New York to Dallas edahr-41

by J. D. Robb

  “Wherever he wants to take me on, Commander, he won’t stop until that happens.”

  She’d known, Eve thought now. She’d known it wouldn’t be New York, that he wouldn’t wage this battle on her ground.

  But Dallas. She’d never considered he’d use Dallas and a former victim.

  And she should have.

  “There are another twenty-one survivors from that room,” she continued, “and he can pick and choose. And there are countless others who fit his needs. He wants to engage me. He’ll torture Melinda Jones, and/or take other victims until he does. This isn’t a negotiation. It’s an either/or until I go where he wants me to go.”

  No choice, she thought. He’d left her no choice at all. First strike to him.

  “I’d prefer having your permission and support, Commander, and the cooperation of the Dallas PSD. But I’ll go without it. I have personal time coming, and I’ll take it.”

  “I’ve spoken with Detective Jones’s lieutenant. He’s willing to accept your help, and include you in their investigation as a consultant. However . . .” Whitney laid the palms of his hands on his thighs, tapped them twice. “Dallas, we’re all aware of your background, your history in that city. We have to assume McQueen knows parts of it.”

  A small, hard ball of ice formed in her belly. “It’s likely he dug up the basics. That I’d been found there, my condition. It would only add to his determination to draw me back. You know him.” She turned to Mira. “You know that would play.”

  “Commander, if I could have a few moments in private with the lieutenant.”

  His eyebrows drew together, but he nodded and rose. “Of course.”

  “We’re wasting time,” Eve said the minute the door shut behind him. “We all know I have to go, so there’s no damn point in talking it all to death.”

  “And I’ll block you leaving New York unless you talk to me.”

  “You can’t.”

  Mira’s eyes, a mild, soft blue hardened to steel. “Don’t be so sure.”

  “You’d let him torture, dismember, kill an innocent woman so, what, I don’t experience some emotional trauma?” Eve shoved to her feet. “I’m a cop. It’s not your job to decide.”

  “It’s precisely my job,” Mira corrected with a rare flash of temper. “You didn’t blink. You didn’t hesitate. And you’d better do both now, here with me. Or would you rather bull forward and go, then find yourself unable to deal with it when that innocent’s—and your own—life is on the line? You were beaten and raped in Dallas.”

  “Chicago, too. I remember it some, and a couple other places. Do I have to give you a list of cities so you can clear my travel?”

  “You didn’t kill your abuser in Chicago. You were finally able to defend yourself in Dallas, a child of eight, who—covered with blood, her arm broken, her mind frozen in shock—wandered the streets.”

  “I know what happened. I was there.”

  “And blocked it out for years, protected yourself from the memories of years of abuse as best you could. Lived with nightmares.”

  “I don’t have them anymore. I dealt with it. They stopped.” Almost entirely.

  “Have you considered, even for a moment, what going back under these circumstances might mean? Going there, of all places, to hunt a man who abuses—physically, sexually, emotionally—children, just as your father did to you. Have you considered how this might affect you, personally and professionally?”

  “Do you think I want to go?” It burst out of her, a quick flood of anger and heat. “I went back once, to that room, to those streets, even to the alley where they found me. I got through that, and I promised myself I’d never go back. He’s dead here, and here,” she said, putting her hands on her head. “And I don’t know if going there will bring him back again. God, I don’t want to face that again, having him alive in my head. What do you expect me to do? Let her die because I’m afraid of him, of all of it?”

  “No.” Mira spoke quietly now. “I expect you to go, to do your job, to find him, and to stop him.”

  “You just wanted me to break down first?”

  “Yes, exactly. I care about you, Eve. You’re so much more to me than another case file. I care about you as I do about my own children, and am perfectly aware those feelings can and do make it difficult for both of us from time to time.”

  She let out a sound, a mix of sorrow and regret. “A mother protects her child above all. She also has to let her go, but not without being sure her child is prepared and armed and ready. If you couldn’t admit to yourself and to me those fears, those doubts, you couldn’t be ready. Now I can let you go, even wishing I could stop you.”

  “I don’t want to go.” The breath Eve let out scraped at her throat like nails. “I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t.”

  “I know. He’ll use whatever he knows about your history, like salt in a wound. He’ll play mind games, prodding where you’re most vulnerable. I need you to promise you’ll contact me if you need help.”

  Eve walked back, sat. “It makes it difficult from time to time, on my end, because my memories of a mother are twisted and ugly. She hated me. That’s the foremost memory I have of her. The hate in her eyes when she looked at me. So I don’t know how to respond when the offer of, I guess, a maternal type of affection and support is . . . pure or whatever.”

  “I understand that. It’s something we can delve into deeper when you’re ready.” Mira laid a hand over Eve’s. “Promise you’ll let me know if you need my help.”

  “I do. I will.”

  Rising, Mira started for the door, stopped. “You’re stronger than you were, and you were always strong. You’re smarter than you were, and you were always smart. You have more because you let yourself give and take more. He hasn’t changed since you stopped him. You have. Use that,” she said, and opened the door.

  “Commander,” Mira said when Whitney came back in. “In my opinion, Lieutenant Dallas is clear for this assignment.”

  “The choice is yours, Lieutenant.”

  “You know I’ve made it, sir.”

  “Very well. Lieutenant Ricchio has cleared you as well, and to take another investigator at your discretion. If you want Peabody, I’ll have it done.”

  “Peabody’s needed here, Commander. She’s studied the case files, already has the research and data on the partner. As well as a suspect in custody for accessory who may have more information. I want her to continue to work the case from here. To work it as primary.”

  “That’s your call.”

  “I’ll brief her. I’ll take Roarke, as expert consultant, civilian, if he’s available.”

  “Make whatever arrangements you deem best, and contact me when you’re in the air.” He drew a disc from his pocket. “Data on Ricchio, Detective Jones, the other detectives and officers you’ll most likely work with.”

  “Thank you, sir. That’s . . . thorough.”

  “I know my cops,” he said briefly. “It’ll save you from running them. Good hunting, Lieutenant.”

  She hurried back to Homicide. She’d have time to think, review, plan on the trip, but for now she had to move fast.

  She spotted Peabody eyeing the dubious choices at Vending outside the bullpen. “Peabody, with me.”

  She went straight through into her office.

  “I’ve got Stibble holding. I was just going to grab some lunch, then—”

  “Grab it later. McQueen’s in Dallas. He grabbed Melinda Jones, one of his former vics, last night.”

  “Is she alive?”

  “Assumed. He left a message for her twin sister. I’ve been invited down there to play with him.”

  “To—” Peabody broke off, shut the door. “Does he know what happened to you there?”

  “Undetermined.” As she spoke, Eve packed a file box. “I’m leaving asap.”

  “You mean we.”

  “No, I don’t. I need you here. I want you to handle Stibble. Wring him dry. Continue to find out anyth
ing you can on this Sister Suzan. She’ll be in Dallas. She’ll have laid the groundwork for McQueen. They’ve got a place, somewhere private enough to hold a hostage. She’ll have a place of her own, close by. Use Baxter and Trueheart. If you need more manpower, let me know and I’ll arrange it.”

  “You’re not going there alone.” Peabody shifted to block the door, and had Eve’s eyebrows lifting.

  “Were your orders unclear, Detective?”

  “Don’t pull that shit on me, Dallas. Just don’t. It’s a trap, and worse, it’s there. It’s where . . . it’s there.”

  “I know where it is, and of course he’s figuring it’s a trap. He’ll want to string it out for a while, have some fun with it. That’s a mistake.”

  Now Peabody folded her arms, planted her feet. “I’m going with you.”

  “Peabody, I know you’ve been working on improving your hand-to-hand, but I can take you down in five seconds flat.” She took a breath as Peabody’s face only tightened into fiercer lines. First Mira, she thought, now this.

  “If I can’t handle myself I don’t have any business with this badge or this office.”

  “That’s not the point. This is different.”

  “Every case is different, and how we deal with every case is different. But what’s the same is we work it, we do the job, and we take the risks the job demands. That’s it.”

  She considered demoralizing her partner by moving her bodily from the door. Not only would it leave a bad taste in her mouth, but she needed Peabody on top, confident, clean-headed.

  And under it, she just didn’t have the heart to slap back the concern of her partner. Her friend.

  “I’m going to talk to Roarke right now, see if he can clear some time to go along as a consultant. The commander cleared it with Dallas PSD. Don’t question me on this, Peabody. I need to go, and I need to go knowing you’re capable of taking charge of the investigation from here.”

  “In charge? Me? But Baxter—”

  “You studied McQueen, and you’re familiar with all stages of the investigation to this point. You’re a goddamn decorated officer of this department. And you will take the lead on the New York end of this investigation as you’ve been trained to do. You will not let me down.”

  “I won’t let you down. Please don’t go alone. If Roarke can’t leave this minute, take one of the other men. Take backup that’s familiar, that you know you can trust. You don’t know the people down there.”

  “I’ve data on all of them. If Roarke’s not available, I’ll consider hooking Feeney into it.”

  “Okay. But if you need me—”

  “I know where you are. Now I’ve got to go. He only gave me eight hours and it’s ticking away fast. Send me whatever you get out of Stibble, whatever you get on the partner.”

  “I’ll stay in regular contact.” With some reluctance Peabody moved away from the door, followed Eve out. “How do you want me to play Stibble? Should I—”

  “You know what to do. Do it. Now brief the men.” Without another word she left.

  She pulled out her ’link, tagged Baxter as she worked down the levels to the garage.

  “Yo,” Baxter said.

  “I’m headed out of town, following a lead on McQueen. Peabody’s taking over here. I want you and Trueheart working with her. She’s primary.”

  “Copy that.”

  “Don’t give her too much grief, Baxter, but don’t baby her.”

  “How much is too much? Don’t worry about it. Trueheart’ll keep me honest. Just go get that fucker, LT.”

  “That’s the plan.” She clicked off, contacted Roarke’s office.

  His admin, Caro, smiled at her. “Hello, Lieutenant. Roarke’s just finishing up a holo-conference. If it’s important, I’ll cut in.”

  “I’m on my way there. I need to talk to him as soon as possible. It’s urgent.”

  Caro’s smile shifted to alert. “I’ll clear the time.”

  “Thanks.”

  And here we go, Eve thought, as she jumped into her vehicle and pushed the DLE Urban Roarke had designed for her to full speed. As she drove, dodging, weaving, hitting vertical to leapfrog, she plugged the disc Whitney had given her into the onboard comp, and began to familiarize herself with Lieutenant Ricchio and his unit.

  When she stepped into the expansive black-and-white lobby of Roarke’s headquarters, one of his security met her. “We cleared an elevator for you. Straight up, Lieutenant.”

  “Thanks.” She strode quickly past the moving maps, the banks and rivers of flowers, the crisscross of people bustling in and out of the shops and eateries.

  Security escorted her to the elevator, then stepped back. “It’s programmed,” he told her before the doors closed.

  She spent the time on the fast ride up, up, up, pacing the car, aligning her thoughts, working out what needed to be done and how to do it.

  The doors opened again, directly into Roarke’s office, and he stood waiting.

  “What’s happened?”

  “McQueen’s taken a hostage.” When he gripped her hand, she saw her mistake. He thought it was someone in New York, someone they loved.

  “Who?”

  “Melinda Jones. She’s one of the twins, the last he abducted.”

  “I remember.” But relief didn’t register on his face. He remembered, she thought, everything. “She’s in Dallas.”

  “He grabbed her late last night. I can fill you in on it later. He’s given me a deadline to get down there, or he’ll start cutting pieces off of her.”

  “He wants you in Dallas?” Those beautiful blue eyes narrowed and sharpened. “He specifically demanded this?”

  “Yeah, in eight hours from the time the sister picked up the message. “That was at ten forty-three, their time. It’s twelve-forty now. So I’ve got six hours to get there. Or . . . it’s earlier there, so I lose an hour. Or gain it. Shit, I can’t ever figure that crap out.”

  “There’s time enough. It isn’t a coincidence he’s there.”

  “There are factors. We can get into them later. Right now I don’t want to fuck around, give him any excuse to start cutting her up. I’m cleared to work with the locals, and to take a partner or aide, or whatever. I need Peabody to stay here, to run this part of the investigation.”

  He nodded, and saying nothing more crossed the long space to his desk in front of the sea of glass that gave him New York. “Caro, clear my schedule until further notice. I need a shuttle prepped and waiting at Transportation for a flight to Dallas, Texas. Right away.”

  He clicked off the inter-office ’link. “Sit down a minute,” he told Eve.

  “I didn’t ask you to go with me. I was going to, but you didn’t give me a chance.”

  “Do you think you could go there without me? Ever?”

  She closed her eyes a minute. “No questions? No objections? No ‘You can’t go back there’?”

  “I’d be wasting my time and yours. Going will hurt you. Not going would break you.”

  This time when she let out a breath, it shuddered. And she went to him, wrapped her arms around him. “Yes. And going back without you? I don’t want to think about it.”

  “Then don’t.” He drew her back, looked into her eyes. “We’ll deal with this, you and I.”

  “Yeah, we will. I—we—need to get home, pack.”

  He merely turned to the ’link again. A few seconds later, Summerset appeared on screen.

  “Eve and I are leaving for Dallas on urgent police business. I’ll need you to pack for both of us as quickly as possible, and have the luggage sent to my short-range shuttle at Transportation.”

  “Right away. Will a week’s wardrobe be sufficient?”

  “That should be fine. I’ll contact you with other instructions once we’re on our way. Thank you.”

  Even through the rush, the worry, she had room for a good scoop of appalled. “Summerset’s going to pack for me? Like, my underwear?”

  Roarke glanced at her, smile
d. “You seem more disturbed by that than with the idea of facing down McQueen.”

  “The first is humiliating, and I’m looking forward to the second. But I’ll suck it up. It saves time.”

  “Spend it sitting down. Take a breath. I need to go consult with Caro for a few minutes.”

  “Roarke.” She remained on her feet. “I know you probably think going with me on this kind of deal is part of the marriage rules.”

  His lips curved in easy amusement. “You do love your rules.”

  “When I know about them, and understand them. I know I give you a lot of grief about owning the world, or buying up planets. It’s not that I don’t get how much work, time, responsibility it takes to run everything you run. I do. So I know you’re putting a hell of a lot on hold for me. I don’t take it for granted.”

  “Eve.” He waited a beat. “I once stood in a field in Ireland, alone, a little lost, and wishing for you more than I wished for my next breath. And you came, though I never asked you, you came because you knew I needed you. We don’t always do what’s right, what’s good. Not even for each other. But when it counts, down to the core of it, I believe we do exactly that. What’s right and good for each other.

  “There’s no rule to that, Eve. It’s just love.”

  Just love, she thought when he stepped out. She may have been going into her own personal hell to face a killer, but right at that moment she considered herself the luckiest woman in the world.

  6

  Eve spent the first part of the quick flight reviewing the rest of Whitney’s data, then pacing. Thinking, working out an approach. Until Roarke completed whatever he was doing on his PPC and set the device aside.

  “Tell me what to expect when we get there.”

  “Can’t be sure.” And it left her unsettled, edgy. “Ricchio, Lieutenant Anton, is Detective Jones’s direct superior. He runs Special Victims, so they deal with a lot of sex crimes and abuse to minors. Jones aimed her arrow right there.”

  “And her twin aimed hers toward abuse and rape counseling. I imagine they’ve worked together.”

  “Melinda counseled a number of vics in the SVU files,” Eve confirmed. “Ricchio’s a twenty-year man. Married—second time—twelve years. He has a son, eighteen, from marriage one, and a daughter, age ten, from his current. Comes off steady to me, gives his detectives some room. He’s partnered Jones with his most experienced detective, Annalyn Walker. Fifteen years on, the last eight in SVU. Single, no marriages or offspring. She’s got a good record. Those should be the main players we’ll deal with.”