Betrayal in Death

"Okay." He drew back, ran his hands from her shoulders to her wrists. "That should hold me."

"You blow the top of my head off." She shook it clear. "Pow. A lot better than fake chocolate."

"Darling Eve, I'm touched."

"Yeah, and this was fun, but I've got a briefing coming up. Why are you here?"

"I wanted to buy you a candy bar. By the way, did you know Peabody and McNab have had a spat?"

"I hate that word. They've had something, just like I told you they would, and it's your fault for giving McNab advice. I sent Peabody off to take a soother or something and lie down."

"Did you talk to her about it?"

"No. No, I didn't, and I'm not going to."

"Eve."

The way he said it, with just a hint of censure, put her back up. "We're working here. You know murder and mayhem, law and order, little stuff like that. What am I supposed to do when she comes moping in here all teary-eyed?"

"Listen," he said simply, and took the wind out of her sails.

"Oh, man."

"In any case," he continued, amused. "I came by to let you know I have a di

She choked back a little sigh. "If you let me know where the meeting is, and when, I'll try to swing by if I get loose."

"I don't expect you to squeeze it in."

"I know. I guess that's why I'll try to swing by."

"Top of New York, eight-thirty. Thank you."

"If I'm not there by nine-fifteen, I'm not going to make it."

"That's fine. Is there any progress I should know about in my capacity as consultant?"

"Not much, but you can sit in on the briefing."

"I can't. I'm due in midtown shortly. You can give me a private briefing tonight." He lifted her hand, kissed the knuckles she'd bruised punching the vending machine. "Try to get through the rest of the day without fighting with another inanimate object."

"Ha-ha," she said when he walked out.

Then, because she could, she moved to the door and watched him go. The man has a great ass, she thought as she nibbled on her candy bar. A truly great ass.

She pulled herself back, gathered the files and discs she needed for the briefing, and headed off to the reserved conference room to set up.

She'd barely begun when Peabody came in. "I'll do that, Lieutenant."

Her eyes were dry, Eve noted with relief, her voice steady, and her spine straight.

Eve opened her mouth, nearly asked Peabody if she felt better before she realized the danger of that. Like quicksand, that sort of comment or inquiry would suck you right down into the muck of dialogue about a subject you prefer to pretend didn't exist in the first place.

So she stood back and kept her mouth shut, firmly, while Peabody loaded discs and stacked hard copies of the updates on chairs.

"I also have the record of the media conference, Lieutenant. Do you want me to load it?"

"No, that goes home with me, for my personal viewing pleasure. Did you catch it?"

"Yeah, they danced and they dodged, then Nadine pi

"Good old Nadine."

"Yeah, she asked it really polite, too, with a sympathetic expression and everything. Before he could recover, other reporters had picked up the hammer. They smashed right through and all the spi

"Media, one. Feebs, zero."

"Subzero. I guess it's not fair to blame the whole Bureau over the idiocy of two agents."

"Maybe not, but it's working for me right now."

She glanced over as Feeney burst in. He was showing his teeth in what might have been a grin and waving a disc. "Got some data here." He all but sang it. "Primo data. Let's see the Feebs try to muscle us off our own turf again. We got the arm now. Special Agent Stowe knew one of the victims. Personally."

"How?"

"Went to college together, took some of the same classes, belonged to the same clubs. And roomed together for three months before the victim went overseas."

"They were pals? How'd I miss that in the profiles?"

"Because Stowe didn't mention the co

Eve felt the comfortable warmth of a fresh weapon in her hand, then stopped, backtracked, eyed the disc Feeney was busy loading. "Where did you get the data?"

He knew she'd ask, which was one reason he'd copied the disc onto one out of his own stash. "Anonymous source."

Her eyes narrowed. Roarke. "You've suddenly got a weasel who can access FBI files and personal data on its agents?"

"Looks like," he said cheerfully. "It's a mystery to me. The disc just showed up on my desk. Nothing to stop us from using data accessed from an anonymous source. For all I know, it came from a mole in the FBI."

She could have argued, she could have pressed. But the fact was, even if he knew the data had come from Roarke, Feeney would never admit it. "Let's have a look. You're late," she said when McNab strolled in.

"Sorry, Lieutenant, unavoidably detained." He sauntered over, took a chair, and made it clear to everyone in the room that he wasn't so much as looking at Peabody.

She made it equally clear she wasn't so much as looking at him.

The result was the temperature in the room plummeted, the air went frosty, and Eve and Feeney exchanged pained glances.

"You have the hard copy of my updated report. We have a fresh alias to hang on Sylvester Yost." She gestured toward the board where Yost's various images and names were posted, alongside his known victims, the location of each murder, and the physical evidence found on scene.

"I did a run," she continued. "Computer, data on Roles, Martin K., on-screen. You'll note he developed this alter ego carefully. He has full identification, credit line, residence, but the address is bogus. He filed taxes under this name, maintained a health card, carried a passport. We have some of these activities under other aliases, but none that we have verified to date maintain and employ all these activities. This, at my guess, is his retirement identity, the one he's keeping clean and normal so it sends up no flags via CompuGuard or any security agency."

"If he's a skilled hacker, he may have adjusted the data here and there to suit," McNab put in.

"Agreed. He is unaware that we've made this match. This is the identity we focus on, and we make sure we don't send up flags. All search and scan on this individual will be Level Three. He'll own property under this name. Find it."

"I'll start the search right after the briefing," said McNab. "I've been trying a scattershot scan on known victims, getting probabilities on who might have contracted the hits. I've got a couple of possibles, but nothing solid enough to move on yet."

"Taking a page out of the book ignored by our pals in the FBI, we don't move until we know. A man as experienced and as efficient as this has solid backup ID. We spook him, he could ditch Roles and go with something we don't have a tag on. Let's keep him confident. Now, for Captain Feeney's big surprise."

She gestured and turned the briefing over. Feeney rubbed his hands together, got to his feet, and ran through the data Roarke had passed on to him.

McNab nearly bounced in his seat. "This is hot stuff."

Peabody spared a look for McNab now, a withering one. "Like you'd know hot."