him. I bet she’s had some body work since he hooked her. Lift the girls up some, laser off the lines, like that.”
“Recent, after she stopped counseling, before his escape. In Dallas, or close. She’s thinking about seeing him, him seeing her, being with him, she might’ve gone for the works at some salon, and in the last few days.”
“Feels right.”
“Look, I’ll take the inmate search. You and Jones know the city. Put together a list of most-likely salons, body work locations. Show both her ID shots. Let’s get lucky again.”
“Are you going to update the feds with this angle?”
“Shit. Yeah, I’ll take care of it.”
“Too bad,” Annalyn said, and grinned. “Come on, Bree. Let’s track this bitch down.”
Eve sat, started the search. Annalyn was right, she thought. It felt right. Felt good. While she worked she forgot the unfamiliar room, fell into a routine.
McQueen had mucked with his, she thought, and now his foundation cracked under the weight of too much fuss, too many additions.
It didn’t surprise her to find so many cons, deemed rehabilitated, with connections to illegals.
“Prisons are full of bad guys,” she mumbled, ran each one.
“I like you, Burt, street name Thor, Civet. I like you a whole bunch.” She ran probabilities, smiled slowly. “See there, the computer likes you, too. You’re a popular guy. Contact Peabody, Detective Delia, NYPSD,” she ordered the ’link.
Peabody’s face, showing a little wear, came on screen. “Hey, Dallas. We’ve got Stibble and Lovett on hold. We think we’ve tapped them out, but we’ll give them another go tomorrow.”
“I’ve got a line. Burt Civet, aka Thor. Did time with McQueen until he made parole about four years ago. His current address is listed on Washington Street. No current employment, so I’m just taking a wild guess he’s dealing again. Find him, pick him up, squeeze him. Probability’s high McQueen tapped him to supply the partner when she was in New York, keep her happy.”
“Got it.”
“I want everything he knows about this woman, Peabody. Everything. I want to know how McQueen handled the payoff. Make whatever deal you’ve got to make, but convince him it’s in his best interest to roll over. He did five hard last time. Use it. He likes to sell to minors, tends to set up shop near playgrounds, schools, arcades.”
“Makes him a good match for McQueen.”
“I’m sure they bonded. I want McQueen’s bitch, Peabody. Squeeze hard.”
“He’s the lemon, we’ll make lemonade. How’s it going down there?”
“It’s weird. They’re too polite, they talk funny, and stuff has too much shine on it. But the coffee’s worse than Central’s, so that’s something. I’m going to send you everything I’ve got, then I’m going to pull Roarke in from whatever he’s doing at EDD. I want to work on my own at the hotel for a while. You can reach me on my pocket ’link.”
“I’ll let you know when we’ve got him.”
Eve clicked off, sat back. She wanted to be there. She wanted to track down Civet, squeeze his lemons into lemonade.
She hadn’t been able to intimidate, squeeze, or snarl since she’d left New York. It just wasn’t right.
She tagged Roarke. “I’ve got a couple lines,” she told him. “I want to take what I’ve got and work at the hotel. I need to get out of here as soon as you can shake loose.”
“I’m right there with you. On my way.”
She copied and saved data, gathered what she wanted. Rather than contact the feds directly, she wrote a quick, down-and-dirty summary and shot it to their ’links as text mail.
When she walked out to inform Ricchio of her plans, Roarke intercepted her.
“I let the Texas lieutenant know where you’ll be. Let’s get the bloody hell out of here.”
“Problem?”
He took her arm to hurry her along. “Let’s just say I’ve gotten used to your cop house. This one’s given me an itch between the shoulder blades.”
“How’s the deal in EDD?”
“Not as charming to my mind as our own, but efficient and with a similar wardrobe—though with a southwestern edge. The commanding officer doesn’t care for civilians in his space—something else I’m accustomed to. But I’ve dealt with that.”
“You showed off,” Eve said as they got in the car.
“It had to be done. I dislike being scowled at and insulted by cops. Present company excepted. And how was your day?”
“Progress.”
She filled him in as they drove.
“Your two-pronged approach seems to be working quite well,” Roarke commented. “As does your focus on the woman. She’s a chink in his wall. I agree with you, he won’t keep her long. He has to know she’s a liability, if not at this point, soon.”
“She could stretch it out if she plays him right—but I think she’s probably emotionally attached, so she’ll fuck up. And he has Melinda for company and conversation.”
“You think he’ll use her after all?”
“I think that’s low probability, which is why I’m worried he’ll move on a kid, and soon. But she’ll talk to him, at least I think she will. It’s what she does now. She’s trained. I want to believe she’ll get through this, use that training, keep him from hurting her.”
He pulled up in front of the hotel, one of those slick, shiny spears in the city’s arsenal. He said, simply, “Roarke,” and handed the key code and what Eve assumed was a hefty tip to the doorman as the man all but bolted to the doors to open them.
“This isn’t where we stayed last time. But it’s obviously one of yours.”
“It is, yes, and I thought we’d both want the change.”
When they walked to an elevator, the security man at the desk came to attention, snapped out, “Sir.”
Roarke gave him a nod, then swiped a card. When they stepped into the small, muted gold elevator, he said, “Triplex West, top level.”
“Triplex, as in three floors?”
“I thought we’d use the third floor as HQ. That way we can lock it off, even from housekeeping if you want. Use a droid there. First level’s living space, second’s bedroom areas. I ordered the top as I thought you’d want to see the setup, leave your file bag. Then I want a bloody drink.”
“I could use a bloody drink myself, and a bloody shower, and a bloody suspect I can hammer into the ground.”
He smiled. “Missing New York. How about a bloody meal to go with it?”
“I had a burger.”
“Fuck me, it’s more than I’ve had.”
The door opened. She blinked.
A murder board sat center of the room, just as she liked it. It wasn’t precisely arranged as she would do, nor updated, but images, data, a partial time line—it was all there.
As was a desk, a sleep chair, three screens, two D-and-C units—in addition to what looked like a fully equipped kitchen, bath, and she noted after a quick circle, a second office.
“How did you do this?”
“I have a man here, one I could trust with your board. He has top security clearance. Saves you time.”
“It really does. Yours?” she asked with a gesture to the second office.
“It is. Not quite like home, but, well, adjustments.”
He’d made it as easy for her as he could, given her all the tools to work the way she liked best.
She stepped to him, laid her hands on his face and her lips on his.
“That’s just like home,” she murmured. Then because it felt so damn good, hugged him hard. “Let’s have a bloody drink.”
