New York to Dallas (In Death #33)(107)

“I wouldn’t,” he agreed. “I didn’t.”

“So.” She took her first clear breath. “That’s it. That’s settled.”

She slapped her hands on her hips, then looked down with a frown as flesh met flesh. “I’m naked.”

“Are you really?” He felt a laugh in his chest, a marvelous sensation. “Well, so you are. I don’t mind a bit.”

“I bet.” She snatched up the robe he’d obviously laid at the foot of the bed before he’d gone off to try to work. She punched her arms through the sleeves. “I’m so pissed off.”

“Is that a fact?”

She went to the AutoChef, programmed two coffees. Then, studying the cat, who studied her, added a bowl of milk. She set the bowl on the floor, carried the coffee to Roarke.

“Thanks.”

“I’m not saying you can’t worry. Worry’s part of the deal, I get it. But I don’t want to be responsible for worry weighing you down like it has since we got here.”

“You’re not responsible.”

“I let it screw me up, so it screwed you up. I’ve got to get a handle on it. My mommy didn’t love me, well boo-frigging-hoo.”

He drew her down beside him. “We both know it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

“Whatever, I’m not letting her get me so tangled up I can’t think straight. I keep you on edge. And no more guilt. If you’re going to be guilty it’s going to be about something I want to punch you for, not for getting some work done one flight up.”

“What matters is you—as you said to me. But I’ll try not to feel guilty unless it’s a punchable offense.”

He draped an arm around her as they sat drinking coffee. “You slept well,” he commented, “until the last.”

“Credit the full spaghetti-and-meatballs treatment. Who won the game?”

“I haven’t a clue. I was right behind you.”

“So we both got some sleep, that’s a good start. Let’s make a deal. Let’s get this son of a bitch and go home.”

“Gladly.”

“I need to suit up and look over what we’ve got again. Because if there’s anything to this subconscious shit, I’m missing something. We’re missing something.”

“Give us a minute,” he murmured when she started to rise.

So she sat with him, with him and the cat, drinking coffee and watching the sky lighten into day.

In her office, she had a second cup of coffee and studied her board. She hadn’t wanted breakfast, and he’d decided not to push.

“Are you going in this morning?” he asked her.

“In? Oh, to Ricchio’s house. I’m not sure. Here’s the thing. We got Melinda back, and that was the lure. That was the specific reason to request I come here to work with them. Continuing to work with them wouldn’t be a problem for Ricchio, and probably not the feds, though they’ve all had time to study up on McQueen and don’t necessarily need me there. But unless we’re idiots, it’s very possible he’ll snatch another kid, then hang her over my head to get me where he wants me. Why not just stay put and finish it?”

She shrugged. “But I think we both work better from here, so why go in until and unless we have something solid to add?”

“Working from here suits me. That search you wanted on potential locations is in.”

“Okay. Look, why don’t you take care of the half a million things you’ve been letting dangle in Roarke’s Empire of Everything?”

“Catchy title. I may use it one day.”

“I’m going to go back to the beginning. I want to go over all the data, the interviews, time lines, the works. Basically do a solid review, and that’ll take a while. You can send me the search results, and I’ll add them in.”

“All right. But I have Summerset and Caro, and a number of other people dealing with the dangling half a million in REE. So if you come up with anything, or want something looked into, let me know.”

“Yeah.”

She went to her desk, called up the incident report and Bree’s statement on the night Melinda was abducted.

The data remained fresh in her head, she admitted. She knew all the details here, just couldn’t see anything she or the Dallas cops, the feds, had missed. But she rechecked the time lines, read over the interview with the bar owner on Sarajo, the statement from the neighbor.

She filtered in, sifted through all the information Peabody, Feeney, and the New York team had accumulated. She went step by step, stage by stage, retracing her time in Texas, reviewing every fact, speculation, and probability on McQueen and his movements.

She answered her ’link with her mind still steeped in it.

“Dallas.”

“McQueen’s made contact,” Ricchio told her. “He wants to talk to you. Should we link him up?”

“Give me a second.” She rushed over to Roarke’s office. “McQueen through Ricchio. Can you try a trace from here?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll have him linked.” She went back to her desk, sat. “I’m set.”

“Do you want to block your video?”

“No, let him see me.”