Betrayal in Death

He was so pleased she'd been the first to break, the insult barely registered. "I was born hot. How'd you get into the files?"

Feeney looked down his pug nose. "Accessing official data or the attempt to access is illegal. This data was given to me by an anonymous source. As it's gone deep into confidentials without sending flags, I have to assume the source is federal."

"And pigs fly," Eve said under her breath. "However the information came into our hands, we have it. It's a tool. Not a hammer," she said, sca

"As long as you squeeze till it stings, that'll do for me. You'll note, our dear friend Special Agent Jacoby, while not exactly a birdbrain, does not go to the head of the class. His profile shows average intelligence, offset by arrogance, ambition, and a resentment for authority. You add that all up, spit it out, and you got a dangerous individual. If anybody's going to fuck this up, it's going to be him. I wouldn't mind asking Mira to take a look at him, give us her take."

"The data came to you," Eve told him. "Your call. Now probability results." She ordered them on-screen. "You can see we've got a ninety-eight point eight percent that he'll attempt to complete the job. He has a rep; he won't want it marred. He'll go for the next target, and he'll try to stay on schedule. The first two came close together. I believe the third attempt will be within the next twenty-four. Probability, again, goes to ninety-three point six that subject is in the city or within easy transpo distance. But that's qualified by the assumption his target is also in the city or its environs. There's no way we can be sure of that single fact, and due to it, no way we can begin to protect whoever he intends to hit next."

She looked back at the screen. "So we work on it. And we wait on it."

She closed the briefing, detailing assignments, scheduling a morning briefing for eight. "We've got an hour till end of shift. If nothing pops by then, we'll call it for the night. Get some sleep, and we'll start pushing tomorrow."

"Works for me, but I might have to pass on the sleep. I've got a date." McNab had waited through the briefing just for the chance to say it. And he resisted, through enormous will, looking around for Peabody's reaction.

But Eve saw it. The jerk of shock, the initial hurt that burned cleanly toward fury, then iced into dismissal. Iced, she thought, if you didn't know her well enough to see through the shield to the wound.

Damn it.

"I'm sure we're all thrilled for you, McNab," Eve said coolly. "Eight hundred, this conference room. Dismissed." She kept her eyes on his as she spoke, had the nasty pleasure of seeing him shrink a little.

Then he was up and swaggering out the door. Feeney rolled his eyes and followed. Followed just close enough to smack his detective smartly on the side of the head with the flat of his hand.

"Ow! What the hell?"

"You know what the hell."

"Oh, fine. Great. She can rumba off with some sex-for-hire sleazebag, and nobody says a thing. I have a date and I get blind-sided."

Because he recognized misery when it was staring him in the face, Feeney scowled, drilled a finger into McNab's ski

"Neither am I." McNab hunched his shoulders and steamed off in a sulk.

"Peabody." Eve jumped in before her aide had the chance to speak. "Unload and file all discs, book this room for the scheduled time."

"Yes, sir." She had to swallow, hated the fact that the simple act was audible and painful.

"Check in with Monroe, see if he has any more information on Roles. Then stand by in your work area until I contact you."

"Yes, sir."

Eve waited until Peabody had finished gathering what she needed and had moved out of the room like a droid. "This is really going to suck," she decided. "Just listen, he says. A lot he knows about it."

Doing her best to push Peabody out of her mind, Eve sat down and made the call to the federal building.

"Stowe."

"Dallas. I need a meet. Just you and me. Tonight."

"I'm busy, and have no interest in meeting you tonight or anytime. Do you think I'm an idiot? Do you think I couldn't figure out who fed that reporter?"

"She eats just fine on her own." Eve waited a beat. "Winifred C. Gates" was all she said, and watched Stowe go pale.

"What about her?" she returned, with admirable composure. "She's one of Yost's likelies."

"Tonight, Stowe, unless you want me to go into detail over the 'link."

"I can't get away until seven."

"Nineteen-thirty hours, the Blue Squirrel. I'm sure a smart federal agent can find the address."

Stowe lowered her voice, moved closer to the screen. "Just you?"

"That's right. For the moment. Seven-thirty, Agent Stowe. Don't keep me waiting."

She broke transmission, checked her wrist unit and did her best to gauge her time. Feeling slightly less apprehensive than she might have if going in to face a team of chemi-heads armed with laser scalpels, she walked down to the squad room, detoured into her office for her jacket, then out to Peabody's cubicle.

"You tag Charles?"

"Yes, sir. His client met the man purporting to be Roles at a Sotheby's auction last winter. He outbid her on a painting. A Masterfield landscape, circa 2021. She believes it went for two million four."

"Sotheby's. It's after five. They'd be closed. Okay, you're with me." She started out, waited for Peabody to fall in step. "Did she have impressions?"

"Charles said she found Roles impeccably ma

"If she's such a babe, why does she need to hire an LC?"

"I guess because Charles is a babe, and there isn't any danger of strings. He'll do whatever she wants during the scheduled time." Peabody sighed as they stepped out into the garage. "People hire or hang with LCs for a lot of reasons. It isn't always about sex."

"Okay, okay. We'll see what we can dig up in Sotheby's tomorrow." That, she thought, might be something to tap Roarke about.

"Yes, sir. Where are we going now?"

"Up to you." Eve opened her car door, stood looking at Peabody over the roof. "Want to go get drunk?"

"Sir?"

"I had a big mess-up with Roarke not that long ago. That was my choice. It's a pretty good temporary cure."

Peabody's eyes filled, not just with tears but with gratitude. "I'd rather have ice cream."

"Yeah, most of the time, given the choice, so would I. Let's go get some ice cream."

Eve stared down at the hot fudge supreme in the dish in front of her with a combination of greed and nausea. She would no doubt eat it all. She would no doubt be ill after.

The things you had to do for a pal.

She dug in for the first spoonful. "Okay, spill it."

"Sir?"

"Let's hear what happened."

Peabody stared, more dazzled now by Eve's statement than by her own banana boat surprise. "You want me to tell you about it?"