Thankless in Death (In Death #37)(109)

“New York West,” she finished in turn.

“And there we are.”

“We’ve got him!” Eve announced as Peabody came out with coffee and a bagel.

Peabody said, “What?”

“Reinhold’s using the aka Anton Trevor. Notify McNab. I want to move fast, but we’re going to do this smooth. Get him, Baxter, Trueheart—”

“Baxter left for his sister’s in Toledo last night,” Peabody interrupted.

“Shit. Make it Carmichael and Sanchez.” She paused a beat in case one of them was having breakfast in goddamn Toledo. “We’ll do a ’link briefing,” she continued. “I want six uniforms, seasoned, Peabody. Roarke, I need you to—”

“Notify building security,” he said. “I know this drill very well. I’ll take care of what you need. And to start.” He ordered the computer to display new data.

“That’s his level, and the blueprint of his apartment. I have all the building specs, so you’ll have the points of egress.”

“Makes it easy.” And rolling her shoulders moved to operation strategy. “Okay, private elevator—we’ll shut that down. Two other exits. We’ll close them off. He’ll be armed, and God knows with what, so we go in protective gear. I want eyes and ears in there asap. And I don’t want him looking over that terrace and seeing a bunch of cops moving in on the street. Let me see the big picture,” she asked Roarke, “so I can put this op together.”

As he did, she pulled out her ’link to update her commander.

McNab made it there just as she began the ’link briefing.

Straightforward was how Eve saw it. By the book. Tight and right.

She paced as she ran it through, wanting to move, to move, knowing she had to cover every contingency. She had her weapon strapped over the soft sweater—the same vivid blue as Roarke’s eyes—Sinead had knitted for her. She wore rough trousers and old boots, all the first to come to hand before dawn. And the flat, dangerous glint of cop-on-the-hunt in her eyes.

“That’s how it’s going to work,” she finished. “McNab, eyes and ears, Roarke security, and between you you’ll shut down all electronics and power to that unit on my go. Team A—me, Peabody, Officers Carmichael and Prince, main-level door. Team B—Detectives Carmichael and Sanchez, Officers Rhodes and Murray, second-level door—enter on my go. Officers Kenson and Ferris will hold position here, block and disperse any and all civilians from entering the hot zone. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“No lights, no sirens, and no black-and-whites within a block of the target building. Protective gear is worn. This is not optional. Again, if the subject is seen exiting the building before this op is in place, take him down. If he’s seen inside the building, track but do not engage. We’re moving,” she added. “Go in soft, wait for my orders. All weapons, medium stun.”

She turned, snagged the coat Roarke had brought in, then her stride forward hitched when she noticed Sinead standing in the doorway someone had neglected to secure. She had a baby on her hip, a hand on a gleefully fascinated Sean’s shoulder.

“Ah, we have to go out. Sorry. We’re in a hurry.”

She left it at that, double-timed it out and down the stairs. Roarke paused, just for a moment. “We’ll be back before too long, and I’ll let you know.”

Then he was gone, too, rushing out with the rest.

“Nan!” Sean sent Sinead a look of awe and joy. “They’re after the bad guy.”

“They are, yes. Well then, let’s go down, have a little tea.”

Reinhold slept the sleep of the satisfied, and woke to Joe’s harsh, sobbing screams.

“Jesus.” Reinhold rolled, stretched, yawned. “What a pu**y.”

He hit the bedroom AC for hot chocolate—extra whipped cream—and stood at his window wall, looking out at New York, at the city he knew feared him, while he drank.

When Joe didn’t show up at his mother’s by about noon, Reinhold calculated, to hang out with his stepfather, his brother, and his brother’s ugly wife and uglier kids, his fat cousin, Stu, who’d have his piss-faced grandmother in tow, they and the city would fear him more.

All around the Thanksgiving tables he’d be the talk. Jerry Reinhold, a killer who did what he wanted, who he wanted, when he wanted.

Taking his time, he dressed—crap clothes again because holiday or not he was working—then went into the spare room to activate the droid.

“Good morning, sir. Someone appears to be in distress.”

“Don’t worry about him. Don’t talk to him or listen to him. Got it, Asshole?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Go down and fix me, what is it, yeah, eggs Benedict, a couple slices of toast with strawberry jelly, and whatever ought to go with it. Then come up here and clean up my bedroom, take care of my clothes. I’ll let you know when to come down again.”

“Yes, sir.”

Before he went down himself, Reinhold checked himself out in the mirror. He thought he might dress up later, catch some football—which reminded him to tell the droid to get him some prime Giants tickets. Maybe he’d have some fancy drink out on the terrace, too.

He’d planned on keeping Joe around another night, having some fun there. But if the f**ker was going to keep screaming …