Promises in Death (In Death #28)(57)

“Yes, you will.”

He watched her climb in, grin when her butt hit the seat. She pressed her thumb to the pad, and the engine rumbled to life.

“Hot damn!” she shouted again, flashed him that grin. And shot off down the drive as if in pursuit of speeding felons.

“Oh well, Christ. She could hit a brick wall in that and walk away whistling.”

“I see the lieutenant likes her new vehicle,” Summerset said from the doorway.

“She does. Ah, God.” He held his breath while she did a trio of 360s, obviously testing the maneuverability. Then went in sharp vertical to drive over the gates instead of through them. “She’s never had her own before. I don’t know why I forget things like that. For a bit, it’ll be like a new toy. Then she’ll settle down with it.”

“Your first, boosted at about the age of twelve, ended up nose down in a ditch outside of Dublin.”

Roarke turned around. “I didn’t think you knew about that.”

Summerset only smiled. “Or that you’d managed to hide it in Mick’s uncle’s garage for the two weeks or so you had it before you got cocky and wrecked? You learned a lesson, didn’t you, and were more careful with the next one you boosted.”

“It was a thrill. The stealing as much as the driving.”

“Do you miss it?”

“The stealing? Now and then,” he admitted, knowing Summerset would understand. “Not as much as I thought I might.”

“It would be more, I’d say, if your life lacked other thrills.” When Roarke’s face broke into a grin, Summerset huffed. “Take your mind out of the gutter, boy. I’m speaking of the work you do, of your own and with the police. And this may pertain to one or the other, or both, but while you were showing the lieutenant her new toy, Alex Ricker called. I didn’t want to interrupt, and told him you’d get back to him.”

“That’s interesting, isn’t it?”

“Have a care. Ricker would have enjoyed bathing in your blood. His son may have the same sentiments.”

“Then he’ll be just as disappointed.”

Roarke went in to return the call, and wondered what sort of thrill the day might bring.

12

IT WAS HARD, BUT EVE RESISTED HITTING lights and sirens and smoking it all the way downtown. She didn’t resist doing a seat dance while she threaded through traffic, skimmed around maxibuses, beat out the competitive Rapid Cabs at lights.

Schooling the elation out of her voice, she contacted Webster. She knew the minute he came on the sweet new dash screen of her sweet new ride, she’d rousted him from sleep.

“IAB’s got choice hours.”

He shoved the heel of his hand in his eye. “I’m not on the damn roll today.”

“Like I said. Are you alone?”

“No, I’ve got six strippers and a couple of  p**n  stars in here with me.”

“I’m not interested in your pitiful dreams. I’m pursuing another line. I need to know if any of Coltraine’s squad’s under, or was under, IAB watch.”

“You want me to violate the privacy of an entire squad so you can pursue a line?”

Eve nearly made a snide comment about IAB and privacy, but decided against it. “I have to consider the victim didn’t leave the house with her weapon and clutch piece to have a drink with friends. I have to consider she considered herself on duty at that time. I have to consider, from her profile, she wasn’t going on duty alone.”

“Consider’s just a fancier word for guess.”

“She was a team player, Webster. She was part of a squad. I have to consider one or more members of that squad killed her, or set her up for it. If so, I have to consider that individual or individuals may have caught the interest of IAB in the past.”

“You could go through channels on this, Dallas. It’s a legitimate line of inquiry.”

“I’m not even going to dignify that one.”

“Shit. I’ll have to get back to you.”

“Use privacy mode if and when,” she told him, then cut him off. Her next move was to contact Whitney’s office and request an appointment to brief and update her commander.

Once she arrived at Central, she went straight to her office, intending to pick her way through new theories. She wanted to run several probabilities—hopefully with information pried out of Webster—before her meeting with Whitney. A second consult with Mira, she thought, pushing on the in-squad connection could add weight.

She got coffee first, then saw the report disc from Baxter on her desk.

She plugged it in, ran it while she drank her coffee. And weighing the information, sat back and mulled it over with more coffee.

She’d started the probabilities without Webster when Peabody came in.

“They announced Coltraine’s memorial,” Peabody told her. “Today at fourteen hundred, in Central’s bereavement facilities.”

“Yeah, I got that from Morris. Get a divisional memo out, will you? Anyone not actively in the field or prevented from attending by duty needs to put in an appearance. No time lost. Dress blues preferred.”

“Sure. I’ll just—”

“Hold on. Question. What would you say to the fact that Alex Ricker paid one visit, and one only, to his father on Omega eight months ago. And there’s been no correspondence of any kind recorded between them during the father’s incarceration?”