Into the Fire(74)
Evan’s mouth had gone sour, sweat cooling across the back of his neck. He’d nearly forgotten he was in the room with Joey.
She was facing away, but he could see her hand pulsing around the elaborate mouse, rolling the sensor ball and clicking. “Good news,” she said. “We’re downtown. Close cell towers, so I should be able to peg him pretty closely, and—”
She froze, as still as death in her chair, her hands floating above the keys. The abrupt cessation of noise was unsettling. Across the room in his nest of dirty laundry, Dog raised his head, sniffing the shift in the air.
Joey laughed a hard, ugly laugh. “Oh, boy,” she said.
“What?” Evan said. “Where is he?”
At last she turned to look at him, and her face was more serious than he’d ever seen it. “Twin Towers Jail.”
Evan rubbed his eyes.
He said, “Fuck.”
39
No Margin for Error
Evan blew through the lobby of Castle Heights, Joey hustling to keep up, Dog the dog prancing along beside her, his collar jangling against the leash. The empty expanse had an early-morning sheen, pink light spilling across the dated marble, the smell of coffee emanating from a stately silver urn on a side table. The mission loomed large in his mind, impassable and impossible, a towering wall of stone. He had only the roughest shape of a plan, just a few handholds he hoped might get him up the cliff face.
Evan was talking hard, his voice low. “I need everything, understand? Procedures, schedules, security measures, equipment, guard shifts. I need names, heights, weights, and profiles for prisoners. I need to know gang affiliations—what they’re in for, who’s in which cell block, when they’re being released. I need security-camera positions, surveillance gaps, what you can alter, delete, control. I need to know—”
“Jesus, X.” A sheen of perspiration sparkled at Joey’s hairline. “You can’t do this. Not with your head the way it is.”
He pivoted to face her, walking backward without breaking stride. “Joey. I have to.”
She shriveled a bit beneath his glare, and he realized that the intensity of his tone had scared her.
“Chillax, okay?” Her voice sounded small, intimidated, and he hated himself for it. “I got you.”
“There is no margin for error.”
“I understand, okay?” She held up her palms, a rare show of submission. “What’s the plan?”
“I don’t know yet,” he said. “I’ve never done anything like this.”
As they reached the elevator doors, Joaquin called out from behind the security desk. “Hey, Mr. Smoak. And Ms.… Janie, right?”
“Joey. She’ll be staying with me for a few days. Please give her access.”
“Uh, the no-pets policy?”
“He’s a service dog,” Joey said. “I have a severe psychiatric disorder.”
Joaquin looked at her, gauging whether or not she was serious. Joey stared back, unblinking.
Joaquin pursed his lips. “Why don’t we just make sure we keep it inconspicuous so we don’t have to show Mr. Walters any paperwork to that effect.”
“Mr. Walters?” Joey said.
“The HOA president,” Joaquin said. “He takes his HOA’ing pretty seriously.”
“I appreciate that,” Evan said.
He and Joey faced the closed elevator doors, breathing the crisp lobby air. Evan noticed he was clenching fists at his sides and did his best to still his hands. The floor indicators showed the car making glacial progress. Dog the dog sat, bent his head, and licked himself with abandon.
“You hear the latest on Mrs. Rosenbaum?” Joaquin called out.
Evan shook his head. Did not turn around. He felt the heat of Joey’s gaze on the side of his face.
“I guess they caught the guy,” Joaquin said. “And someone re turned her necklace for her. The old-fashioned one from her dead husband? Slid it right under the door.”
Evan said, “Is that so.”
“Yeah. I pulled the security footage to see who, but the system was down.”
Joey turned her head to look at Joaquin, her hair flicking like a horse tail. Then back to Evan. “How odd,” she said flatly.
“Yeah,” Joaquin said. “Guess we’ll never know who the Good Samaritan is.”
“Maybe it wasn’t a Good Samaritan,” Joey said. “Maybe it was a bad guy who had a change of heart.” She shot Evan a glare. “Or a bad guy who doesn’t listen to anyone but himself.”
Evan felt his face tighten, but before he or Joaquin could respond, the elevator chimed. Saved by the bell.
Or not.
He heard her voice before the doors parted. “—this case goes sideways on me one more time, so help me God, I’m gonna go full-on Sherman’s March to the Sea.”
The elevator rattled open.
Mia stood inside, phone pinched between ear and shoulder, bulging satchel briefcase in one hand, Batman lunch box in the other. Somehow her lunch-box hand managed a travel coffee mug as well, and she was caught mid-slurp, steam rising past her puffy eyes into the wild tangle of her curls. At the sight of Evan, her eyes flared, the cup frozen against her lips.
With a pang of sadness, he realized how readily he could read her, how familiar he was with the cogs and gears by which her life ran. Darkness beneath her eyes, second cup of coffee to go, and the file-heavy briefcase meant she was working a big case. Up late last night, up early this morning to drop Peter at math tutoring, court-ready suit in case she had to file a motion.