-away, that’s how it reads. No bells, no whistles. It’s damn near impossible to get a read at all on those bastards. It’s got a filter on it. Had to be an add-on.” Feeney scratched the back of his neck. “But we’ve got its print. Same as a fingerprint. Good as DNA.”
“And if Callendar gets that print, coming into Omega?”
“We can match it.”
“She’ll get it if it’s there.” McNab watched Summerset arrange trays of deli meats, bread, cheeses, fruit, vegetables, salads, with the same intense devotion as the cat. “She’s an arrow on that kind of thing. When she does, we may be able to put what she’s got and what we’ve got together and make more.”
“It’s all there is to get with what we have,” Roarke told her. “We’re running an auto. If any of his accounts are opened—even for a check—or any of his bank boxes are called for, we’ll know.”
“Okay. It’s good.”
“So we eat.” McNab made the first dive.
Cops, Eve thought, swarming like ants at a picnic. She started to go over to Morris, but saw Roarke move to him. It gave her heart a squeeze—a good one—to see him talking Morris over to the table.
She went back to her desk, and while the chaos reigned, ran a probability to see if the computer agreed with her instincts. Moments later, Roarke came up behind her, rubbed her shoulders.
“Morris okay?”
“Better, I think.” Over her head, Roarke watched the activity at the table. “I’d say this is helping. Not just the work, the feeling of doing, but being here, with the others. You brought the murder board back in.”
“I asked him first.”
“No, I mean you brought it in. And he can see she’s the center of it. Even when they’re over there devouring sandwiches as if they’re about to be outlawed, he can see she’s the center of this. It would help.”
“It won’t help if the comp and I are right.” She turned to face him.
“I have to figure it two ways. Sandy’s been off the scope for nearly seventeen hours. One, he’s holed up somewhere, squeezed in a corner and sucking his thumb. Or two, he’s already dead.”
“And you and the probability scan you just ran favor dead. So do I. He’s a liability alive. Ricker has no need to keep him breathing, and every reason to end him.”
“Someone he trusted, like Coltraine trusted. It’s gone back to the squad. It’s one of them.”
“You can’t do more than you’re doing. Let it sit, Eve, for just a while. Whoever it is feels safe, feels secure. He won’t run like Sandy.”
“No, he won’t run. And as long as he’s valuable to Ricker, he’ll stay alive.”
“Then let’s get something to eat before your cops chew up even the tablecloth. I still have some things to see to before we leave.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Twins?” she added as they headed toward what was left of lunch.
“It seemed just the thing.”
She built a sandwich, took the first bite. Through the thrum of guy talk and smacking lips, she caught the sound of female laughter.
Peabody and Nadine, both wearing girlie dresses, popped in the doorway.
“Mmmm, She-Body, look at you.”
Love, Eve supposed, could cause even McNab to forget his stomach for a few seconds.
He bounced over to her, spun her around, then dipped her while she giggled—actually giggled—before he planted one on her.
“No! No! This is still a cop room. There is no dipping and kissing in a cop room.”
Peabody simply sent her lieutenant a smile out of starry eyes. “Too late.” For good measure, she gave McNab’s ass a squeeze as he spun her back up.
“Doesn’t this all look delicious?” Nadine fluttered her lashes. “And the food looks good, too.” She gave Eve’s cheek a pat as she passed, and brought a fiery blush to Trueheart’s as she sidled up to him. “Are you on duty, Officer?”
“Give it up, darling.” Roarke rubbed a hand over Eve’s back. “Shift’s over.”
And that, she supposed, was that.
Peabody snagged a carrot stick. “I’m sticking with the rabbit food for now. We’ve got amazingly mag goodies for later. Ariel made them. I gained five pounds just carrying in the boxes. You can fill me in on all this.”
“Later,” Eve decided. “We’re at a stop.”
“Okay.” Peabody gave the carrot a happy crunch. “Nadine and I brought most everything. Mavis and Leonardo should be here any minute, and they have more.”
“Yippee.”
“Trina and her consultants will be here by four to start setting up.”
“Joy and—what? Who? Trina? Why? What have you done?”
“You said no silly games, and no strippers,” Peabody reminded her. “We’re doing the full-out girl party. Champagne, decadent food, body, hair, face treatments. Chick-vids, presents, gooey desserts. Big girl slumber party, followed by champagne brunch tomorrow.”
“You mean . . .” The shock was sharp and cruel, a stunner blast against the heart. “Overnight? All night into tomorrow?”
“Yeah.” Peabody grinned around her carrot. “Didn’t I mention that?”
“I have to kill you now.”
“Uh-uh. No games, no strippers. Those were your only rules.”
“I’ll find a way to hurt you for this.”
“It’s going to be fun!”
“Hurt you until you squeal like a pig.”
Eve spotted Roarke moving to his office, and dashed after him. “Wait, wait!” She rushed in behind him, shut the door.
“You can’t go to Vegas.”
“Because?”
“Because you can’t leave me here. We’re married, and there are rules. I try to follow them. I don’t know all of them, but God knows I try. And this has to be a rule. You can’t leave me alone in a situation like this.”
“What situation?”
“All these women. And Trina. Trina,” she repeated, with considerable passion as she gripped his shirt. “And gooey dessert and body things and chick-vids. All night. Slumber party. Do you know what that means?”
“I’ve had many dreams of them. Will there be pillow fights?”
She spun him around so his back hit the door. “Don’t. Leave. Me.”
“Darling.” He kissed her brow. “I must. I must.”
“No. You can bring Vegas here. Because . . . you’re you. You can do that. We’ll have Vegas here, and that’ll be good. I’ll buy you a lap dance.”
“That’s so sweet. But I’m going. I’ll be back tomorrow, and lay a cool cloth on your fevered brow.”
“Tomorrow?” She actually went light-headed. “You’re not coming back tonight?”
“You wouldn’t be in this state now if you paid attention. I’m taking a shuttle full of men to Las Vegas late this afternoon. There will be ribaldry, and a possible need to post bond. I’ve made arrangements. I’ll bring back this same shuttle full of men—hopefully—tomorrow afternoon.”
“Let me come with you.”
“Let me see your penis.”
“Oh, God! Can’t I just use yours?”
“At any other time. Now pull yourself together, and remember that when all this is over, you’ll very likely arrest a killer who’s also a dirty cop. It’s like a twofer.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“Best I have.”
She hissed out a breath. “I’m going to find someplace in this house where nobody is. And scream.”
“That’s a fine idea.” He nudged her toward the hallway door. “I’ll come find you before I go.”
“It’s not four o’clock yet,” she said darkly. “Something could break.”
“It may be your neck if you don’t get out and let me finish my work.” He gave her something closer to a shove, then for the second time that day, shut the door in her face.
17
SHE DIDN’T CONSIDER IT HIDING. MAYBE SHE was in a room she wasn’t entirely sure she’d been in before with the door shut. And locked. But it wasn’t hiding.
It was working, Eve told herself. In a quiet place, where she wouldn’t be distracted. She could probably stay in here for the next twenty-four hours, no problem at all. She had a sleep chair, a workstation—a mini-unit, but very slick. She didn’t see a wall screen, but when she booted up and requested one, the glass on the fancy mirror went black.
A little playing around with the control panel netted her a mini-AutoChef and friggie when the counter under the window opened, and up they came.
She poked into the attached bathroom and found all the necessities, including a shower designed like a little waterfall. Yes, she could be happy here. Maybe for years.
She got coffee, settled at the workstation. Callendar first, she thought.
“Yo,” Callendar said when she came on-screen.
“Report.”
“This place is a frigging hole, but it’s got some serious hardware. You’re caged here, you’re seriously caged. Security’s as tight as my uncle Fred on New Year’s Eve. Even with the clearance and co-op, it’s taken a while for us to get to the meat of the system. We’ve got our on-person communication devices because we’re cops and got the authorization. Otherwise, they’re held at docking.”
“How far into the work are you?”
“I’m working the trans, Sisto’s working the visitations. He’s goose egg so far. I’ve got many a little ding, but it’s a long way from a gong. It’s going to take some time.”
“What kind of ding?”
“It’s really more of a burp. Do you really want me to explain it to you?”
Geek talk or party girls? Eve considered, decided they rated a toss-up. “I’ve got a minute.”
“Let me put it this way. The burp may be a trans from here to New York, but I’ve got to go through half a zillion filters to nail that. I’m doing that because it’s reading, so far, like it hit New York the afternoon of Coltraine’s death—and it’s not logged. Could be one of the techs here made it, off log, ’cause he was calling New York for some ’link sex. But I’ve got a suspicious mind.”
“I’ve got a print—or whatever the hell—from a toss-away ’link here. I need to know if it matches.”
“I nail this down, I can verify a match. Easy-peasy.”
“Do you have Ricker’s locations when the transmission was made?”
“It’s still a burp, but the records have him in his cage. But the records also show that thirty minutes before the burp he was enjoying his daily hygiene privilege. Solitary shower, under full security. I’ve ordered A and V of that record, and the wheel’s grinding slowly.”
“He could’ve sent the trans on delay, or paid someone else to send it for him. Do you have the name of the guard or guards who took him from the cage to hygiene?”
“Yeah. We did a standard run—clear. I figured we’d go deeper if the burp turns into a really juicy belch.” Callendar swigged down something pink from a clear bottle. “You want them?”
“Yeah.” Eve noted down the names. “Good. Keep digging.”
Eve signed off, sat back, and considered. It was the green light from Ricker to his New York hitter. It had to be. “Computer, full run, priority authorized.” She read off the names and ID numbers of the guard and com officer. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
An hour later, Roarke walked in. “Eve” was all he said.
“I’ve got something. Callendar heard a burp, and I’ve got something. Rouche, Cecil, cage guard on Omega—six years in. Assigned to max security wing. Ricker’s wing. Divorced. But, oddly, his ex-wife’s financials have had a serious increase in the last year. Well, not her financials so much as her insurance coverage. She’s increased it to five mil. Now what does the ex-wife of an Omega guard, who also quit her mid-level drone job eight months ago, when she also relocated from a rental in Danville, Illinois, to a twenty-room villa in the south of France, have that’s worth five mil?”
“Art, jewelry. Liquidating cash into solid investments.”
“You got it. Plus the real estate. She paid cash for the house, which is in both her name and the ex’s. Callendar’s having him pulled in for interview once things click. And they will. I haven’t been able to track the money yet. Can’t track it back from the ex-wife to Ricker. You could probably—”
“No, I’m going to Vegas.”
She goggled at him, jaw dropped, eyes bugging. “But, Jesus.”
“Callendar, who is more than qualified, has the guard, is on the search. You have your connection, your link to Ricker—who isn’t going anywhere. The manhunt continues for Sandy, who you believe is probably dead anyway.”
“But—”
Roarke didn’t give an inch. “Knowing Ricker’s methods, it’s highly unlikely this guard has the names of the New York contact. You’ve narrowed it down to the squad, which was your instinct all along. And on Monday, you’ll push forward on that. Whoever this cop is, you’re smarter, and by God, more tenacious. But right now, you have a houseful of women, I have a limo waiting outside, and a group of men who are anxious to get very drunk and lose their money. It’s life.”
He took her face in his hands and kissed her. “It’s our life. We’re going to live it for the next twenty-four hours.”
“When you put it like that,” she muttered.
“Morris has gone home.”
“Oh. Damn it.”
“He said to tell you he wanted to think about you enjoying yourself for a few hours. That he felt lighter leaving here than he did when he came. I think he did, and I know he spoke to Mira for a short time before he left.”
“I guess that’s good. I guess that’s something.”
“Come on then, walk me out. Kiss me good-bye.”
Trapped, she rose. “How’d you find me in here? House scan,” she realized. “Didn’t think about that. What’s this room for anyway?”
“A guest office. You never know, obviously, when someone might need it. Good work, by the way, on the financials.”
“I don’t suppose, on the shuttle, you could—”
“No, I couldn’t,” he said, very firmly. “Tomorrow, after I get home and your guests have gone, is soon enough. We’re going to enjoy ourselves.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Yes.” He gave her a full-out, and completely unsympathetic smile. “It is.”
“There you are!” Mavis, in full party gear of a bride-white mini and knee-high skin-boots of screaming red, skipped down the hall. Her hair, the same screaming red as the boots, bounced as it tumbled to her waist. “Everyone’s asking. I was just checking on Bella. You are the maggest of the mag! The little nursery’s so cute!”
“We want Belle to be happy and comfortable whenever she visits,” Roarke told her.
Eve’s stride took yet another hitch. “You brought the baby?”
“I was going to bring a sitter, but Summerset said he’d rather be with Bellisimo than go to Vegas. The man is sugar. They’re in there now, playing with Kissy Kitty and Puppy Poo.”
Eve didn’t want to know what Kissy Kitty and Puppy Poo might be, or imagine Summerset playing with them. Or anything. She did her best to scrub any and all imagery from her mind as Mavis bubbled on.
“We are going to have the abso-mega best time. Wait till you see the decorations, the food. And the salon is completely uptown. I’m going to plant a
big wet one on my honey bear, so we can get this party started.”
“What am I going to do?” Eve managed as Mavis bounded down the stairs.
“You’re going to plant a big wet one on me. After that? I’m in an alternate reality.”
There were so many of them, Eve thought, as everyone spilled outside where a limo the size of Long Island waited. She couldn’t possibly know all these people. When her head stopped ringing, she realized she didn’t. Strange faces mixed with the familiar.
The groom-to-be caught her in an enthusiastic hug. “Thank you,” Charles told her. “For everything. Louise is so excited about all this.”
Eve glanced over to see Louise with Dennis Mira. Good God, sweet Jesus, Eve thought, Roarke was taking Mr. Mira to Vegas. Her world was inside out.
Somewhere in the chaos, men packed into the enormous limo. As it rolled down the drive, Baxter popped out of one of the moonroofs, shooting up the victory sign while the ladies cheered.
Then she was alone with them.
They squealed. Jumped around. They made inhuman noises and whirled in a blur of color and limbs. And ran for the house, still making them.
“Maybe it’s all some strange dream.”
Laughing, Mira stepped over to put an arm around Eve’s shoulders.
“I didn’t realize you were out here.”
“It was quite a crowd and such an interesting dynamic. The men going off to their indulgence, and the women gathering here for theirs.” Mira gave Eve’s shoulder a little pat. “Celebrations, very defined, very traditional to prepare two individuals for becoming one unit.”
“Mostly it seems like a lot of drinking and screaming.”
“And at the very outer rim of your understanding, I know. But it’s going to be fun.”
“Okay.” She noted Mira wore a dress—pale, pale blue and subtly elegant. “Do I have to change?”
“I think you should. It’ll put you in the mood. In fact, I’d love to get a look at your closet and pick something for you.”
“Fine, sure.” The trade-off would give her time to pick Mira’s brain. “Roarke said you talked to Morris before he left.”
“Yes, and we’ll talk again. He mentioned you suggested he see Father Lopez,” Mira continued as they went inside, started upstairs. “I’m glad you thought of it. Morris is a spiritual man, and I believe Lopez can help him cope with all he has to cope with. The work you gave him helps, too, and it’s good he’s self-aware enough to have asked for it. It keeps his mind active, and more, makes him a part of finding the answers.”