Golden in Death(109)

“The Whitt Group had a major client seminar, dinner, with entertainment following tonight at the New York Grand Hotel. Whitt was a featured speaker.”

“Where is it? What time did he speak?”

“He was the dinner speaker, scheduled for eight. As for where, let’s do this.”

He leaned over her, did a few keystrokes to bring a map of New York onto the wall screen. “Here’s the Grand.” He highlighted it. “And the warehouse.”

“Too far to walk, not enough time for that. Or to run even if you were a speedy naked marathoner.”

“A what?”

“Later,” she said. “He had to have transpo.”

“Agreed. Even with that it would take several minutes.”

“Wouldn’t get a cab.” She got up to pace. “Wouldn’t risk that, certainly wouldn’t risk the subway. He’d have his own—not a driver because that adds another person in. Does the Grand have parking?”

“It does, but valet only.”

“That won’t work. So he needs to park somewhere close, where he can get out then back in easy, fast. What’ve we got within a block?”

More keystrokes. “You’d have the Hubble Hotel, which has an accessible parking garage, a block away. The next closest parking would be three blocks more.”

“We need the security cams for both hotels.”

He turned to her. Fired up, yes, he thought, but running on fumes nonetheless.

“And I imagine there are cops capable of doing that who are actually on duty at near to two in the morning. You need to get some sleep.”

“I don’t…” She realized she was revved by the movement in the case, and that it wouldn’t last. She needed to be sharp to go up against Whitt in the morning. “You’re right. He’s not going anywhere, the rest of the targets are secure, and Junta’s team will find the package. I’ll get someone to handle the hotels.”

Roarke brushed a hand over her hair. “Well now, that was easy.”

“Because it’s either some rack time or I have to take a booster before I take Whitt down. I hate those things.”

She made the arrangements, then tried to turn her brain off as they walked to the bedroom.

“I wonder who he’d targeted next?” she said as she undressed.

“Whoever it was, they’re safe.”

“You had a big part in seeing they are.”

“We can both rest easy for a few hours knowing we did our part.”

She slid into bed where the cat already stretched out, tried again to let the long day go as Roarke drew her back against him. She took Roarke’s hand.

“They had everything we didn’t. Now one’s in the morgue, and the other will spend the rest of his life in a cage.”

He kissed the back of her head. “And here we are. Sleep now.” Knowing it lulled her, Roarke rubbed her back. “Morning comes soon enough.”



* * *



Morning came at five-twelve when her communicator signaled. “Block video,” she mumbled as she groped for it.

Already up, Roarke ordered the lights on at ten percent.

“Dallas.”

“Junta. We’ve got the package. It’s secured.”

She shoved a hand through her hair as she rolled out of bed. “Where?”

“They went Allied again, made the drop at nineteen-forty. Kiosk’s just a couple blocks from the warehouse. We tracked it to the shipping port, confiscated it. They got cute with the bogus sender. Duck, Duck, Goose. It was addressed to Lilliana Rosalind.”

“The chemistry teacher’s wife. Good work, Junta.”

“All around. Finish him off, Dallas.”

“That’s the plan. I’ll get back to you.”

When she clicked off, Roarke handed her coffee. “Thanks. You were already up. Mostly dressed.”

“’Link conference shortly.” He stood in black suit pants, a dove-gray shirt while he flawlessly knotted a tie that blended those tones with a sharp red in tiny checks. “What’s next, Lieutenant?”

“Check in, get teams together, set things up. I want Mira observing my interview with Whitt. I can coordinate most of that from here. I’ll grab a shower and get moving.”

“I’m in my office if you need anything. It was good work, all around,” he added before picking up his suit jacket.

So far, she thought as she headed to the shower, and he went out.

With Cosner disposed of, evidence removed, Whitt considered himself in the clear, she calculated as the hot jets pummeled her system awake. Wouldn’t it be satisfying to disabuse him? Still, she had to take care on where and how to apply the pressure.

Debating her options, she hopped in the drying tube.

More coffee, she decided, and grabbed that before going into her closet. She started to grab whatever at random, thinking how much easier that chore had been when she’d had maybe six choices. She didn’t have time to think about stupid style and horseshit image.

Giving a passing thought to spring weather, she opted for a vest rather than a jacket, grabbed sturdy ankle boots, and walked out to strap on her weapon harness. As she grabbed her ’link, her communicator, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Stopped. Thought: Hmm.