Calculated in Death

Remember that.”
    Meeting her eyes, Roarke skimmed a hand over her hair. “It’s not something I’d forget.”
    She stepped back as cops began to shuffle into the room.
    Feeney headed to her. “The boy’s nearly got the location. I pulled Callendar off another duty so she can give him a hand.”
    “If he hits, maybe I’ll be wasting everybody’s time for the next half hour.”
    Feeney noticed the screen, pulled at his bottom lip as he studied it, as he understood where it led. “Well, crap. The wife’s really looking forward to this shindig.”
    “Maybe we’ll give her a kind of double feature. Better, we can pull this off quick and quiet. Nobody notices a thing.”
    “Somebody always notices,” Feeney said, but walked off to sit, and hear her out.
    She started to input the sketch disc, but Roarke took it from her. “I’ll take care of it.”
    She left him to it, began counting heads. She’d need more, but she knew these cops, knew they’d run the op as she needed it run.
    “Let’s settle down,” she called out. “Dickenson, Marta; Parzarri, Chaz; Ingersol, Jake. We believe this man . . .” She paused until Roarke flashed the sketch on screen. “. . . killed all three, with rapidly escalating violence. Yesterday, he attempted to kill two police officers.”
    “Hell of a catch, LT,” Jenkinson said, and earned her quick applause.
    She held up her hands, wiggled her fingers. “I have many skills. We’ll be running facial recognition, and we hope to ID this baby-tossing killer. Until then, here’s what we know.”
    She ran it through, quick, thorough, wanting her men to understand, all jokes aside, the target was dangerous, and not to be underestimated.
    “As we have yet to ID him, and factoring Mira’s profile, the very clear evidence, we’re going to expect him to repeat the attempt on two NYPSD officers, if he’s not been detained, at his earliest opportunity. He’s got one, on a platter, tomorrow night.”
    She turned to the screens. “The Five Star Theater.” She outlined the schedule, briefed them on the layout, adding more highlights as she assigned specific officers to specific locations and duties.
    “Each one of you will have a copy of the target’s image. He will be armed. If and when he’s spotted, we’ll move to block off his route, to separate him from civilians. If and when he’s spotted,” she continued, “I’ll move to the least congested area. Contingency one, he’s spotted outside.”
    She outlined the scenario, moved to containing him inside the lobby, inside the theater proper.
    When she decided she’d hit it from every angle, addressed every element she could foresee, she paused again.
    “Questions?”
    Baxter wagged a finger in the air. “I got one, boss. Can I bring a date?”
    “Sure,” Eve said over the expected snorts. “Bring Trueheart. You look really cute together. If the op’s a go, we meet here eighteen hundred tomorrow. Attired as suits assignments. I want those assigned to security or staff detail fully prepped, outfitted, and on site by eighteen-thirty. No later.”
    She gestured toward the board. “Look at what this asshole’s capable of. Don’t get sloppy. Dismissed.”
    “One moment, Lieutenant, if you will.” Roarke pushed off the side wall. “There’s an after-party at Around the Park. Once said asshole is where he belongs, you’re all very welcome to attend. Again, Lieutenant, if you will.”
    She could hardly
won’t
, when he pinned her that way. “It’s your party,” she said, then muttered about spoiling cops under the hoots and applause.
    “Settle down. Get back to work. You want a party? Don’t screw this up.”
    As cops headed out, McNab bounced in.
    “Got him!” He punched a fist, gave Roarke a huge fellow geek grin. “I had to route it the way we said,” he began. “His ISP and the echo spiked, then did the flutter. But once we filtered out the—”
    “McNab,” Eve interrupted. “Bottom line it. Now.”
    “Sir. Tribeca. Damn juicy neighborhood, too. I did a sat-scan once I had the location, and got a bird-bead on it. It’s a big-ass brownstone. It looks like he may have the whole deal. Top to bottom. I did a resident search, too, and only got one. He’s using the name James T. Kirk.”
    At Roarke’s quick laugh, McNab grinned again. “Yeah, I know, right? Kinda rocking.”
    “What?” Eve demanded. “What’s kinda rocking?”
    “It’s the name of the captain on
Star Trek
,” Roarke