They weren't lab rats to him, she mused. It was personal, individualized. That was what excited him.
"In either case," she went on, "he uses a stunner, takes them down quickly, then transports them in his own vehicle. Security cameras operational in here?"
"Yes, sir." One of the uniforms passed her a sealed package of discs. "We confiscated them for the last three days, assuming that the subject may have stalked the victim previous to her abduction."
Eve lifted a brow. "Miller, right?"
"Sir."
"Good thinking. There's nothing more you can do here. Go home and eat some goose."
They didn't exactly race away, but neither did they linger. Eve put the package in her bag and turned to Roarke. "Why don't you do the same, pal? I'll only be a couple of hours."
"We'll only be a couple of hours."
"I don't need an aide to do a pass through Ring's apartment."
Roarke simply took her arm and led her back to the car. "You let the two uniforms go," he began as he started the engine. "Everyone else on Palmer's list is under guard. Why aren't you?"
"We covered that already."
"Partially." He reversed and headed out of the garage. "But I know you, Lieutenant. You're hoping he'll shuffle the order and come after you next. And you don't want some big-shouldered uniforms scaring him off."
For a moment she just drummed her fingers on her knee. In less than a year, the man had learned her inside and out. She wasn't entirely comfortable with that. "And your point would be?"
He nearly smiled at the annoyance in her voice. "I admire my wife's courage, her dedication to duty."
"You tossed in 'my wife' to irritate me, didn't you?"
"Of course." Satisfied, he picked up her hand, kissed the knuckles. "I'm sticking, Eve. Deal with it."
The pass through Stephanie Ring's apartment was no more than routine, and it turned up nothing but the tidy life of a single career woman who enjoyed surrounding herself with attractive things, spending her city salary on a stylish wardrobe.
Eve thought of the naked woman crouched like an animal in a cage, screaming in terror.
He's killing her now.Eve knew it. And she had no power to stop him.
When she was back in her home office, she reviewed the disc Palmer had sent Nadine. This time she willed herself to ignore what was happening and focus only on the surroundings.
"No windows," she commented. "The floor and walls look like concrete and old brick. The whole area can't be over thirty feet by twenty. It's probably a basement. Computer, pause. Enhance sector eight through fifteen. Magnify."
She paced as the computer went to work, then moved closer to the screen. "There, that's a stair tread. Steps, part of a railing. Behind it is some sort of – what is it – old furnace unit or water tank. He's found himself a hole. It has to be private," she continued, studying the view. "He can't do his work in a building where people might hear. Even if it's soundproofed, he'd risk someone poking around. Maintenance crew, repair team. Anything like that."
"Not an apartment or office building," Roarke agreed. "And with the steps it's not likely a storage facility. From the look of the furnace, it's a good-sized building, but far from new. Nothing built in the last fifteen or twenty years would have had a tank furnace installed. He'd want something in the city, wouldn't he?"
"Yeah, he'd want to be close to all of his marks. He wouldn't go for the 'burbs and even the boroughs aren't likely. Dave's a true urbanite and New York 's his turf. Private home. Has to be. But how did he get his hands on a private residence?"
"Friends?" Roarke suggested. "Family?"
"Palmer didn't have a tight circle of friends. He's a loner. He has parents. They relocated after the trial. Went under the Victim and Survivor's Protection Act."
"Sealed files."
She heard the faintest trace of humor in his voice, turned to scowl at him. For a moment she wrestled with procedure. She could get clearance to access the Palmers' location. And it would take at least two days to hack through the red tape for authorization. Or she could hand the problem to Roarke and have what she needed in minutes.
She could hear Stephanie Ring's screams echoing in her head.
"You'll have to use the unregistered equipment. CompuGuard will have an automatic block on their file."
"It won't take long."
"I'm going to keep working on this." She gestured toward the screen. "He might have slipped up just enough to have let something identifiable come through."
"All right." But he crossed to her, framed her face in his hands. Lowering his head, he kissed her, long and slow and deep. And felt, as he did, some of the rigid tension in her body ease.
"I can handle this, Roarke."
"Whether you can or not, you will. Would it hurt to hold on to me, just for a minute?"
"Guess not." She slipped her arms around him, felt the familiar lines, the familiar warmth. Her grip tightened. "Why wasn't it enough to stop him once? Why wasn't it enough to put him away? What good is it if you do your job and it comes back this way?"
He held her and said nothing.
"He wants to show me he can do it all again. He wants to take me through all the steps and stages, the way he did before. Only this time as they're happening. 'Look how clever I am, Dallas. ' "
"Knowing that, understanding that, will help you stop him a second time."
"Yeah." She eased back. "Get me the data so I can hammer at his parents."
Roarke skimmed a finger over the dent in her chin. "You'll let me watch, won't you. It's so stimulating to see you browbeat witnesses."
When she laughed, as he'd hoped she would, he went to his private room to circumvent CompuGuard and officially sealed files.
She'd barely had time to review another section of the recording before he came back.
"It couldn't have been that easy."
"Yes." He smiled and passed her a new data disc. "It could. Thomas and Helen Palmer, now known as Thomas and Helen Smith – which shows just how imaginative bureaucrats can be, currently reside in a small town called Leesboro in rural Pennsylvania."
" Pennsylvania." Eve glanced toward her 'link, considered, then looked back at Roarke. "It wouldn't take long to get there if you had access to some slick transpo."
Roarke looked amused. "Which slick transpo would you prefer, Lieutenant?"
"That mini-jet of yours would get us there in under an hour."
"Then why don't we get started?"
If Eve had been more fond of heights, she might have enjoyed the fast, smooth flight south. As it was, she sat, jiggling a foot to relieve a case of nerves while Roarke piloted them over what she imagined some would consider a picturesque range of mountains.
To her they were just rocks, and the fields between them just dirt.
"I'm only going to say this once," she began. "And only because it's Christmas."
"Banking for landing," he warned her as he approached the private airstrip. "What are you only going to say once?"
"That maybe all these toys of yours aren't a complete waste of time. Over-indulgent, maybe, but not a complete waste of time."
"Darling, I'm touched."
Once they were on the ground, they transferred from the snazzy little two-person jet to the car that Roarke had waiting. Of course, it couldn't be a normal vehicle, Eve mused as she studied it. It was a sleek black bullet of a car, built for style and speed.
"I'll drive." She held out a hand for the keycode the attendant had given him. "You navigate."
Roarke considered her as he tossed the code in his hand. "Why?"
"Because I'm the one with the badge." She snatched the code on its upward arc and smirked at him.
"I'm a better driver."
She snorted as they climbed in. "You like to hotdog. That doesn't make you better. Strap in, ace. I'm in a hurry."