Creation in Death (In Death #25)(17)

Eve moved her shoulders, and her hands found her own pockets. “It feels weird.”

“I’ve run the e-end of your cases and ops before this.”

“It’s not like that, Feeney.” She waited until their eyes locked, until she was certain they understood each other. “We both know this one’s different. So if it bugs you, I want to know.”

He glanced around the room as uniforms and team members carried in equipment and tables. Then cocked his head, gesturing Eve to a corner of the room with him.

“It bugs me, but not like you mean. It burns my ass that we didn’t get this guy, that he slipped out and on my watch.”

“I worked it with you, and we had a team on it. It’s on all of us.”

His eyes, baggy as a hound’s, met hers. “You know better. You know how it is.”

She did, of course she did. He’d taught her the responsibility and weight of command. “Yeah.” She dragged a hand through her hair. “Yeah, I know.”

“This time it’s on you. You’re going to take some hits because we both know there’s going to be another name, another face on the board before we get him. You’ll live with that; can’t do anything else but live with it. It bugs me,” he repeated. “It would bug me a hell of a lot more if anyone else was standing as primary on this. We clear?”

“Yeah, we’re clear.”

“I’ll start the Missing Person’s run.” He cocked his head toward Roarke. “Our civilian would be a good one to handle the real estate search.”

“He would. Why don’t you get him on that? I’m going to swing over to the lab, bribe and/or threaten Dickhead to push on reports.” She glanced over, saw that Roarke was already working with McNab to set up data and communication centers. “I’m just going to have a word with the civilian first.”

She crossed to Roarke, tapped his shoulder. He’d tied his hair back as he often did before getting down to serious e-business, and still wore the sweater and jeans he’d put on—had it only been that morning?—when they’d left the house for the crime scene.

She realized he looked more like a member of the team than the emperor of the business world.

“Need a minute,” she told him, then stepped a few feet away.

“What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

“Feeney’s got work for you. He’ll fill you in. I’m heading out with Peabody. I just want…look, don’t go buying stuff.”

He lifted his eyebrows, and the amusement showed clearly on his face. “Such as?”

“E-toys, new furniture, catered lunches, dancing girls. Whatever,” she said with a distracted wave of her hand. “You’re not here to supply the NYPSD.”

“What if I get hungry, then feel the urge to dance?”

“Suppress it.” She gave him a little poke in the chest that he interpreted—correctly—as both affection and warning. “And don’t expect me to kiss you good-bye, hello, and like that when we’re on the clock. It makes us look—”

“Married?” At her stony stare he grinned. “Very well, Lieutenant, I’ll try my best to suppress all my urges.”

Fat chance of that, she thought, but had to be satisfied. “Peabody,” she called out, “with me.”

On the way out, Peabody hit Vending for a Diet Pepsi for herself, a regular tube for Eve. “Gotta keep the caffeine pumping. I’ve never been on something like this, not when you catch a case and a few hours later you’ve got a task force, a war room, and a pep talk from the chief.”

“We work the case.”

“Well, it’s this case, and the ones from nine years ago, and even the ones between that went down elsewhere. That’s a lot of balls in the air.”

“It’s all one,” Eve said as they got into the car. “One case with a lot of pieces.”

“Arms,” Peabody said after a minute. “It’s more like arms. It’s like an octopus.”

“The case is an octopus.”

“It’s got all these tentacles, all these arms, but there’s only one head. You get the head, you get it all.”

“Okay,” Eve decided, “that’s not bad. The case is an octopus.”

“And say, okay, maybe you can’t get to the head, not at first, but you get a good hold on one of those tentacles, then—”

“I get it, Peabody.” Because she now had an image of a giant octopus swimming in her head, Eve was relieved when her dash ’link signaled. “Dallas.”

“So, what’s up?”

“Nadine.” Eve let her glance shift down to the screen where Nadine Furst, a very hot property in media circles, beamed out at her.

“Media conference, you as the department’s spokesperson—I know you love that one.”

“I’m primary.”

“I got that.” On screen, Nadine’s cat eyes were sharp and searching. “But what gives this one enough juice? A dead woman in the park, identity yet to be given.”

“We’ll give her name at the conference.”

“Give me a hint. Celebrity?”

“No hints.”

“Come on, be a pal.”