J. Robb: New York to Dallas

“Oh give it a rest, Nikos. Seriously.” Laurence rubbed his forehead. “If you’ve got to blame somebody, blame the goddamn dog. But the fact is, we did everything right, and it went south. We need to catch up on this second location. Dallas has the data.”

Nikos set her jaw. “We have to analyze the data and confirm we’ve got McQueen’s location in the first damn place.”

“It is confirmed,” Eve tossed back. “You want chapter and verse?”

“I want facts. Verified.”

“McQueen’s paying for the unit, and has been paying for it since September of ’fifty-five—a month after Melinda went to see him at Rikers. Construction of the building and the apartment was completed in February of the following year. I’m not finished,” Eve said as Nikos started to interrupt.

Tired, Eve noted, edgy, with the stress and strain of the last few days clear on Nikos’s face. She’d just have to suck it up, Eve thought. Like the rest of them.

“The payments, money from the rentals from corporate tenants, the maintenance, and so on are handled and arranged by Ferrer, Arias and Garza, a law firm out of Costa Rica—Heredía, to be precise. That’s something you might want to look into. The unit’s owned by Executive Travel, which appears to conscientiously pay its taxes and fees—also through the law firm. He uses a local cleaning service, the same used by the partner at the duplex—both paid for through the law firm and billed to Executive Travel, which lists what turns out to be a mail drop as its address. Leases are arranged by building management, for a fee. They also report to the law firm.”

Well aware cops’ ears were tuned in to her recitation, she kept her focus on Nikos and pressed her point. “This is data my consultant accessed, a great deal of it in the travel time between our hotel and this room. If you want it, he can get you the name of every employee in the law firm and whether they wear boxers or fucking briefs. He’s just that good. And he looked for said data because I deduced McQueen had the second location. I’m just that good, too. With what we’re handing you, you can tack on all sorts of fun federal charges, potentially bust a criminal organization—i.e., the law firm, if you’re not keeping up—that’s certainly bent or broken a number of international laws, and confiscate a whole shit pile of money. Before that, there’s the little matter of busting McQueen’s ass.”

She turned to Ricchio who struggled to control a smile. “With your permission, Lieutenant, I’d like to start the briefing, then coordinate with you on assignments.”

“Then let’s roll it out.”

Nikos steamed her, but Eve didn’t mind. It pumped her up.

After Mira finished the profile, Eve laid on operational strategy and procedure. Then she pulled Roarke and Mira aside.

“You’re going to be working with e-men from DPSD and the FBI.”

“Quite the party,” Roarke commented, with no real pleasure.

“Ricchio is going to give you a space to coordinate. He’s also getting the warrants for you to link up with building security and tamper with McQueen’s. You’re Team One.”

“So you said. Well, I’ll go find my space. See you on the line, Lieutenant.”

“I’d like you to go out on this,” Eve said to Mira. “We know McQueen was mobile when he contacted me. It’s unlikely he’s taken another girl, but it’s not impossible. If so, we may need hostage negotiation, and it takes time to pull one in. Besides, you know him.”

“Yes. I’d like to go.”

“We’ll keep you out of the hot spot, but linked in so you know what’s going on.”

“Just tell me where you want me.”

Moving on, Eve thought as she climbed into the van with her team, fit on her earpiece. Step by step.

Link with building security, establish eyes and ears in and out. Establish target is on-site. If so, locate and disable his vehicle. All teams move into secondary hold positions. Disrupt apartment security, disable elevator. Move into corridor, block stairwell, lock down building. Trap him like a rat.

Break in the door, go in hot. Take him down.

If target wasn’t on-site, wait until he was and proceed.

Bree shifted over to her. “I wanted to thank you for requesting me as part of your team.”

“Maybe I just wanted to keep an eye on you so you don’t screw up.”

Bree offered a tight smile. “I won’t. My parents are with Melly, at our place. I didn’t update them. Just in case.”

“That’s best.”

“I want to be able to tell them we got him.”

“Then let’s make it happen.”

“I know Nikos got in your face, and Ricchio’s, about Price. Things get around.”

Cop shops, Eve thought. Some aspects had no geography. “Yeah, they do.”

“I know you stood up for him.”

“He didn’t screw up. It was bad luck, that’s all. Nikos knows that, too. She’s just pissed and frustrated.”

“Yeah, but still. It’s appreciated.”

“You can buy me a drink when this is done.”

“You got it.”

Here we go, she thought as the van pulled over. “Team Two in position,” she said into her mic. “Sound it off.”

She listened as team leaders reported, gestured to the e-man on her team. “Bring it up. Let’s have a look.”

She studied the building, all shimmering gold and glass in a wide curve. Railed balconies spread into longer, deeper terraces on the upper levels.

And McQueen’s, the top level, east corner. “Zoom it in on target.”

She edged forward. Unless he had a parachute or a personal jet lift, he couldn’t escape by way of the terrace. With the elevator and stairs blocked, he wouldn’t have access to the roof.

The only way out would be through a wall of cops. He wouldn’t make it.

“Do a sweep, ground level,” she ordered.

She spotted the softclothed cops in position or moving into. The couple having coffee at the sidewalk café nestled beside the building, a man sitting on a wall above a bunch of flowers working a PPC. Still another window-shopping.

She counted off the rest.

She’d given strict orders not to approach or pursue should McQueen be spotted outside. The last thing she wanted was another chase, and any opportunity for him to slip the net.

“We’re in,” Roarke said in her ear.

“Copy that. Show me.”

The monitor switched again, showing her the lobby area—glossy, elegant—droid at a long, low table to check in visitors, deliveries, cleaning crews. Lots of flowers in angled glass vases along one wall.

While he took her through maintenance areas, security stations, utility rooms, Team Four’s leader sounded in her ear.

“Sensors read empty, Lieutenant.”

She thought, Crap . “We hold. Team Five, move on the garage. Let’s see if he’s on the road or on foot. If you locate the vehicle, disable.”

She settled back. “Roarke, let’s see his floor.”

She studied the corridor, the placement of other apartments, the position of the stairs, the elevators. And the security on McQueen’s door.

“Target’s vehicle in assigned slot. Now disabled.”

“Acknowledged. We hold.”

And, she thought, we wait.

A few blocks away McQueen browsed the selections of a gourmet market. He’d missed this—missed the time to do as he liked, missed enjoying a meal of his own choosing when he chose to enjoy it.

He intended to make himself a very special dinner, the last before he had some company.

The last before Eve joined him.

It would work very well, he thought as he considered the artichokes. He knew just where to find her now.

The hotel security on communication was, as you’d expect from a Roarke property, perfection. But the Dallas police weren’t quite so clever or well-funded. It hadn’t been difficult to triangulate her signal during their last contact. And tonight, he’d pay her a visit. He would, undoubtedly, have to kill Roarke, which was a shame considering all that lovely money that might have come into his hands.