"I know we're pressed for time." Peabody jumped in the car again. "But I feel like I'm three steps behind."
"Branson's connected to Cassandra. Clarissa's connected to Branson, Zeke's connected to Clarissa. We're led to believe that both the Branson brothers meet with untimely and violent ends within a week of each other. Meanwhile, the accounts are stripped. Zeke's brought in from clear across the country to work at the Branson house, and within a couple of days, he's tangled with Branson over Clarissa and supposedly killed him. But Clarissa, out of her fear and concern for Zeke, loses the body.
"That's the part that hung me up all along, but a guy tells you he kills another guy, you generally go with it. Still we've got no body, and there's nothing on the droid playback to indicate he was instructed to weigh it down. The search team's sensors don't pick another up, it doesn't bob up and float, but we know it got tossed in the river."
"Droids don't float, and the sensors are looking for flesh, blood, and bone."
"See, you're catching up. Now, we connect those dots. Zeke killed himself a droid. We have Lisbeth's statement that there were never any beatings, no rapes, and odds are she'd have known if there were. Through J. C., if not on her own. We have the coincidence that Zeke just happened to be in the right place at the right time to hear beatings and rapes, then Clarissa turns to him for help. She's already scoped him; she knows the kind of man he is, and very likely made the subtle kind of play for him he wouldn't see as a come-on."
"He doesn't understand women," Peabody murmured. "He's practically still a kid."
"He wouldn't understand this one if he'd hit the century mark. She trolled for him and reeled him in. She and Branson got rid of the brother, which leads me to believe he wasn't involved in Cassandra. He was weight, so they ditched him. I'm primary on the case, and they don't want me looking too hard, having just the kind of talk with Lisbeth I just finished having, so they tag me on the bombings. Blowing up the city's going to pull my attention away from a plea bargain I know I can't change."
"Whoever had pulled J. C. Branson's homicide would have been tagged? They moved to you because of that?" Peabody considered. "That was their big mistake."
"That was excellent sucking up, Peabody. Smooth, subtle."
"I've been practicing."
"The politics are more smoke – pull the attention away, waste our time. It's the money they're after and the sheer delight in destroying."
"But they have money."
"More's better, especially if you grew up on the run, hiding out, maybe scraping for the good life. What do you want to bet Clarissa Branson spent her formative years in Apollo?"
"That's a big leap, Lieutenant."
"'We are loyal,'" Eve quoted as she zipped through the security gate to the parking area under Roarke's midtown offices.
Peabody gawked a little when they moved into the private elevator, but before she could comment, Eve's 'link beeped.
"Lieutenant Dallas? Captain Sully, Boston PD. The patrols just reported in from the Rowan address. Monica Rowan has been the victim of what appears to be a bungled B and E. She's dead."
"Damn it. I'll need a full report on that, priority level, Captain."
"I'll get you as much as I can as quick as I can. Sorry we can't be of more help."
"So am I," Eve murmured as she ended the call. "Goddamn it, I should've put a wall around her."
"How could you know?"
"I do know. Just a little too late." She strode out of the elevator, moved past Roarke's efficient assistant without stopping.
Efficiency prevailed, however. Roarke was opening the door for her himself when Eve got there.
"Lieutenant, I didn't expect you personally."
"I'm heading in. I'm pressed to the wall here." She looked in his eyes, wished she could say… wanted to. "Things are coming together, and the clock's running."
"Then you'll want your bait." He looked into her eyes. "I assume several million in counterfeit bonds is bait – with you as hook."
"We're closing in. With any luck, this should finish it. I – Peabody, take a walk," she said without looking back.
"Sir?"
"Step out, Peabody."
"Stepping out, Lieutenant."
"Look…" Eve began. "I'm really hitting the wire on this, so I can't get into stuff. I'm sorry about before."
"You're sorry I'm irritated."
"Okay, fine. I'm sorry you're irritated, but I have to ask for a favor."
"Personal or official?"
Oh, he was going to make it tough. She leveled her gaze, and a muscle in her cheek twitched. "Both. I need everything you can dig up on Clarissa Branson – everything – And I need it really fast. I can't spare Feeney, and even if I could, you'll be quicker and you won't leave fingerprints."
"Where do you want me to send the data?"
"I need you to call me with it, privacy mode, on my personal palm-link. I don't want her to know I'm looking."
"She won't." He turned and lifted a wide steel case. "Your bonds, Lieutenant."
She tried a smile. "I won't ask you how you managed this so fast."
He didn't smile back. "Best not."
She nodded, hefted the case, and felt miserable. She couldn't remember another time when they'd been together for five minutes and he hadn't touched her in some way. She'd gotten so used to it, so dependent on it, that she felt the loss like a backhanded slap.
"Thanks. I'll – The hell with it." She took a fistful of his hair, and swallowing what for her was a great gulp of pride, pressed her mouth hard to his. "See you later," she muttered and turned on her heel, stormed out.
Now he smiled, just a little, and walked to his desk to do the favor she'd asked of him.
– =O=-***-=O=-
"You okay, Dallas?"
"Yeah, shit. I'm dancing." She was stripped down to her undershirt and jeans, a fact which mildly embarrassed both her and Feeney.
"I can call in a female to, ah, finish this."
"Hell, I don't want any ham-handed EDD chick pawing at me. Just do it."
"All right, okay." He cleared his throat, rolled his shoulders. "The tracker's wireless. It's going to go right over your heart. We figure they'll scan you, but we're going to coat it with this stuff – it's like skin. They're using it on droids. If they pick it up at all, it'll look like a blemish or something."
"So they'll think I have a pimple on my tit. Fine."
"You know, Peabody could do this."
"Jesus, Feeney." Somebody had to get going, so keeping her gaze trained over his shoulder, she yanked up her shirt. "Put the damn thing where it goes."
The next five minutes were mortifying for both of them.
"You, ah, want to hold your shirt out for a couple of minutes, till the skin strip dries."
"I've got it."
"I'll be on the tracker myself. We'll be able to monitor your location through your heartbeat. We rigged this wrist unit." Relieved the worst was over, he picked it up from the table. "The mike's low frequency, so it shouldn't pop on a scan, but its range is a joke, and you're going to have to talk straight into it for us to pick you up. This is just backup."
"I'll take it." Eve removed her own unit, replaced it. "Anything else I should know?"
"We're positioning men all over Grand Central. You won't be on your own. Nobody moves in until you give the go-ahead, but they're there."
"Good to know."
"Dallas, any protective gear over your chest will jam the tracker."
She stared at him. "No vest?"
"Your choice. Gear or tracker."
"Hell, they're more likely to blast me in the head, anyway."
"Goddamn it."
"Joking." But she rubbed a hand over her mouth. "Any line on the target?"
"Nothing so far."
"You looked over the droids at Branson T and T?"
"Yeah, they've got a new Brainiac line." He smiled a little now. "New shell covering, too. Next best to skin. But they're toys," he added. "I didn't see anything full size."
"Doesn't mean they aren't there. Those toys capable of acting out a scene like what happened at Branson's?"