J. Robb - New York to Dallas

“She didn’t have any problem remembering you, or the hundred dollars a visit you gave her after she agreed to meet McQueen. I’ve got a whole list of names, and I bet every one of them points a finger at you.”

“Human contact and talk therapy are essential tools in rehabilitation counseling. It’s not illegal.”

“Taking a bribe from an inmate to set him up with women is. You didn’t shell out a hundred out of compassion and generosity, Stibble. How did McQueen pay you?”

“That’s ridiculous.” Behind the rose-colored glasses his eyes jittered with panic. “I’m afraid Ms. Bracken was under the influence of her addiction at the time. She’s misremembering, that’s all.”

“I’m about to charge you with accessory in the forced imprisonment of two people, the assault and rape of one of them.”

“You can’t possibly be serious.” Panic morphed into fear as he backed up several steps. “I’ve never laid a hand on another human being in my life.”

“McQueen has. You’ve been aiding and abetting him for years.”

“This is a big misunderstanding. I feel very upset to be threatened in this way. I think we should all take several deep, cleansing breaths.”

“Cuff him, Peabody.”

“Now wait, just wait.” He waved his hands around again. “I did arrange for a few women to visit Isaac. For therapeutic purposes, and with full approval. Naturally, they—the women—needed to be compensated for their time. Rehabilitation requires many tools.”

“Cut the bullshit. How much did he pay you?”

“A small fee. Barely worth mentioning. Just to cover my own expenses.”

“A thousand a pop’s a lot of expenses. We found your account, Stibble.”

“Donation.” It squeaked out of him. “He donated to my center. It’s perfectly legal.”

“How did you find the women? They’re not all local.”

“I, ah, I’ve counseled many troubled people.”

“Who did he pick, out of those troubled people, to work with him?”

His eyes darted left and right, and Eve concluded she’d barely have to flex her fingers to squeeze the juice out of him.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. I see it all over you.” She moved forward just enough to infringe on his space, kept her face hard, her voice flat and grim. “You knew exactly what he was up to, and you didn’t give a shit as long as you collected your fee. He settled on one. I want a name.”

“I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

Eve moved fast, had him against the wall, arms behind his back. She slapped restraints on him.

“No! What are you doing? You can’t! I’m cooperating.”

“Not by my gauge. You’re under arrest for taking a bribe while in the employ of the State of New York, for aiding and abetting a convicted felon, for accessory to that felon’s escape, for murder, for—”

“Murder!”

“Nathan Rigby. McQueen slit his throat in the escape, and you’re going down for it.”

“I didn’t know. How could I know?”

“Give me a name.” Eve perp-walked him to the door. “I want his partner.”

“Sister Suzan! It’s Sister Suzan. Let me go.”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I swear to God.”

She paused, just inside the door, slightly loosened her grip. “How do you know he picked her?”

“I took messages in and out for them, after she told me he wanted to stop the visits. Memo cubes and discs. I don’t know what was on them. He’d tell me where to send hers, different mail drops. That’s all I know.”

“Oh, I doubt it, but it’s a start.”

She muscled him out the door.

“I cooperated. You can’t arrest me for anything.”

“Watch me.”

Eve planned to move him through processing, let him sweat, then hit him again. He had more to give, and she had little doubt he’d give it. While she worked him, Peabody could do a deeper search on and for Sister Suzan Devon.

But as she pulled into the garage at Central her communicator signaled.

“Dallas.”

“You’re to report to Commander Whitney’s office immediately, Lieutenant.”

“On my way.”

“Do you think something broke?” Peabody wondered.

“I’ll find out when I get up there. Can you handle this asshole?”

Peabody glanced back at Stibble, who’d sobbed the entire way in. “I think I can manage him.”

“Pass him off, then have him put in a box until I get there.”

He sobbed on the elevator, too. With absolute relief, Eve jumped off at the first opportunity, shifted to the glides for the trip to the commander’s office.

The admin showed her in immediately, shut the door.

“Commander. Detective Peabody and I took Randall Stibble into custody. He gave up the partner.”

“We’ll get to that. Sit down, Lieutenant.”

Though she preferred standing, and he knew it, she sat, because his tone brooked no argument.

“Sir.”

“McQueen’s surfaced. He’s taken a hostage.”

“A hostage?”

“We assume hostage as she no longer fits his victim type.”

“No longer fits.” Her belly clutched. “He’s taken one of his former victims. He has one of those girls. I never considered—I should have.” She shook it off; tried to shake it off. “How do we know she’s with McQueen?”

“He left a message.” He paused at the knock, nodded when Dr. Mira came in.

Now Eve felt a prickle at the back of her neck.

“Eve.” Mira sat in the chair angled toward hers. Her face, as always, was quiet and lovely—but the worry in her eyes pushed Eve to her feet.

“Commander.”

“I want you to sit down, Dallas. I’ve asked Dr. Mira to join us as I—as we both—value her insight and opinion. I’ve already briefed her.”

When she obeyed, he brought his chair over—something she’d never known him to do—so he sat across from her, at eye level.

“At approximately midnight, Central Time, Isaac McQueen abducted Melinda Jones, one of the twin girls and last victims he previously abducted from the Times Square area.”

“I know who she is,” Eve said quietly. “She went to see him in prison when she was nineteen. I didn’t follow up on it.”

Her mouth went dry now, and her heart began to thump. “She lives in Dallas, she and her sister. The sister’s a cop. They live in Dallas. My name.”

Because she’d been found there, beaten, brutalized, and unable—or unwilling—to remember.

“What was the message?”

“This recording answered when Detective Jones called her sister’s’link.”

Whitney kept his eyes on her, ordered his computer to replay the message copied to him by the Dallas police.

Hello, Bree! I hope you remember me. Melinda did at our surprise reunion. Such a pretty young woman now, and you look just like her—even with the different hairstyles. It’s your old friend Isaac. Melinda and I are getting reacquainted, and we’ve so much to catch up on. I hope to do the same with you. We hardly had any time together all those years ago as we were so rudely interrupted. Be a sweetheart, won’t you, and pass this along to Eve Dallas—that’s Lieutenant Dallas now.

Come and get me. If it isn’t Dallas to Dallas—don’t you love that—within eight hours after this message is received, well, I can only say Melinda’s going to be very unhappy with only nine fingers. And that’s just the start.

Eight hours, Eve. Round two starts now. Love, Isaac.

“Did they trace the ’link?”

“In her vehicle,” Whitney told her. “Barely a mile from her apartment.”

“What time did the sister try to tag the ’link?”

“At ten forty-three this morning.”

“It’s still shy of noon. We’re good on time.”