Survivor in Death

“Do you? He's not like my father. There's a world of difference, but somehow they're exactly the same.”

“Brutalizing his children, day after day. Training them in his own sick fashion. Breaking their spirit, destroying their i

It helped that he saw that, and understood why her mind kept circling around it. “I have to get past it, or I'll mess up. Location.” She nodded toward the map on her screen. “Lots of prime property Upper West. Have to be solo occupants. He can afford it. All those hefty fees, combined with his brother's hefty fees-and possibly Isenberry's. Investments like the dojo show me he likes business, making money from money. Yeah, he's plush. You have any luck with the money?”

“Again, my sensitive feelings are bruised.”

“You can take a punch, ace. Let me have it.”

He merely sent a meaningful glance at the food still on her plate.

“Jeez.” She forked up a huge bite, stuffed it in. “Spill.”

“He has what we'll call his dumping account, which coordinates with the profits from the dojo. Hefty, but not enough to finance this sort of operation.”

“So he's got other accounts.”

“Has to. He doesn't dip into this one, just dumps the funds, and his personal data on it leads to a law firm out of Eden.”

“Eden? Like the garden thereof?”

“Based on. A manmade island in the South Pacific created ostensibly for recreation and in reality for tax evasion, money laundering. It takes considerable doing to get past the legal blocks there to gain information. And it takes considerable funds to open accounts there, or utilize any of their legal protection.”

“You've used it.”

“Actually, I helped create it. Before I saw the light of truth and justice.” He gri

“Bottom-line it for now.”

“It all circles back to other numbered accounts. Five. All very plush indeed, and all under various aliases. The most interesting is one with a single deposit of just under twenty million.”

“That's million? Two-oh.”

“A tad under. But doing the math, that's well over and above any of the recorded fees I've found so far-that is, including the other accounts, which jibe with those fees, and expenses.”

“He hired out to more than sanctioned U.S. agencies.”

“There will be other accounts, I haven't swept them all up yet. It's going to take some time. But this account is interesting for a couple of reasons. The lump-sum deposit, for one. Have a look at this.”

He drew a disc out of his pocket, plugged it in her unit himself. “Data onscreen.”

Eve skimmed the data-another CIA file on Kirkendall. “Subject is considered nonsecure. Get them,” she muttered. “Train yourself a killer, then oops, he's no longer secure. Last psych eval, eighteen months ago. Sociopathic tendencies-another huge surprise. Suspected ties to Doomsday-and the big surprises keep rolling. Suspected ties to… Cassandra.”

Doomsday Group, she thought. Techno-terrorist organization she'd brushed up against, by default, on a recent case. But Cassandra, they'd been more flexible in the terrorist game, and her involvement with them the year before much more personal.

They'd nearly killed her, and Roarke, in their quest to destroy New York's landmarks. Took out a couple, too, she remembered with some bitterness, before she'd put the hurt on the ring leaders.

“And the bell rings. They were keeping him active as much to watch him as to utilize his skills. Look at the dates.” Roarke gestured with his fork. “When they lost him. When he went rogue according to both this file and the one I dug out of Homeland-which also coordinates with the same entries on his brother's file and Isenberry's.”

“September of last year. Just a few months before we got the first Cassandra letter. Before things started blowing up in the city.”

“And the date of the hefty deposit.”

“After we broke their back. We got most of them-figured we got most of them, but you never get all the rats crawling off the sinking ship. We got to most of the money, too, but they were a well-financed terrorist organization.”

“And it appears Kirkendall scooped up a chunk of the funds, or was given them for safekeeping.”

“One more reason to take him down. I don't like leaving rats outside the cage.”

“He went rogue,” Roarke pointed out. “All three of them are on various agencies' lists. Though, again, you can see by the file that the status was lowered after Cassandra scattered. And there's no indication he's had any facial surgery.”

“We had doctors on Cassandra. I'll pop up that file, start looking at them. He's left a trail. Everyone does.” When Roarke gently cleared his throat, she slid her gaze in his direction. “Even you, ace. If I wanted to find yours, I'd just put you on as consultant.”

It made him laugh. “I imagine I could find myself, if I tried hard enough. I'll get back to it. I have to say the ins and outs are fairly fascinating.”

“You find any co

Those blue eyes went wicked. “Of my choosing.”

“Pervert.” She swung back to her computer.

“I got the meal, you deal with the dishes.” He rose, then waited when her communicator beeped.

“Dallas.”

Dispatch, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. The body of a woman identified as Newman, Meredith, has been discovered. Report Broadway and Fordham as primary. Scene is being secured.

“Acknowledged. Dallas out. Up to eleven-twelve if we add Jaynene Brenegan,” she said as she rose. “That's nearly to the Bronx.”

“I'll go with you.”

“No. She's found because he wanted her found. Takes manpower away from the Swisher case. No big if we make that co

“He knows they'll pull you in on this. Primary on Swisher, she's the caseworker on Nixie. He could be waiting for you.”

She walked to the closet, pulled out a vest. She stripped off her shirt, put it on. “I hope so. I won't be going in blind,” she added as she tugged the shirt back in place.

She moved to her desk, took out her clutch piece and strapped on her ankle holster. “I know he's hoping to get a shot at me.”

“Then make sure he doesn't get one.” He walked over, buttoned her shirt himself. “And make sure you come home.”

“I'll be back.” She hitched on her weapon harness, motioned toward her desk. “Your bad luck. You're stuck with the dishes.”

You've got good eyes,” Eve said to Trueheart. “Use them. Suspects may be observing the scene. They may be mixed with the lookieloos, or based farther away using long-range. You spot anything that gives you a tingle, I hear about it.”

She stepped out of her vehicle, looked at him over the roof. “At this point, Baxter would add, 'Especially if the tingle comes from seeing a hot skirt loitering in the vicinity who looks like she'd put out for a couple of overworked cops.”

She waited a beat while Trueheart's face reddened.

“I, however, am not interested in that kind of tingle.”

“Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir.”

She saw the scene was secured with police barricades. And that, as expected, the usual gang of gawkers had gathered. It was the sort of area, she thought as she sca