New York to Dallas

by J. D. Robb

  “Are you now?”

  “They’re going to listen to you because unless they’re idiots they’ve figured out by now you’re better and faster than anybody they’ve got. And because I’m going to tell them to.”

  “She’s a team player,” Roarke said in an aside to Mira, and got the beady eye from his wife.

  “We’re going to take down his security, disable his elevator, and lock down the whole damn building without alerting him,” Eve pointed out. “And we’re going to need to do it slick, fast, and at exactly the right time. That’s for you. I know you can do it. I don’t know if Ricchio’s men can.”

  “You can do that?” Mira asked Roarke. “Isolate McQueen’s apartment, and shut down the entire building?”

  “Just a hobby of mine.”

  “I want Mira to start it off,” Eve continued, giving Roarke another, beadier eye, “updating the profile. I want everybody on this op to know what they’re going after. Take your time, punch it in. The last op went to hell, so some of them are going to be edgy, some overeager.”

  “Understood.”

  “Then let’s do it.”

  She headed straight to Ricchio. “I need a minute, Lieutenant.”

  “Sure.” He nodded at the detective beside him. “Have them picked up. We identified and located the two people McQueen told the partner to contact for security and soundproofing. I’m having them brought in for questioning.”

  “Excellent.”

  “We’ve also interviewed the clerk at the wine store where McQueen purchased the champagne, wine, caviar, and we have the security discs showing him in the store and making the purchase. The clerk carried the stuff out to the car, and confirms McQueen was driving the Orion.”

  “Also excellent, and adds to the time line.”

  “We also ran down the knife and sheath, purchased that same day.”

  “Busy boy. Lieutenant, I’ve brought my profiler. I’d like her to brief everyone on the changes in McQueen’s pattern and profile. It’s important they understand the target and his current state of mind.”

  “Agreed.”

  “My consultant is setting up the data.” She paused as the feds came in, turned to include them. “We have the building blueprints, the layout of McQueen’s apartment, the security. He’ll need some good men,” she said to Ricchio, “to work with him. Disabling the security—McQueen’s apartment as well as building security—shutting down his elevator, and the timing of it, will be key.”

  “We have men for that,” Nikos put in.

  “Good, send them to Roarke. He’ll coordinate.”

  “He—”

  “He’s the best there is,” Eve interrupted.

  “I’m going to agree with that,” Ricchio put in. “Stevenson isn’t easily impressed, and he’d draft Roarke into his division if he could.”

  Not an idiot, Eve thought. “Roarke’s already familiar with the layout, knows the security system as it’s one of his makes. McQueen’s personal security will be trickier, which also goes to timing and the skill of the tech. We wouldn’t be having this briefing right now without the data accessed by my tech.”

  “Agreed,” Laurence said before Nikos could speak. “He’ll have whatever he needs from us.”

  “Good.” Eve waited a beat. “We’ll need to establish whether or not McQueen’s inside before we disable and lock down.”

  “It sounds like you assume you’re heading this op, Dallas. The last one you headed ended up with a high-speed chase, a dead cop, and a dead suspect. Which brings up the matter of Detective Price.” Nikos glanced toward him. “And the decision to include him on this operation.”

  “My detective’s actions saved a child from serious injury, possibly death. Don’t you begin to question his actions or my judgment, Agent.”

  “You want to hang the failure of that operation on someone, you hang it on me,” Eve snapped out. “Or maybe you’d have just let that kid end up roadkill.”

  “I do hang it on you, and also suggest Detective Price may not be mentally prepared to—”

  “Oh give it a rest, Nikos. Seriously.” Laurence rubbed his forehead. “If you’ve got to blame somebody, blame the goddamn dog. But the fact is, we did everything right, and it went south. We need to catch up on this second location. Dallas has the data.”

  Nikos set her jaw. “We have to analyze the data and confirm we’ve got McQueen’s location in the first damn place.”

  “It is confirmed,” Eve tossed back. “You want chapter and verse?”

  “I want facts. Verified.”

  “McQueen’s paying for the unit, and has been paying for it since September of ’fifty-five—a month after Melinda went to see him at Rikers. Construction of the building and the apartment was completed in February of the following year. I’m not finished,” Eve said as Nikos started to interrupt.

  Tired, Eve noted, edgy, with the stress and strain of the last few days clear on Nikos’s face. She’d just have to suck it up, Eve thought. Like the rest of them.

  “The payments, money from the rentals from corporate tenants, the maintenance, and so on are handled and arranged by Ferrer, Arias and Garza, a law firm out of Costa Rica—Heredía, to be precise. That’s something you might want to look into. The unit’s owned by Executive Travel, which appears to conscientiously pay its taxes and fees—also through the law firm. He uses a local cleaning service, the same used by the partner at the duplex—both paid for through the law firm and billed to Executive Travel, which lists what turns out to be a mail drop as its address. Leases are arranged by building management, for a fee. They also report to the law firm.”

  Well aware cops’ ears were tuned in to her recitation, she kept her focus on Nikos and pressed her point. “This is data my consultant accessed, a great deal of it in the travel time between our hotel and this room. If you want it, he can get you the name of every employee in the law firm and whether they wear boxers or fucking briefs. He’s just that good. And he looked for said data because I deduced McQueen had the second location. I’m just that good, too. With what we’re handing you, you can tack on all sorts of fun federal charges, potentially bust a criminal organization—i.e., the law firm, if you’re not keeping up—that’s certainly bent or broken a number of international laws, and confiscate a whole shit pile of money. Before that, there’s the little matter of busting McQueen’s ass.”

  She turned to Ricchio who struggled to control a smile. “With your permission, Lieutenant, I’d like to start the briefing, then coordinate with you on assignments.”

  “Then let’s roll it out.”

  Nikos steamed her, but Eve didn’t mind. It pumped her up.

  After Mira finished the profile, Eve laid on operational strategy and procedure. Then she pulled Roarke and Mira aside.

  “You’re going to be working with e-men from DPSD and the FBI.”

  “Quite the party,” Roarke commented, with no real pleasure.

  “Ricchio is going to give you a space to coordinate. He’s also getting the warrants for you to link up with building security and tamper with McQueen’s. You’re Team One.”

  “So you said. Well, I’ll go find my space. See you on the line, Lieutenant.”

  “I’d like you to go out on this,” Eve said to Mira. “We know McQueen was mobile when he contacted me. It’s unlikely he’s taken another girl, but it’s not impossible. If so, we may need hostage negotiation, and it takes time to pull one in. Besides, you know him.”

  “Yes. I’d like to go.”

  “We’ll keep you out of the hot spot, but linked in so you know what’s going on.”

  “Just tell me where you want me.”

  Moving on, Eve thought as she climbed into the van with her team, fit on her earpiece. Step by step.

  Link with building security, establish eyes and ears in and out. Establish target is on-site. If so, locate and disable his vehicle. All teams move into secondary hold positions. Disrupt apartment security, disable elevator. Move into corri
dor, block stairwell, lock down building. Trap him like a rat.

  Break in the door, go in hot. Take him down.

  If target wasn’t on-site, wait until he was and proceed.

  Bree shifted over to her. “I wanted to thank you for requesting me as part of your team.”

  “Maybe I just wanted to keep an eye on you so you don’t screw up.”

  Bree offered a tight smile. “I won’t. My parents are with Melly, at our place. I didn’t update them. Just in case.”

  “That’s best.”

  “I want to be able to tell them we got him.”

  “Then let’s make it happen.”

  “I know Nikos got in your face, and Ricchio’s, about Price. Things get around.”

  Cop shops, Eve thought. Some aspects had no geography. “Yeah, they do.”

  “I know you stood up for him.”

  “He didn’t screw up. It was bad luck, that’s all. Nikos knows that, too. She’s just pissed and frustrated.”

  “Yeah, but still. It’s appreciated.”

  “You can buy me a drink when this is done.”

  “You got it.”

  Here we go, she thought as the van pulled over. “Team Two in position,” she said into her mic. “Sound it off.”

  She listened as team leaders reported, gestured to the e-man on her team. “Bring it up. Let’s have a look.”

  She studied the building, all shimmering gold and glass in a wide curve. Railed balconies spread into longer, deeper terraces on the upper levels.

  And McQueen’s, the top level, east corner. “Zoom it in on target.”

  She edged forward. Unless he had a parachute or a personal jet lift, he couldn’t escape by way of the terrace. With the elevator and stairs blocked, he wouldn’t have access to the roof.

  The only way out would be through a wall of cops. He wouldn’t make it.

  “Do a sweep, ground level,” she ordered.

  She spotted the softclothed cops in position or moving into. The couple having coffee at the sidewalk café nestled beside the building, a man sitting on a wall above a bunch of flowers working a PPC. Still another window-shopping.

  She counted off the rest.

  She’d given strict orders not to approach or pursue should McQueen be spotted outside. The last thing she wanted was another chase, and any opportunity for him to slip the net.

  “We’re in,” Roarke said in her ear.

  “Copy that. Show me.”

  The monitor switched again, showing her the lobby area—glossy, elegant—droid at a long, low table to check in visitors, deliveries, cleaning crews. Lots of flowers in angled glass vases along one wall.

  While he took her through maintenance areas, security stations, utility rooms, Team Four’s leader sounded in her ear.

  “Sensors read empty, Lieutenant.”

  She thought, Crap. “We hold. Team Five, move on the garage. Let’s see if he’s on the road or on foot. If you locate the vehicle, disable.”

  She settled back. “Roarke, let’s see his floor.”

  She studied the corridor, the placement of other apartments, the position of the stairs, the elevators. And the security on McQueen’s door.

  “Target’s vehicle in assigned slot. Now disabled.”

  “Acknowledged. We hold.”

  And, she thought, we wait.

  A few blocks away McQueen browsed the selections of a gourmet market. He’d missed this—missed the time to do as he liked, missed enjoying a meal of his own choosing when he chose to enjoy it.

  He intended to make himself a very special dinner, the last before he had some company.

  The last before Eve joined him.

  It would work very well, he thought as he considered the artichokes. He knew just where to find her now.

  The hotel security on communication was, as you’d expect from a Roarke property, perfection. But the Dallas police weren’t quite so clever or well-funded. It hadn’t been difficult to triangulate her signal during their last contact. And tonight, he’d pay her a visit. He would, undoubtedly, have to kill Roarke, which was a shame considering all that lovely money that might have come into his hands.

  But Eve was worth the cost.

  Just a few more details to iron out, which he’d do after marketing.

  He found himself staring, unable to make a decision on olives. So many different choices, all those little jars. How was he suppose to pick one, to know what he’d want in an hour? In two?

  Annoyed with himself, he grabbed one at random, then another, then two more. Of course he knew what he wanted, what he would want. He just had so many things on his mind. Gaining entrance to the hotel, then to Eve’s rooms wasn’t a snap, after all. Not that it was beyond his reach, but it did take careful planning. Hardly a wonder he couldn’t decide on olives.

  He took out his PPC, where he’d carefully noted down everything he’d need for his special meal. Calmer now, he continued to browse. Everything was so much better when it was noted down, organized.

  He studied the little berry tomatoes for a long time.

  “Something’s going on at the Gold Door.”

  McQueen came out of what felt like a trance. “What did you say?”

  “Cops.”

  He jerked, fumbled, and nearly dropped his basket. With his head swiveling from side to side, he prepared to run.

  Then he saw the stock boy talking to another one of the staff.

  “Cops at that place?” the stock boy snickered. “What, did somebody trip over their money and fall out the window?”

  “Maybe bigger. I had a delivery over there. When I came out I see this cop.”

  “So. Cops are everywhere except when you want them.”

  “You took your cynical pill this morning. Not just a cop, a detective, and he must’ve been undercover.”

  “Then how do you know he’s a detective?”

  “Because I know him. Detective Buck Anderson. He came in to talk to my criminology class a couple weeks ago. He’s pretty chill, man, made me think about being a cop.”

  This time a snicker and a snort from the stock boy. “As if.”

  “I’d be a mag cop. I spotted an undercover detective, right? He’s sitting on the wall over there, jeans and a T-shirt, sunshades, but I recognized him.”

  “Maybe it’s his day off.”

  “No way, ’cause when I said hi to him, he acted like he didn’t know me. I talked to him after class for like twenty minutes. He gave me his card and everything. Like I said, he was chill, but he said I had it wrong. ‘Do I look like a cop,’ he says to me, and tells me to get lost.”

  “Big whoop, Radowski. It probably wasn’t even him. And so what if it was?”

  “It was him. I bet he’s on a stakeout or something. I bet we’re going to hear something big goes down at the Gold Door.”

  Very carefully, McQueen set the basket aside. He fixed on a smile, strolled up to the two young men. “Excuse me, did I hear you mention the Gold Door? The police? I have a friend who lives there. I hope there’s no trouble.”

  “I don’t know, sir. I just thought I saw somebody I knew.” The smile didn’t go with the fury in the man’s eyes, so the delivery boy edged away. “I have to get back to work.”

  The stock boy turned to McQueen. “Can I help you find anything, sir?”

  “No. No, you can’t.” McQueen stormed out, shoving past a couple just coming in, then walked quickly in the opposite direction from the Gold Door and his perfect apartment.

  Eve blocked out the bored chatter, stayed inside her own head, her own thoughts. An hour into the wait, Roarke spoke in her ear.

  “McQueen’s made contact again. He wants to talk to you.”

  Something up, something wrong, she thought. “Hold him. Keep that sweep going. I don’t want to hear a sound from anybody in here. Can you track him?” she asked Roarke

  “Possibly. It’s more difficult on these mobile units.”

  “Try to pin him. Link us up, block the vide
o.”

  “Use the com on your mobile. I’m crossing to give us two points. Try to give me some time with the track. Linking now.”

  She changed positions, waited.

  “Twice in one day. You must miss me, Isaac.”

  “Not for long.”

  Something wrong, she thought again. She heard it in his voice—not the usual controlled amusement, but temper, ripe as roses.

  “So you keep saying.”

  “But you just couldn’t be patient. It’s rude, very rude, Eve, to come to my home without an invitation.”

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. “Just dropped by. When are you coming back, Isaac? I have a housewarming present for you.”

  His breath hissed in and out, in and out. “You think you’re smart.”

  “Found your hole, didn’t I?”

  “Luck. Blind luck. It won’t be luck when I come for you. I’m going to make you very, very sorry, so sorry you’ll be grateful when I finally cut your throat.”

  “Do you plan to use the knife you bought at Points and Blades? That’s a lot of money for a sticker. I can’t wait to see it.”

  “You will. One day I’ll just be there.”

  “You know, you sound a little miffed. Why don’t we—”

  She swore under her breath when he cut her off.

  “Working on it,” Roarke said before she could ask. “I can’t nail it, not from here. The best I can give you is somewhere on Davis Ave., between Corral and Kingston.”

  Ricchio came on. “I’m alerting dispatch. We have an all-points out.”

  “He’s not coming back here,” Eve said. “We’re going in. He’s running now, maybe we can find something that tells us where he’s most likely to run.”

  She wanted to punch something, but kept it together as she got out of the van. She’d watched the sweeps, kept track of the cops they’d put on the street. Nothing should have tipped him off.

  “How’d he make us?” she demanded when Roarke joined her. “How the hell did he make us?”

  “Instincts perhaps.”

  “Nobody’s are that good.” She shook her head at him. “He knew we were here. I was here. And he is seriously pissed.”