“Big whoop, Radowski. It probably wasn’t even him. And so what if it was?”
“It was him. I bet he’s on a stakeout or something. I bet we’re going to hear something big goes down at the Gold Door.”
Very carefully, McQueen set the basket aside. He fixed on a smile, strolled up to the two young men. “Excuse me, did I hear you mention the Gold Door? The police? I have a friend who lives there. I hope there’s no trouble.”
“I don’t know, sir. I just thought I saw somebody I knew.” The smile didn’t go with the fury in the man’s eyes, so the delivery boy edged away. “I have to get back to work.”
The stock boy turned to McQueen. “Can I help you find anything, sir?”
“No. No, you can’t.” McQueen stormed out, shoving past a couple just coming in, then walked quickly in the opposite direction from the Gold Door and his perfect apartment.
Eve blocked out the bored chatter, stayed inside her own head, her own thoughts. An hour into the wait, Roarke spoke in her ear.
“McQueen’s made contact again. He wants to talk to you.”
Something up, something wrong, she thought. “Hold him. Keep that sweep going. I don’t want to hear a sound from anybody in here. Can you track him?” she asked Roarke
“Possibly. It’s more difficult on these mobile units.”
“Try to pin him. Link us up, block the video.”
“Use the com on your mobile. I’m crossing to give us two points. Try to give me some time with the track. Linking now.”
She changed positions, waited.
“Twice in one day. You must miss me, Isaac.”
“Not for long.”
Something wrong, she thought again. She heard it in his voice—not the usual controlled amusement, but temper, ripe as roses.
“So you keep saying.”
“But you just couldn’t be patient. It’s rude, very rude, Eve, to come to my home without an invitation.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. “Just dropped by. When are you coming back, Isaac? I have a housewarming present for you.”
His breath hissed in and out, in and out. “You think you’re smart.”
“Found your hole, didn’t I?”
“Luck. Blind luck. It won’t be luck when I come for you. I’m going to make you very, very sorry, so sorry you’ll be grateful when I finally cut your throat.”
“Do you plan to use the knife you bought at Points and Blades? That’s a lot of money for a sticker. I can’t wait to see it.”
“You will. One day I’ll just be there.”
“You know, you sound a little miffed. Why don’t we—”
She swore under her breath when he cut her off.
“Working on it,” Roarke said before she could ask. “I can’t nail it, not from here. The best I can give you is somewhere on Davis Ave., between Corral and Kingston.”
Ricchio came on. “I’m alerting dispatch. We have an all-points out.”
“He’s not coming back here,” Eve said. “We’re going in. He’s running now, maybe we can find something that tells us where he’s most likely to run.”
She wanted to punch something, but kept it together as she got out of the van. She’d watched the sweeps, kept track of the cops they’d put on the street. Nothing should have tipped him off.
“How’d he make us?” she demanded when Roarke joined her. “How the hell did he make us?”
“Instincts perhaps.”
“Nobody’s are that good.” She shook her head at him. “He knew we were here. I was here. And he is seriously pissed.”
She let Ricchio clear the road with the check-in droid, building security. By the time they’d reached McQueen’s apartment and gained access, she found calm again.
“We think it was one of my men,” Ricchio told her. “Nothing he did, or we did. Someone recognized him, a college student. My detective had spoken to his class recently, spent some time answering the boy’s questions after. The kid came out of the building, spotted him. He got rid of him, but did a run on him anyway. He works at a gourmet market a few blocks away—just outside our perimeter.”
“Talk about luck.”
“He’s down there now, speaking to the boy. It’s possible McQueen was in there, the boy said something about the police.”
“Jesus.”
“No one could’ve predicted or foreseen—”
“No, no one could. It just swung McQueen’s way, and that’s all.” But she stiffened when Nikos strode up to her. “If you’re going to crawl up my ass on this, just save it.”
“Not this time. It was running like clockwork. But I want to know why you didn’t deny it when he made contact. Why you confirmed.”
“Because he knew, so I chose to grind him up a little. He’s off center. Doctor Mira calls it devolving. Swiping at him should help that along.”
“Doctor Mira also said he’s likely to become more violent and less controlled.”
“That’s right. Freeze the accounts, now’s the time.”
“Done,” Nikos told her. “Five minutes ago.”
“Good. He’s got no place to go, no way to get there, unless or until he steals a car. And he knows he can’t ride around in a stolen vehicle for long. We need roadblocks, we need to cover all public and private transpo. He doesn’t have any cash except what he’s got on him. He only has the ID he has on him. He uses credit, we nail him, and he knows it.”
She turned around, gestured. “Look at this place. He took a lot of time and care putting all this together, and from prison. Now he can’t use it. When he goes to access more funds, he’s frozen out.”
“He’s going to try to get out of Dallas.”
“Maybe, but we don’t have to make it easy for him.”
She crossed over to the locked door, glanced at Roarke. When he disengaged the locks, she stepped in.
He’d covered the walls with pictures of his victims. All the girls, all the eyes.
“These are case-file shots,” she stated. “It mattered enough for him to get them. He wanted me in here, locked in with them.”
She studied the shackles, remembered how they weighed on her wrists and ankles in her dream.
Then she turned away, walked out. “Let’s see what else he left behind.”
The high life, she thought as they turned the apartment inside out. Sheets of Irish linen, towels of Turkish cotton. French champagne, Russian caviar.
Tranqs and paralytics and syringes all meticulously organized in an embossed case.
“Fresh flowers in every room,” she said to Mira. “And enough food for months. A lot of it fresh, too. So it would spoil.”
“He needed to acquire—collect again—and purchase and have. And he’s likely having trouble deciding what it is he wants.”
“So he buys too much. Too many flowers, too much food, too many clothes. He knew how to live light once —well, but light. I bet we find his prints everywhere, overlapping each other. He’d want to touch everything, over and over. He’d stand out on the terrace, feel like the king of the world. Then he’d come in here, lock up like a fortress. Where’s he going now?”
“London was in the plans,” Roarke told her. “We’re getting through some of his blocks, and found where he’s started researching accommodations and real estate in London.”
“He can’t get there now.”
“He knows New York.”
