J. Robb - Divided in Death

“And second?”

“Second, you wouldn’t give a good goddamn about the right or wrong of it. But you give one about Dallas. You give one about how she feels, about what she needs from you.” His color came up as he spoke, staining his cheeks with embarrassment. “I don’t want to get into that whole thing. Makes me feel like an asshole. But I’m saying you should think, you should think long and hard about what it’d do to her before you do anything.”

“I am. And I will.”

“Okay. Then let’s just move on.”

Though he was both touched and amused, Roarke nodded. “Moving on, then.” He disengaged the jammer, then studied the readout from the scan. “I’m getting the expected metals, solvents, finishes, and sealants. That’s using the strongest setting corporations and facilities would use in high-risk or sensitive areas.”

“Bump it up. Let’s see what it’ll do with the bells and whistles we added.”

“Best move aside,” Roarke warned. “The beam may not be friendly to cloth and flesh.”

Feeney stepped back from the sculpture, then decided the best place was behind the scanner.

The red beam shot out with an insect-like hum. As it struck the metal, the entire sculpture seemed to shimmer.

“Shit. Shit! If we set it too high it might melt that crap down to a puddle.”

“It’s not too high,” Roarke responded. “It may soften a few joints, but other than that…” Still he pushed it, upping the speed so the beam scanned the piece faster than he’d planned. Even from behind the unit, he could feel the heat and smell the electric buzz in the air.

When he shut down, Feeney gave a whistling breath. “That is some son of a bitch! Some son of a bitch. I’m doing the next one.”

“Might be wise to wear goggles next run.” Roarke blinked. “I’ve dots in front of my eyes.” But he was grinning, as Feeney was. “Nice rush, wasn’t it?”

“You got that right. And look here.” Feeney slapped Roarke on the back as he leaned over to scan the readout. “I’m seeing chips, and I’m seeing fiber optics, and some goddamn silicon.”

“Bugs.”

Feeney straightened, flexed his fingers. “Bugs. Give the girl the brass ring.”

When Eve walked back into her office, she wasn’t particularly surprised to see on-air reporter Nadine Furst sitting in her visitor’s chair and carefully redoing her lip dye.

She fluttered her long, silky lashes and turned that freshly tinted mouth up into a smile. “Cookies,” Nadine said with a gesture toward the little bag on Eve’s desk. “I culled six for you before bribing your men.”

Eve poked into the box, and came out with chocolate chip. “There’s an oatmeal cookie in there. I see no reason for the existence of oatmeal, particularly in cookies.”

“So noted. Why don’t you give it back to me, then it won’t offend your sensibilities?”

Eve pulled out the fat round cookie, handed it over before closing her door. The closed door had Nadine lifting her perfectly arched brows before nibbling on the cookie.

“Is that so you can yell at me for being in your office, or is it so we can exchange juicy girl secrets.”

“I don’t have any juicy girl secrets.”

“You’re married to Roarke. You’d have the juiciest on or off planet.”

Eve sat, rested her boots on the desk. “Have I ever told you what he can do to the female body with a single fingertip?”

Nadine leaned forward. “No.”

“Good. Just wanted to be sure.”

“Bitch,” Nadine said with a laugh. “Now about this double homicide, and Reva Ewing.”

“The charges about Ewing are about to be dropped.”

“Dropped.” Nadine all but jumped out of the chair. “Let me get my camera, set up an on-the-spot. Take me less than-”

“Sit down, Nadine.”

“Dallas, Ewing’s huge. The former American hero gone bad and now about to be exonerated? Add in the handsome artist and gorgeous socialite, the sex, the passion.”

“It’s bigger than Ewing, and it’s not about sex and passion.”

Nadine sat again. “What could be bigger than that?”

“I’m going to tell you what you can go on-air with, and what you can’t.”

Nadine’s expression went sharp as a blade. “Wait just a minute.”

“Or I’m going to tell you nothing.”

“You know, Dallas, one of these days you’re going to trust me to know what can go on-air and what can’t.”

“If I didn’t trust you, you and your cookies wouldn’t be here.” She rose as she spoke, and took the scanner EDD had provided her-one Roarke and Feeney had upgraded-to check the office space for any new electronics.

“What are you doing with that?”

“Just being anal. But as I was saying,” she continued, when she was satisfied the room was clean, “the fact is, if you hadn’t been sitting here playing with your pretty face when I walked in, I was going to contact you. I’ve got reasons for wanting some of this to go public, Nadine, and they’re not all professional.”

“I’m listening.”

Eve shook her head. “I have to clear every word of the story, and any follow-ups, before you go out with them. I need your word on it. I trust your word, but I have to have it. You have to say it.”

Nadine’s fingers itched for her recorder, but she curled them into her palm. “This must be big. You’ve got my word, on all of it.”

“Bissel and Kade were HSO.”

“You are shitting me.”

“This information comes from an unnamed source, and it’s gold. Bissel’s marriage to Ewing was part of an op, and it was without her knowledge or consent. She was used and was framed for the murder of Bissel and Kade to cover up the op, and potentially more.”

“Something this hot from an unnamed-gold or not-I need hard facts.”

“I’m going to give them to you. No recorder,” she said and dug into her desk drawers until she unearthed a stingy pad of recycled paper and an ancient pencil. “Write it down, and keep it and any transcribed discs from your notes in a secure location until you’re cleared to air.”

Nadine made a few testing squiggles with the pencil. “Let’s see how much of that shorthand my mother made me learn is still in my head. Go.”

It took an hour, then Nadine flew out of the office to lock herself in at Channel 75 to write the story.

It would explode, Eve knew, even when the initial pieces she cleared hit the airwaves. It deserved to explode. Innocent lives taken or ruined in the name of what? Global security? The sexiness of espionage?

It didn’t matter, not when those lives, those innocent lives, looked to her.

Eve finished up most of the grunt work she’d once dumped on Peabody. She had to admit, having an aide the last year or so had come in handy.

Not that she’d gotten spoiled, she assured herself.

She could, of course, pull rank, and continue to dump most of the grunt work on Peabody. And really, it was a learning experience. In the long run, she’d be doing Peabody a favor.

She checked the time and decided to close up shop for the day. She could get considerably more work done at home. With the remaining cookies safe in her jacket pocket, she headed out.

She squeezed into an overburdened elevator, which reminded her why she rarely left at change of shifts. Before the door closed, a hand shot through, yanking it open again to a chorus of groans and nasty curses from the occupants.

“Always room for one more.” Detective Baxter elbowed his way on. “You never call, you never write,” he said to Eve.

“If you can leave on the dot of COS, you must not have enough paperwork.”

“I got a trainee.” He flashed his grin. “Trueheart likes paperwork, and it’s good for him.”