Connections in Death (In Death #48)(62)

She slowed, jogging lightly until her heart rate leveled again, cut back to a walk while she guzzled water.

Satisfied, she pumped weights for fifteen, stretched it out, then walked through Roarke’s version of an indoor rain forest to the pool. Stripping down, she dived in.

After a few lazy laps, she rolled over to float and think about Cohen and connections. He hadn’t resisted arrest, though he’d refused to unlock the hotel room door. Once the officers gained admittance he’d squawked—according to Officer Trace—about his civil rights, suits against the NYPSD and the individual officers, even the hotel.

He’d bitched—her word—all the way down to Central, through the booking process and into his holding cell.

And somewhere in there he’d offered the booking officer his wrist unit and two hundred in cash to let him go.

So an additional charge of attempted bribery was added just to sweeten the pot.

He’d been allowed his single contact. And the report stated whoever he’d contacted hadn’t come through. So there’d been a little blubbering as well as the squawking and bitching.

She’d lay money he’d contacted Vinn, begged for her help. A guy didn’t blubber after tagging his lawyer.

Which made him—Officer Trace’s words—a weak sister.

She ate weak sisters for breakfast.

Looking forward to it, she got out, dried off. And, wrapped in a robe, rode back to the bedroom where Roarke programmed coffee.

“You’re up early,” he commented.

“Not as early as you, but then I only wanted a workout, not global domination.” She took the coffee he held out to her. “I did about five miles in some jungle mountain beach place with killer birds and plants that looked like they ate small mammals. That’s probably why I did the five in about forty-five.”

“With that under your belt, you should be ready for breakfast.”

“Quick shower first.”

When she came out, she saw waffles, fruit, and the bacon that wasn’t bacon but some sort of ham. And good.

“I imagine you’re primed for Cohen,” he said as she went about the business of drowning and smothering the waffles.

“I need a quick round up with Whitney. The tax shit’s federal, but I want the shot at him before they slap him down. And they’re going to confiscate all his e-toys, so I want a look at them first.”

“Holo with Whitney,” Roarke suggested, “then you can get that first shot on the way to Central and Cohen.”

“Huh.”

“Better time management.”

She told herself she hadn’t thought of it herself because she wasn’t used to the holo feature on her command center.

“It is.” She got up, grabbed her ’link off the dresser, got busy sending texts. “Peabody can meet me at the residence, bring McNab. He can clear it with Feeney. I can holo from here with Whitney as soon as he sets a time. I’m already poking through the electronics and everything else by the time Whitney contacts the feds, starts laying it out. Plus, get the jump on Cohen.”

She looked up as she finished. “This is why global domination is within your sights.”

He only smiled. “Do you need a hand engaging the holo feature?”

“Why would I? I can figure out—Yes.” Why fight it?

She sat again, went after the waffles. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Where’s the cat?” she wondered. “There’s ham on the plate, and he’s not trying to sneak over and steal it.”

“Early start for us. I imagine he’s down with Summerset getting his belly full. He’ll be disappointed he missed his chance here. Will you contact Eldena, let her know you’re coming?”

“No point risking she has a change of heart and goes soft on Cohen. She’s pissed, but people get over being pissed. Do you still want to watch when I have Cohen in the box?”

“Let me know when you’re bringing him into interview, and I’ll see if I can manage it.”

“Good enough.”

She polished off breakfast, went into her closet to face wardrobe.

Spring tease or not, she wanted to look mean, and that said black to her. Black pants, black tee, black jacket in thin leather because leather said mean when you wore it right.

Add black boots and a scowl, and there you had it.

When she stepped out to strap on her weapon harness, Roarke lifted his eyebrows. “Going for the kill, are we?”

“That’s exactly right.” She snagged her ’link, read the text from Whitney. “Ten minutes. Shit.”

“Plenty of time.” He rose, and went with her to her office.

“You’ll want to stand, I imagine.”

“Yeah.”

“Where?”

“Ah . . .”

“With your command center at your back rather than the room itself. Work mode. Order open operations. I could do it, yes, but it’ll stick better if you do it yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah. Dallas, open operations.”

The center flashed on. The D and C unit hummed and then went to waiting quiet.

“I assume Whitney’s still at home?”

“Yeah, it’s early.”

“Then you need to order the holo option, follow that with when you want it to begin, and where you want the uplink.”