Survivor In Death (In Death #20)(47)

“A teenager once got over using a homemade jammer.”

The fact that he looked momentarily perturbed by the memory lightened her load. “Jamie is no ordinary teenager. Nor was he able to get through the secondaries. And I've upgraded since then. Believe me, Eve, they won't get in.”

“I do believe you.” Still she paced to the window, to look out, to see the walls for herself. “Newman doesn't know I brought the kid here. Went over her on it, and didn't tell her, mostly because she irritated me. Just a little slap. My balls are bigger than your balls kind of thing. Petty.”

“Being petty--and I do love that about you--has added another layer of protection over Nixie.”

“Dumb luck. But why argue with dumb luck? I've had her supervisor picked up, taken into protective. Had all the paperwork buried.” She huffed out a breath. “I've got Mira locked down, too, just in case her involvement leaks. She's not happy with me.”

“Her safety's more important than her happiness.”

“Put surveillance on Peabody's place. She's mine, so they may go for her.”

“She and McNab can stay here.”

“One big, happy family. No. We deviate from routine too much, they'll know we're waiting for them to make a move.”

“Eve. You and I both know they're unlikely to move on this house tonight, even if they believe the child is here. They're careful, they're organized. They're controlled. They would have to obtain or simulate my system. Believe me when I say that alone would take them weeks. Then they'd have to find the chinks--of which there are none--they'd have to practice. If you haven't run a probability on that, as I have, I'd be very surprised.”

“A little over twelve percent.” She turned to him, framed now by the wide, wide glass. “But we don't take chances.”

“And the probability they'll try for you?” He lifted his eyebrows when she said nothing, when he saw the faint irritation on her face. “Ninety-six.”

“You're right behind me, pal, at ninety-one.”

“Bloody annoying to have you slip by me by five percent. You were working up to asking me--and I use that verb tongue in cheek--to lock myself down in here. Are we going to argue about that so that I have to throw that five percent probability in your face?”

Thoughtfully, she rocked back and forth on her heels. “I had a pretty good argument worked out.”

“Why don't you save it for another time?”

“I can do that.”

The in-house 'link signalled. “This is Roarke,” he said from where he stood, his attention still on Eve.

“As per her instructions, I'm informing the lieutenant that Captain Feeney and Detective McNab are requesting entrance at the gate.”

“You verify ID visually and by voice print?” she asked Summerset.

“Of course.”

“They're cleared to come through. I want to go talk to my team,” she said to Roarke. “Okay if that includes you?”

“I wouldn't have it any other way. Give me a couple of minutes to finish in here. I'll be along.”

She walked to the elevator, stood looking at the door when it opened at her command. “Roarke? The thing is about probabilities, they don't always factor in every element. They can't fully and successfully analyze every human emotion. The computer doesn't factor in that if someone got to you, it would take me down. If they used you, bargained your life, there isn't much I wouldn't do to get you back. So you factor that in, and I figure you've cut ahead of me on the probability scale.”

She entered the elevator quickly, closed the door before he could respond.

Eve let them settle in first, go through the chatter, the greed for food. She even ignored the cooing flirtation between her partner and EDD ace Ian McNab, the recent cohabs.

The fact was, Peabody's color had been off since they'd hauled up the steps to interview Minnie. The cooing, however unseemly, had her pinked up again.

And while they settled, Eve organized the conference in her head.

“Okay, boys and girls.” She remained standing. She handled such meetings better on her feet. “If everyone's had their afternoon snack, maybe we can get started.”

“Uptown grub.” McNab scooped up the last of leftover apple pie.

His skinny frame was festooned--Eve figured that was the word for it--in a neon orange skin-tank with sizzling blue pants that had some sort of silver clamps running up the outside of each leg. The over shirt was a headache of dots, outdone only by the glowing checks covering his airboots.

His shining blond hair was pulled back from his thin, pretty face. The better to show off the trio of orange and blue coils adorning each ear.

“I'm glad you approve, Detective. Now maybe you can give your report. Unless, of course, you'd like seconds.”

Sarcasm, even delivered in mild tones, could hit like a hammer. He swallowed the last of the pie quickly. “No, sir. Our team has reviewed and completed search-and-scans on all 'links, all d and c's owned or used by any and all of the vies, and the survivor. We found no transmissions on the 'links other than ordinary communications from and to the Swishers and their domestic. While there were numerous transmissions over the last thirty days, they check. Friends, clients, each other, personal and business transmissions. A list of all, with transcription, is now on disc for your file.”