“It just happened, Ian.” Louise interrupted quickly, shot Charles a warning look. “It wasn’t planned. I’m sorry if I’m responsible for this.”
“I’m not blaming you.”
“I’m as much to blame. Charles and I . . . we want a chance to make something together. Can you understand?”
“So Peabody’s just out of the picture.”
“I’m sorry.” As the light dawned, Charles got to his feet. “I hope she’ll understand. I hope we can still be friends. She’s a wonderful woman. More than I deserve.”
“You got that part right, pal.”
Drenched, aching, and more than a little sick, McNab managed to get up. “You’d better find a way to make it right with her.”
“I will. You have my word. Let me get you a towel.”
“I don’t need a damn towel.”
“Then try a piece of advice instead. You’ve got a clear path. Try not to stumble off of it.”
“Yeah, right.” He strode out, his exit hampered a bit by squeaking airboots.
“Well.” Charles blew out a breath. “That was entertaining.”
“Hold still,” Louise ordered. “Your lip’s bleeding.”
As she dabbed at it with a napkin, Charles angled his head. “I’m soaking wet, too.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I think he bruised my ribs.”
“I’ll take a look. Come on. Let’s get you out of those wet clothes and patch you up. This time,” she said, “I’m the professional.”
“I love playing doctor. Louise.” He stopped her, made her turn and look at him. “Delia and I—She’s really very special to me. But we were never lovers.”
“Yes, I figured that out.” She patted her fingers gently on his bruised cheek. “I can’t believe you were about to tell Ian.”
“Could be my brain was still rattled from having his bare-knuckled fist slammed into my face. We’re friends,” he added. “Delia’s the best friend I’ve ever had.”
“And you’ve just done her a lovely favor. Come on now, come with Dr. Louise.” She slipped an arm around his waist. “It’s sweet, isn’t it, the way he leapt to defend her.”
“Sweet.” Charles wiggled his jaw, and saw a few stars. “He thinks I’m sleeping with her, and that pisses him off. Then he thinks I’ve stopped sleeping with her, and it pisses him off even more, so he comes over here and punches me in the face. Yes, very sweet.”
“It’s all point of view. Now, take off your clothes. First house call’s free.”
Chapter 16
Eve stood on the sidewalk outside Stefanie Finch’s apartment building, took a moment to sort through her thoughts. Summer was coming. She could feel the weight of it on the air. “Does it feel like rain to you, Peabody?”
Peabody took a sniff. “No, sir. Humidity’s coming in. It’s likely to be hot and heavy tomorrow.”
“In more ways than one. But I don’t want a storm to muck things up.”
“Dallas, if we move in on him tomorrow without using bait, we can’t be sure of getting him on anything but illegals possession, and that’s if he’s carrying.”
“He’ll be carrying. And we’ve got bait.”
Peabody glanced back up at the building. “You didn’t say anything to her about keeping the date.”
“She won’t be keeping it. I will.”
“You?” With a shake of her head, Peabody gave Eve a measuring glance. “If he’s sticking to pattern we have to figure he knows what she looks like. And you don’t look like her. You’re close to the same height, but coloring’s different, features are different. And she’s, well, bustier. No offense.”
“By one tomorrow, I’ll look enough like her to pass. I’m calling Mavis.”
“Oh.” Peabody brightened. “Oh, that’s iced.”
“Easy for you to say. You won’t have to listen to lectures from her and Trina on why I haven’t had my eyebrows shaped lately, or why I haven’t used the butt cream or whatever. And I’ll probably have to agree to a full treatment after the op.” This was said with undisguised bitterness. “I know how they work.”
“You’re a true soldier, sir, sacrificing yourself for the cause.”
“Wipe that smile off your face, Officer.”
“Wiping, sir.”
“We’ve got . . .” She turned her wrist to check the time. “Fourteen hours to put this together. Go home, get some sleep. I want you at my home office at oh six hundred. Wear soft clothes. Contact Feeney and McNab, bring them up to date. I’ll have to tag the commander at home.” She blew out a breath. “I bet his wife answers.”
Eve slid behind the wheel of her vehicle, switched on the autopilot and set it for home. The engine fired, and died.
She sat back, glared at the console. “This is just not right. I’m a ranked officer.” She punctuated this by smacking the dash with the heel of her hand. “I deserve a goddamn reliable ride. Computer, run the stinking diagnostic on autopilot.”
UNAUTHORIZED USE OF THIS VEHICLE IS AN UNLAWFUL ACT PUNISHABLE BY UP TO FIVE YEARS’ IMPRISONMENT AND A MONETARY FINE OF FIVE-THOUSAND USD. IF YOU ARE NOT AUTHORIZED TO USE THIS VEHICLE, PLEASE EXIT SAME IMMEDIATELY. IF YOU HAVE AUTHORIZATION, IDENTIFY YOURSELF. FAILURE TO DO SO WILL AUTOMATICALLY LOCK ALL EXITS AND NOTIFY THE NEAREST PATROL VEHICLE.
A red haze drifted over her vision. “You want me to identify myself? I’ll identify myself, you demon from hell. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. Vehicle authorization code Zero-Five-Zero-Six-One-Charlie. I am armed and I am dangerous, and in about five seconds I’m going to draw my weapon and fry every one of your circuits.”
ANY ATTEMPT AT VANDALISM ON THIS VEHICLE WILL RESULT IN—
“Shut up, shut up, shut up, and run the fucking ID.”
POSSESSING . . . YOUR IDENTIFICATION AND CODES ARE CORRECT, DALLAS, LIEUTENANT EVE.
“Dandy keen, now run the damn diagnostic.”
WORKING . . . AUTO-NAVIGATION ON THIS VEHICLE IS EXPERIENCING SYSTEMIC PROBLEMS. DO YOU WISH TO NOTIFY MAINTENANCE AT THIS TIME?
“I wish to blow Maintenance and everyone in it to holy hell. And don’t tell me that will result in fine and/or imprisonment because it’d be worth it. Re-engage manual.”
The engine rumbled on, and the air conditioning whirled, filling the cockpit with frigid air. “Disengage climate control.”
WORKING . . . CLIMATE CONTROL IS EXPERIENCING SYSTEMIC PROBLEMS. DO YOU WISH TO NOTIFY MAINTENANCE AT THIS TIME?
“Oh, fuck you,” Eve said and rolled down all windows.
She shot away from the curb, and unwilling to trust the in-dash ’link, pulled out her own.
Mrs. Whitney answered, looking perfectly groomed and very annoyed.
“I’m sorry to disturb you at home, Mrs. Whitney, but I need to speak with the commander.”
“It’s after eleven o’clock, Lieutenant. Can’t this wait until morning?”
“No, ma’am, it can’t.”
“One moment,” she snapped, and switched Eve to wait mode, complete with canned music. Eve listened to violins and flutes as she drove one-handed through a snarl of traffic.
“Whitney.”
“I’m sorry to call you at home, Commander, but there’s been a break in the investigation.”
“I’m always ready to hear good news.”
“I’ve just come from questioning Stefanie Finch. She has a date with the suspect tomorrow at thirteen hundred, Greenpeace Park.”
“He’s moved to days?”
“It fits the profile, sir. Upping the risk. Finch is cooperating. She’s agreed to remain inside her residence. I have two uniforms with her, round the clock. Unless the suspect hears from her by noon tomorrow, he’ll keep the date. I’m making arrangements to go in her place.”
“Is there a physical resemblance?”
“We’re close in height and build. I’m making arrangements to take care of the rest. I’ve got more data to study, but I can maintain the cover until he gives me the drug. He puts it in my hand, Commander, a
nd we sew him up.”
“What do you need?”
“I’d like six cops, soft clothes, in addition to my team, stationed at strategic areas. I’ll go over diagrams tonight and determine placement. I’ll go in wired. I’ll need Feeney and the e-man of his choice in a surveillance vehicle. Additional vehicular and air backup is advisable, in case he gets past me. I’d like to select the rest of the team and brief them from my home office by oh eight hundred hours. I want everyone in place by eleven.”
“You’re cleared. Pick your men, and keep me updated. What the hell is that noise?”
“Ah, my climate control’s dinky, sir.”
“Well, notify Maintenance.”
She heard her own teeth grind. “Yes, sir.”
When she got home, she marched through her office and into Roarke’s.
“Can you get your hands on any explosives?”
He glanced up from his work, picked up the brandy snifter that sat at his elbow. “Probably. What would you like?”
“Anything that will blow that insult, that abomination parked out front into a million tiny little pieces that can never be put back together again.”
“Ah.” He swirled brandy, sipped. “Vehicular troubles again, Lieutenant?”
“Is that a smirk?” The red haze was gathering again. “Is that a smirk on your face? Because if it is . . .” She shoved up her sleeves.
“Mmm, violence. You know how that arouses me.”
She managed a short scream and yanked at her own hair.
“Darling Eve, why don’t you let some of my mechanics deal with it? Or better yet, take whatever suits your needs out of the garage.”
“Because that’s like giving up. Those bastards in Maintenance aren’t going to beat me.” She huffed out a breath. “Anyway. Mavis and Trina are coming over. Probably Leonardo, too. They’re spending the night.”
“Are we having a pajama party? Will there be pillow fights?”
“You’re just a laugh a minute. You want an update or do you want to fantasize about scantily clad women bashing each other with pillows?”
His grin was quick and wicked. “Guess.”
She dropped into a chair and filled him in.
He picked up the cat as she spoke, sat stroking Galahad, watching her. He knew she was doing more than bringing him up to speed. She was refining, checking for holes, firming up the operation as she talked it through. They both knew no matter how meticulously planned the operation, it only took one variable to upset the balance.
“Some men,” he said when she’d finished, “lesser men, might object to having their wife picnic in the park with another man.”
“I’ll bring you back some potato salad.”
“That’s my girl. You said Feeney will pick his man inside the surveillance vehicle. I believe he could be persuaded to select an expert consultant, civilian.”
The circle her mind was taking came to an abrupt halt, then backtracked. “This is an NYPSD op, and there’s no need for you to be there. You’ve got your own work.”
“I do, yes, but I so enjoy watching you do yours.” He gave the cat’s ears a scratch with those long, clever fingers that had Galahad purring in pleasure. “Why don’t we let Feeney decide?”
“No bribery.”
His eyebrows shot up in amazement. “Really, Lieutenant, you wound me. If I were easily offended, I might not tell you I’ve separated, cross-filed, and indexed your data.”
“Yeah? You’re pretty handy to have around. Let’s have a look.” She got up to walk around to his side of the console. He tapped a single key, then setting the cat down, tugged her onto his lap.
“No funny stuff,” she ordered.
“Who’s laughing?” He nipped her earlobe. “You see on-screen three of those project personnel with male children who would now be between the ages of twenty and thirty-five. That gives you twenty-eight hits. Adding male siblings and grandchildren, secondary dependents in that same age bracket garners another fifteen.”
“So that’s, what, forty-three possibles. That’s workable.”
“However . . .” He kissed the nape of her neck. “Refining and recalculating using those personnel who were reprimanded, cited, terminated or named in civil suits, we decrease those possibles to eighteen. I assumed you’d want to start with them. Screen four.”
“Keep this up, the chief’s going to offer you a permanent position on the force.”
“Now you’re trying to scare me, but I’m too strong for that.”
“Knock out the overthirties. I’m betting he’s younger than that.”
He nuzzled her neck and did it manually. “Down to eight.”
“Yeah. We start with them. Computer, run background check, all data, on individuals listed on screen four.”
WORKING . . .
“It’ll take a minute,” Roarke told her and worked his way from neck to jaw.
“You’re not authorized to attempt to seduce the primary investigator at this time.”
“I’ve vast experience in breaking the law.” He found her mouth, sank in.
“Wow. They always look so hot.”
Mavis Freestone stood in the doorway in four-inch platform boots that rode up to her crotch in shiny, eyewatering pink. Her hair, tinted to match, seemed to burst out of her head in an explosive topknot. With it, she wore a skimmer in dizzying swirls of pink and blue that fluttered down to meet the top of the boots.
She beamed smiles set off by sparkling face studs fixed to the corners of her mouth.
Beside her Trina, her own hair in a foot-high ebony mountain, snorted. “If this is part of the fringe bennies on cop work, I want a badge.”
Eve’s fingers dug reflexively into Roarke’s arm. “Don’t leave me,” she whispered. “Whatever you do, don’t leave me.”
“Be strong. Good evening, ladies.”
“Leonardo’s bopping over later. He had stuff. Summerset said to come right up.” Mavis danced into the room. “We gave thumb’s-up to snacks. We’ve got all kinds of goodies to try out on you, Dallas. This is so ultra mag.”
Eve’s stomach turned. “Whoopee.”
“Where do you want me to set up?” Trina asked and was already studying Eve in a way that made the kick-ass cop want to whimper like a baby.
“In my office. This is an official consult, not a personal treatment.”
“Whatever.” Trina blew an enormous purple bubble, snapped the gum back. “Show me what you want to look like, and I’ll make it happen.”
In her office, Eve put Stefanie Finch’s official ID photo on-screen and managed not to yelp when Trina took her face in her hands. Hands with inch-long sapphire nails.
“Mm-hmm. You know, lip dye isn’t a crime in this state. You ought to try it.”
“I’ve been kind of busy.”
“You’re always kind of busy. You’re not using the eye gel I gave you. You can’t find a minute twice a day for eye gel? You want bags and wrinkles? You got the finest piece of man-candy on and off planet, and you want him looking at your face with bags and wrinkles? What are you going to do when he dumps you for a woman who takes time to maintain her face?”
“Kill him.”
That made Trina laugh and sent the little sapphire she had centered on her left eyetooth winking. “Easier to use the gel. I need a photo of you, put it split screen with the image you want. I need to run some morph programs before we start playing with your face.”
“Sure.” Grabbing the reprieve, Eve went to her computer.
“Cocktail meatballs! Frigid!” Mavis snagged one from the tray Summerset carried in. “Summerset, you’re the summit.”
His face transformed. It always surprised Eve that he could smile and his face not crack to pieces. “Enjoy. If you’d like anything else, just let me know. And the AutoChef has been fully restocked.”
“You ought to stay and watch.” Mavis speared a second meatball. “We’re going to make Dallas into someone else.”
“That,” Summerset s
aid with his smile going thin and sour as a lemon slice when he glanced toward Eve, “is the answer to a prayer. And while tempting, I’ll leave you to your work.”
“He’s such a kidder,” Mavis said when he walked out.
“Oh yeah, he really cracks me up. There’s your image,” Eve told Trina. “I’ve got to check some data in the other room. Just let me know when you’re ready for me.”
She went back into Roarke and was met with a cup of coffee. “Though I imagine you could use a stiff drink, I assumed you’d opt for coffee.”
“Thanks. She’s got three cases, three, filled with her hideous devices of torture.” She took a bracing gulp of coffee. “I should put in for hazardous duty pay for this.” She turned toward the wall screen. “Let’s see who we’ve got.”
She leaned back on Roarke’s desk and studied the images and data, one by one.
Doctors, lawyers, students, engineers, she mused. She earmarked one not currently employed with a minor illegals offense on his record.
“He’s not a drone,” she said, half to herself. “Not somebody who’s pulling an eight-hour shift. He needs time for his hobby and he’s got money. He’s a professional or he’s just living on his portfolio. Whoa, wait. Computer, magnify current photographic image.”
She stepped closer to the screen as the face filled it. And stared into Kevin Morano’s eyes. “This one rings with me. Yeah, I know those eyes. Kevin. Yeah, there you are, Kevin. Let’s see . . . So Mama worked on the project. No father listed. She was a PR exec. Owns her own firm now. London based, with offices in New York, Paris, and Milan. He’s an only child, and was born thirteen months after the project got off the ground. Interesting. Really interesting how a PR exec files a sexual harassment suit, drops it again within six weeks, agrees to have the records sealed. And walks away with a kid and enough money to start an international firm.”
She glanced back at Roarke. “Woman who runs her own public relations firm with that scope, she’d probably need a pretty slick image. Polished, sophisticated.”
“It follows.”
“Woman has a kid, then after a little scandal in the workplace heads off here and there establishing herself an international company.”