Obsession in Death(69)

Eve burst in, Peabody right behind her. “Do you have her?”

“Quiet!” Roarke snapped, and sat, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back. Full work mode.

“She wants to play.” Now McNab’s shoulders wiggled into his e-geek dance. “I got trip spikes here. Man! Then a trip to fricking Bali.”

Roarke’s flying fingers paused a moment. He angled his head, danced those fingers in the air. “It’s bollocks is what it is. Misdirection and false layers. I’m doing a clean sweep.”

“Jesus, are you sure?”

“Sure enough.”

“How come they can talk?” Eve complained.

“It’s how it works. Uh-oh,” Peabody said when Roarke’s screen went blank.

“Fuck, f*ck, lost her.” Eve rushed forward.

“Quiet!” Roarke snapped again, and played the keyboard like a concert pianist hyped on Zeus. Weird lines of some sort of code jumped on one screen, a world map shimmered onto another.

Eve watched arching lines spear across the map.

“Underlayment,” Roarke mumbled.

“Stupid, simple. Genius. I’m going manual,” McNab told him. “Squeeze play.”

“Done. There you are now, there you are. Canny bitch, aye, that you are, but… Got her.”

“Tagged.” A little wild-eyed, McNab turned to grin at Roarke. “Totally tight trek, man. Totally.”

“Where?” Eve demanded. “Where?”

Roarke rattled off an address even as he brought it on screen.

“Son of a bitch. Ledo’s flop. She sent it from Ledo’s flop.”

“She won’t be there now,” Roarke said. “That little game took us over twelve minutes.”

“Giving me a slap, that’s what it is. Showing me she can go where she wants. A little pissed at me right now because I didn’t say thank you. Peabody, with me.”

“It’s the four of us for this.” Roarke pushed to his feet – an angry motion even as he calmly rolled his sleeves down again. “She’ll have had ample time to lay a trap before sending this, if she’s inclined. Backup’s logical.”

More than logical, it was SOP. She’d already intended to call in uniforms to secure the building. But a couple of e-men added good weight.

“Then saddle up.”

He chose the burly All-Terrain, and Eve didn’t complain. Thin, glittery ice coated the branches, dripped from them like frozen jewels. The slick sheen of it covered the roads as more fell from a dull, irritable sky in snaps and sizzles.

While it cut down on traffic, of those who ventured out, at least half posed more threat than all the ice in the Arctic.

Cars slid, spun, shimmied. Twice in under three blocks, Roarke hit vertical to avoid a collision. A Rapid Cab and a late-model sedan hadn’t been so lucky, and crossed together, sedan’s nose in the cab’s side, like a vehicular T.

Pedestrians without Peabody’s Sure Grip soles did the same sort of slide, spin, shimmy – and in a few cases added an ungainly sprawl.

Eve snatched her comm when it signaled. “Dallas.”

“D-Officer Carter, Lieutenant. I’m on scene with D-Officer Bates. Police seal on crime scene door has been compromised. The door is closed but unsecured.”

“Stand where you are, Carter. Scan for heat source, for booby traps, for explosives. Do not enter crime scene. Allow no one to exit same.”

“Understood, Lieutenant. D-Officer Carter out.”

“She could get through a couple of beat droids,” Eve speculated. “But it would be messy and loud.”

“She won’t be there, Eve.”

She flicked a glance at Roarke. “No, she won’t be there, but she went there for a reason. She sent that e-mail from that location for a purpose, even if it was a f*ck-you.”

She sniffed the air, caught the scent of chocolate, and glanced back to see Peabody and McNab each with steaming cups – courtesy of the rear AutoChef, she assumed.

“Hot chocolate.” Peabody smiled, a little on the sheepish side. “Real as opposed to morgue. Want one?”

Eve only grunted, turned back – in time to brace as a little silver mini skidded sideways into the intersection. Roarke swerved, hit vertical, and hopped over the silver roof with a couple of inches to spare.

In the back, Peabody mopped a spill of chocolate off her lap, and wisely said nothing.

To take her mind off a potential wreck, Eve sent updates to Whitney, Mira, Feeney. Then using her PPC, brought up the latest e-mail, studied it again.

The change in tone, she thought, a little dramatic. Starts off with an apology, feeling bad, feeling sad.

Doesn’t like feeling bad and sad, doesn’t like the idea of screwing up. That’s the turn. It isn’t my fault, so it’s yours.

She glanced up, then put the handheld away when Roarke pulled to the curb in front of Ledo’s flop.

“Whatever anti-theft and vandalism features you’ve got, light them up,” she told Roarke. “Even in this weather somebody’s going to try for a rig like this.”

“It’s standard and auto. It’s slippery as a nest of eels out here,” he added when he stepped out. “Watch your footing.”

He wasn’t wrong, Eve noted, but her boots held traction. “The city probably leaves this sector alone when it comes to ice and snow, hoping it holds back crime.”