Thankless in Death (In Death #37)(97)

“It meant a lot to him when he saw you.”

“His mother would be so proud, so I’ve her pride and my own to give to both of you. And I’ll be after getting a copy of one of those photos of the two of you. Oh, this was such a thrill for all of us. I have to let you go, as if I don’t the whole family will swarm you. We’ll wait till you’re home to do that then.”

With a laugh, Sinead kissed Eve’s cheek.

She got caught a couple more times before Kyung touched her arm. “Excuse me, Lieutenant, you’re needed over here for a moment. I’m extracting you,” he murmured near her ear as he steered her away.

“Great. Good.”

“Roarke assures me he can handle his own extraction, and I imagine he does so often.”

“Yeah, he’s slippery.”

“You did very, very well,” he said, maneuvering her back into the staging area, then through.

“You, too. You got me out in under ten. I can take it from here.”

“Then I’ll go back and have some cake.”

That hitched her exit stride. “There was cake?”

“You wanted out in ten.”

“Yeah.” She sighed. “Talk about sacrifices.” But she hopped a glide and headed back to the locker room to change.

She hung up her uniform, put the medal in its case. Then wondered what she should do with it. Her office for now, she decided. She should probably take it home, put it away there.

She tucked it under her arm, stepped back out through the bullpen.

Her men rose, which would have put her right back to choked if they hadn’t all been wearing sunshades. Carmichael had put the crazy horse tie back on.

So the ovation made her laugh, and put her right back where she wanted to be.

“Get back to work, you idiots.”

“We saved you some cake,” Peabody told her.

“Seriously?” The idea of so much as a crumb getting past her men was as shocking as a stunner blast.

“In your office.”

“I take the ‘idiots’ back. Get to work anyway.”

She walked into her office, touched and still surprised to see the neat piece of cake on a small disposable plate on her desk. She stowed the medal in a drawer, programmed coffee.

And sitting at her desk, broke off a corner of the cake, and got back to work herself.

Fifty-five minutes, she thought. Longer than she’d hoped, but still the whole thing had taken under an hour. And what, she wondered, had Reinhold been up to for the last fifty-five minutes?

He had a plan. No reason he could see why it wouldn’t work—and he’d have some fun with it. Plus, changing things up would save him some legwork. His foot still hurt like a bitch!

He sent the droid out with a shopping list, and instructions to buy each item at a different shop.

And while he had the apartment to himself, he blasted music as he limped through, speculating on where to set the stage.

The living area. Sure, the second bedroom was big enough, but he liked having the easy access to the kitchen, and the dining room. It made more sense, he thought, since he was having company for Thanksgiving dinner.

It would be his most daring kill, and he’d do it all in his own space. Good practice for when he started selling his services, he decided. Body disposal could be an option he needed to offer clients, after all.

Sometimes people like the Mafia or the CIA or whatever didn’t want bodies found. He’d read shit about that.

The cops didn’t have a clue where he was—how could they—or now who he was. In his own place, undisturbed, he could take all the time he wanted with his … selection.

No, prey. He liked that term. They, all of them, were prey, and he was, code name: Reaper. He really liked it.

Reaper. Death for sale. Anytime, anywhere. Terms to be negotiated.

Something like that, he decided.

When the droid got back, they’d set the place up, just the way he wanted it. Then, contact, lure, trap. Snap, snap.

He’d have all night, through the next day to do his work, while people were sitting around pretending friends and family meant a single happy shit.

He could stretch it out another night, if he wanted. If he got bored, he’d end it.

Then between him and the droid, they’d take care of body disposal.

“I have the best job in the world!” he shouted over the music, then dancing—wincing a little—out to the terrace.

For the hell of it, he yanked down his pants and mooned New York.

It seriously cracked him up.

He went back in, popped another pain pill, got a beer. It was great to be able to drink when he wanted, eat when he wanted, do whatever he wanted.

All of his life people had held him down, held him back, f**ked with him.

Now he was the one doing the f**king.

And he was never going to stop.

“Found myself, Ma!” He cackled it. “And today, oh yeah, I am a man.”

He turned as the door opened, and the droid carted in a big box. He saw the droid’s mouth move, but couldn’t make out the words.

“What? Jesus. Music off. What?”

“Sir, I was unable to purchase and carry all the items in one trip. I—”

“Well, f**k.” Idiot. Maybe he’d spring for another droid. Female, he considered. One with sex options. “Go back and get the rest. I want to get started.”