Visions in Death (In Death #19)(85)

"No. Well, maybe a little. But you're tethered, if you know what I mean. There's some part of you that's aware you're being held safe, and you can come back."

"Hmm."

"It was a little strange, but not really unpleasant. The process, I mean, not what I saw during it. Where I had to go was very unpleasant, so I think that colors it somewhat. But, essentially, it's not that different than having visions."

"You got that part nailed."

"I certainly should. I'm hoping this is a one-shot, this turn my gift's taken. But if it's not, I'll handle it better next time."

"You've handled yourself. You find your way out of this maze from here?"

"Yeah."

"I've got to head back." She gestured toward her sector.

"Haven't you been on since early this morning?"

"That's how it goes."

"You can keep it," Celina said sincerely. "I'll see you tomorrow, at Mira's? Let me know if you want me to come in earlier and look at pictures."

"You'll hear from me."

Eve peeled off, wound her way back to Homicide. She detoured by Peabody's desk, thumped on it, gestured, and headed to her own office. "Got a basic description. Added to ours, he's a really big son of a bitch. Mixed-race or—"

"She said white before."

"Sealant threw her off. Sounds like he coats it on thick, probably uses one that's not completely clear. "Mixed-race, brown skin or tanned. Bald—smooth dome. Square face, dark, thick eyebrows. No distinguishing marks that she made this time out. He wears dark shades when he does them."

"Jesus."

"Could be something's wrong with his eyes, could be another symbol or part of his pathology. We'll research eye diseases or sensitivities."

"Funky-junkies are light-sensitive."

"He's not on the funk. Steroids, maybe, to give the body a boost. What do you have for me?"

"None of the people Sommers spent the evening with gave her or remember her with a droid or a toy. No cat. I've started running purchases, haven't hit anything yet."

"Run it through, then you're going to hook up with Feeney for some OT in the field."

"Feeney?"

"We're splitting his match list, such as it is. I want to cover as much territory as we can, tonight. You saddle with Feeney. I'm bringing Roarke in. He's mostly up to speed anyway. Saves me briefing another badge."

She paused, sat on the corner of her desk. "Listen, if you get lucky, and pop on this guy tonight, remember, he's not going to let you take him down easy."

"You're not going to tell me to be careful, are you?"

"I'm going to tell you to be good. Stay sharp. You pop him, and he goes for either of you, he'll go for you first."

"Female."

"Right. He'll hurt you if he can."

"So don't let him. And right back at you, sir."

"Give Feeney the rest of the description. Keep it in your head. Maybe he wears a rug, so—"

"Dallas, this isn't my first flight out of the nest."

"Right. Right, right." Restless, she got up, but bypassed coffee for water. Overcaffeinated, she told herself as she opened the bottle. "I got bad vibes, is all."

"Want me to call and check in when I get home, Mommy?"

"Scram."

"Scramming."

Eve dropped down at the desk, added her record of the session with Mira to her case file, and organized her notes into her daily report.

Roarkehad told her he'd meet her at her office at seven-thirty if not before, so she had time. A little time. She started the research on eye sensitivities, then let the computer hum along while she got up, paced to the window.

Bad vibes, she thought again, and looked out at her city.

It wasn't extrasensory. What she had, what she did was, in her opinion, the antithesis of paranormal. It was elemental, maybe on some level even primitive—the way early man had known when to hunt and when to hide.

She'd say visceral except the word always sounded sort of pompous to her. And there was nothing pompous about cop work.

The vibes, for lack of a better word, were a combination of instinct and experience and a knowledge she had no inclination to analyze.

She knew he'd marked his next target. And could only wonder who, and where, he'd strike tonight.

Chapter Eighteen

In his elegant dark business suit, Roarke circled Eve's new vehicle while it was parked in her slot in Central's garage. "Haven't had a chance to really examine your upgrade. Long overdue, Lieutenant."

"It does the job."

"Better, one hopes, than your previous one." He tapped the hood. "Release the hood latch."

"Why?"

"So I can look at the engine."

"Why? It runs. What else is there to know? Looking at it doesn't change anything."

He gave her a long, pitying smile. "Darling Eve, your absolute lack of interest and aptitude for mechanics is so female."

"Watch it, pal."

"Wouldn't you like to know what's under here?" He tapped the hood again. "What's getting you where you're going?"