employment while she resided here.”
“Good work, Detective.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Contact me with further data as it comes. Dismissed.”
She cut the transmission. “I want everyone in this room as familiar with every one of these names, faces, salients as they are with their own. If, by chance, the UNSUB goes on the move under one of these IDs, she is to be followed. Not approached.
“Whether she’s on foot or using the vehicle, we’ll tail her until she leads us to McQueen.”
“Why don’t we put a homer on the vehicle?”
She glanced at Detective Price. “We have no way of knowing if said vehicle has sensors or security that would alert either the woman or McQueen if any attempt at tampering is made. As his vehicle we confiscated in New York did. Four-vehicle tail,” she continued. “Five with me. Your lieutenant will assign the teams, and select the best location to wait until she’s on the move. Air backup. EDD coordinating switchoffs and visuals throughout. We give her a clean path to McQueen. To his location, and straight to him. She so much as smells cop, we lose her. Lose her, and we lose McQueen, Melinda Jones, and Darlie Morgansten.
“Nobody, absolutely nobody goes near the vehicle or the house, not when she’s in or out. There may be alarms set on the residence. We wait.”
“Heat sensors identified a single hit inside the residence,” Ricchio told her. “Moving around.”
“Excellent. She’s there, she’s up. Surveillance at that location is to be changed hourly. If she’s spending some time at home, I don’t want her noticing unfamiliar vehicles in place for long. I want a team of four ready in softclothes in case she leaves on foot.”
She waited a beat. “Now, McQueen.”
Tough to refine an op when the location remained unknown, but she laid out basic strategy for recovery and apprehension.
“When she leads us there, we’ll refine and adjust for specific location. We take this a step at a time. We’re careful and we’re smart. And we get it done.”
She answered questions, but kept it short. Time, she thought. The bitch was no housewife, who’d putter around half the day.
Nikos waited until she’d finished to approach. “We can work the air surveillance and tail. Laurence and I will stay on the ground, part of the ground tail.”
“That’ll work.”
“I’ve got some concerns about the recovery and apprehension.”
“Let’s work that out when we have the location. Once she’s with McQueen, we’ll have time to nail it down. But I don’t want to lose her now, so let’s get where we’re going.”
She turned away, went to Roarke. “I need you in EDD on the financials. I know you’d rather stick with me.”
“My first and last priority, Lieutenant.”
“I get it, but I need those accounts. I’m going to be with two dozen cops, federal agents, SWAT. I’d say I’ve got plenty of backup there. Plus, I’ll tag you the minute she’s on the move. And again when she goes to McQueen. I’ll give you the location, and you can come in then. You can come in before we take him.”
“That’s fair enough.”
“I’m good,” she said, because he was studying her just a little too carefully.
He touched his fingertips, just a skim, to hers. “I can see that.”
“I’ve gotta go. I’m taking the car. Nobody tails in a rig like that, so she’ll never smell cop. I’ll arrange for an officer to bring you to McQueen’s location when we’ve got it.”
“No, you won’t,” Roarke corrected, with feeling. “I’ll arrange for another car, and get myself there.”
“Have it your way.”
“That’s the way I like best.” This time he took her hand, but very briefly. “Go nail her down, Lieutenant.”
“Count on it.”
13
Nice neighborhood, Eve mused. Solid middle-class, with a selection of young families if the kid shit in the yards was a gauge. Little playgrounds with a lot of stuff to swing on, climb on, fall off, and break your arm on. A whole slew of bikes. Bikes not locked away, she noted, which meant nobody was too worried about theft.
A safe neighborhood—according to Ricchio’s data and her own observations—where the people didn’t know they had a predator sipping nightly cocktails right next door.
Mostly older vehicles sat in the drives and at the curbs, but with a sprinkling of shiny new ones so her ride didn’t stand out. In any case, she sat a full block away from the target and well out of sight.
She studied the duplex on her dash screen, listened idly to the chatter in the EDD van and the other vehicles on surveillance.
Nice little yard in the front, shared with the other half of the house. The slim two stories appeared all neat and tidy on the exterior. Sizzling red and purple flowers flourished in emerald-green pots on the stoop of the connecting house. Most of the houses sported gardens or flowerpots. Apparently the UNSUB wasn’t interested in posies as her entrance remained bare.
A pint-sized bike in vivid blue rested on its kickstand in the front yard of the house one unit up from target. Boy’s bike, she figured, given the style, and with those training-wheel deals.
Not a kid McQueen would be interested in, so his partner probably didn’t give him a thought.
Did she get along with her neighbors? Probably. Didn’t know how long she’d have to stay, wouldn’t want trouble. Kept to herself, the neighbors would say when interviewed after the fact.
Nice, quiet, pretty woman—women, she thought. She had to be able to come and go as either, didn’t she? They’d be college pals, living together, or sisters or something. Roommates. Never seen together, but who noticed? One worked days, say, the other nights. Different days off.
Not hard to run a game like that if you stayed smart and careful.
Top-line security, doors and windows. Well, a couple women, living alone. Who’d question that? Privacy screens drawn.
Come on, come out. Take a walk, take a drive. Don’t you miss him? You’re obsessed with him. Addicted. You think about him all the time.
Who are you? How do I know your face—your faces? Did you spend some time in New York before you hooked up with McQueen?
Maybe she’d busted one of her aliases. But then, she’d have run her. Wouldn’t she have felt some buzz there the way she felt it now?
Way back, maybe, Eve considered, gnawing on the sensation. Maybe busted her under her real name. Or interviewed her.
Maybe she’d crossed paths with the woman when she’d been riding the system in foster homes or state institutions and schools. That was more likely, she decided. That would explain the dread. All those years, trapped in the system that, at its base, tried to help. But most of those years had just been another kind of torture.
She hadn’t lived, hadn’t felt real, until she’d gotten out, gone to New York. The Academy.
She shifted, sat straighter when the door on the far side of the next unit opened. A kid ran out. Yeah, a boy, she thought. Maybe too young for school. Didn’t matter, no school today anyhow, she remembered. She watched as he zipped to the bike as if it was his one true love, his face shining with joy.
She eased back again, watching the boy pedal like a demon up and down the sidewalk. She saw him wave and shout, got a look at the guy in the shared yard. Older guy, ball cap, coming around to the front yard with gardening tools. The man set them down, planted his hands on his hips, and grinned at the boy.
Friendly neighbors. Yeah, just another day in the neighborhood. Kid playing, yard work. And here comes woman walking dog. Some weird little dog, all hair, pulling at the leash, jumping a lot, running in circles and yapping.
