Faithless in Death (In Death, #52)(78)

“Why indeed?” Roarke handed Eve her beer, and rubbed an arm on her shoulder. “When she had, essentially, no one.”

“There she is,” Yancy murmured when Ella’s ID shot popped onscreen.

Eve saw young, defiant, and sulky. In the official ID her hair, a reddish purple with bright blue streaks, exploded around that pretty young face. She had a tiny red stud on the right side of her nose, multicolored studs in her ears.

“Parents, Cokie Crosse, deceased last February—OD—and Zeek Foxx, deceased in April of 2059, shanked in prison, Florida.”

“As you can see,” Roarke began, “she was tossed back and forth quite a bit in her young life. Into foster care, back to the mother, into juvie, foster, and so on. Picked up as a runaway, for begging without a license.”

“Picking pockets at sixteen,” Eve added.

“A girl has to eat, after all.”

“Last known address Stone Tree House, not in Brooklyn. Here in the city.”

“It’s a halfway house.” Feeney took another pull. “She wasn’t eighteen when she went in, but her caseworker signed off. It’s in the data. Jane Po, Child Services. She’s got employment listed, too. Fast Break Café, and she graduated high school with a GED—and damn good grades.”

“Why didn’t Po look into this when she didn’t show up, at the halfway house, at work? Let’s find out.”

Before Eve could stride to her command center, Roarke took her arm. “Eve, not tonight. It’s past midnight.”

“Crap. Crap. Okay, Peabody, get her address. We’re going to take her first thing in the morning.”

“She’s on Beach—528 Beach, apartment 302.”

“Meet me there, eight hundred hours. Nobody filed a missing persons, nobody looked and saw her data wiped? Why?”

Absently, she drank beer. “They dyed her hair, took away her personality, but they didn’t get her. Not all the way.”

“We have to get her out, Dallas.” Peabody leaned into McNab and looked a little teary again.

Tired, Eve decided. They were all tired, and burnout could follow if she didn’t call it.

“That’s the plan. It’s not going to be tonight, probably not tomorrow, but we’ll get her out. I need those financials, Roarke.”

“You’ll have them. I’ve accumulated quite a bit already.”

“All right. Peabody and I will talk to Po first thing in the morning. I need to meet with Whitney, and coordinate with the feds. I have to give them what we’ve got. We hit Po, and we hit Foxx’s last place of employment. See what we see.

“We’ll brief by noon tomorrow, that’ll include the financials. Whatever you have, send them in.”

“So, I’m not invited?”

She’d expected that. “You want to brief and be briefed, be there. Noon, unless I need to reschedule. This was good work, everyone. Damn fucking good cop work. Now get out. Go home.”

“I’ll get you transpo,” Roarke told them.

“Got my own ride.” Feeney handed Eve his empty bottle. “You take care of the kids.” Then he lifted his chin at Ella’s photo. “Reminds me of you.”

Eve’s jaw dropped. “What? I never looked like that in my life.”

“It’s in the eyes, kid. In the eyes that say I’ll kick your ass if I need to.”

He gave her a little shoulder punch and headed out. “See you at noon.”

She frowned at the screen while Roarke arranged for a car and driver.

And when the rest of the cops herded themselves out, she turned to Roarke.

“I don’t see it.”

“I do.” He kissed her temple. “And it will give me great pleasure to help get her away from there. Now come to bed, Lieutenant, you’re as tired as the rest of your cops.”

She let him lead her out, but couldn’t let go. “Just give me some highlights on the financials so far.”

“He spends lavishly on himself. I think many of his faithful will be disillusioned when that comes out. Fine wines, art, furnishings, the jets, the homes, and so on. And, of course, he’s tucked more than a bit away in offshore accounts, under assumed names. And, as I told you before, the order itself is heavily invested in property. They do make profits—the medical centers, the membership fees, merchandizing.”

“Merchandizing?”

“His oratories, his books, meditative music, that sort of thing.”

“What’s he really worth?”

“I’ll have that for you tomorrow, but I can safely say not as much as he’d have people believe.”

He turned her deliberately toward the bed where the cat opened one wary eye, then nudged her down to sit.

When he bent to take off her boots, the gesture, combined with fatigue and that late-night beer, made her smile.

“It’s been a hell of a day.”

“That it has.”

“You were right about calling it. My brain’s going to mush.”

“Turn it off for a bit then.” He tugged her to her feet.

Easier said, she thought, but unhooked her weapon harness.

By the time she’d undressed, he’d turned down the bed. When she slid into it, she felt her body go: Ah.