Leverage in Death: An Eve Dallas Novel (In Death #47)(19)

“I want anything on the merger—the ads, the mail, notes, all of it, copied to my units. Home and office.”

“Can do.”

“Feeney?”

“I started with Rogan’s office e’s. Same as McNab on them. Merger data is priority. Nothing out of line, no correspondence that doesn’t check out, no tags out or in office that doesn’t jibe. Did you see his office memo book?”

“Yeah.”

“So you know he planned a party for his team, buying flowers for the wife, taking her and the kid on a long weekend. The guy didn’t leave work on Friday planning to blow himself up on Monday.”

“No. I just said exactly that to Whitney.”

“If anybody tried hacking in to access data, it doesn’t show. Moved to his admin’s next. I gotta say, the kid needs a life, and he oughta make a move on this Kimmi he’s got the hots for.”

“Really?”

“Comes over,” Feeney said with a shrug. “But he spends most of his time at work or thinking about work. Few personal e-mails—a few friends, his mom—in which he usually mentions this Kimmi, but mostly work-oriented. Not a single damn game. No photos. A lot of reminders to remind his boss, calendars—his and Rogan’s contacts—office, personal—Rogan’s. Birthdays and anniversaries listed in the personal sections. No sign of hacking, no contacts that read off. And he had a reminder to buy this Kimmi flowers and Rogan a bottle of wine over the weekend for congrats on the campaign. The kid wasn’t just not up to no good, he was up to too much good, you ask me. Needs a life outside work.”

“Kimmi visited him in the hospital, brought him flowers.”

“Maybe he’ll make a move there. Anyhow, I started on the big guy’s—Pearson’s. So far, nothing off, but I’ve got a ways to go.”

“I’m working on getting you toys from Econo.”

Feeney puffed out his cheeks. “I’m gonna need more boys. You’re looking inside job?”

“I’m just looking. I’ve got a briefing downstairs. And Roarke’s coming in—not for EDD,” she said quickly. “I need somebody who knows what the fuck about big business mergers.”

“If he wants to play after the what the fuck, I’ll take him. I’m gonna walk you out. Fizzies?” he asked his geeks.

“Solid,” they said in unison.

“So,” Feeney began as they walked out. “You know that Oscar deal’s coming up.”

“Oscar who?”

He scratched fingers through his wiry hair. “Jesus, Dallas, even I know about the fricking Oscars. The vid award thing.”

“Right. I knew that.” Somewhere, in some corner of her brain.

“You’re not going?”

“No.”

“The Icove vid’s up for a shitload. Nadine’s up for one. Why aren’t you going?”

Inside her head, she sulked at the question. “I don’t want to. You have to get all fancied up and talk to other fancied-up people, and sit there with them, right? And you have to do it in New L.A. with the media all up in your grill asking idiot questions like: Who are you wearing?”

“Yeah. I’d want to stun myself first, but it’s a BFD anyway. You know Peabody and McNab got invites to it.”

“No.” Eve stopped, more than surprised. “Are you sure? Peabody’d be nagging me brainless about it.”

“I’m sure. I got it from Callendar because McNab’s keeping it down low, too. And I figure they’re not nagging us brainless because we just gave them five days off, and you gave them the place in Mexico to recharge. So they’re not saying anything about it because they don’t want to be greedy assholes.”

“Okay.”

He sent her that basset-hound look as he ordered up the fizzies at Vending. “It’s a BFD, kid. Likely a once-in-a-lifetime BFD. I’d be willing to spring McNab for it if you spring Peabody.”

“We just caught a case with twelve vics. Shit, shit, fuck! When is it?”

“Sunday.”

“The what? Like the next one coming?”

“Yeah, like the next one coming. But Sunday. They could take the weekend, be back Monday if this is still going hot. Tuesday, maybe, if we nail it—because it goes late, I guess. What I’m saying about that admin kid runs true. We gotta have a life. Don’t say anything yet. Give it a day or two.”

“Fine,” she grumbled as he armed himself with fizzies. “Now I’ve got to ask Roarke, if I decide to spring her, to provide transpo.”

“You oughta talk to Nadine about that. She’s going for sure. She’s probably got something lined up they could hitch to.”

“Maybe. Shit. It’s bad enough she did all this with Icove, now she’s got me reading the manuscript deal for the Red Horse case she’s done.”

“Yeah? How is it?”

Eve’s shoulders sagged. “It’s fucking good. I hate that. I’ve gotta go.”

Oscars, my ass, she thought as she strode away. How was she supposed to think about the freaking Oscars when she had twelve in the morgue? Most of them in pieces.

She put it aside to worry about later, hopped on a glide. And put her brain in the job.