Delusion in Death

spaghetti sauce on his face ten feet away from the target. Once I get in position, feed me. Pull me back if I head in the wrong direction with her. I want to keep her engaged until we get as many civilians to safety as possible.”
    “She’s a soldier first. She’ll sacrifice herself for her mission.”
    “I’m counting on that mission priority being Callaway. Lowenbaum, are we set?”
    “In position.”

    She looked around. They’d worked fast, barricading the area. Already lookie-loos hugged the barricades, ready for some entertainment. Lowenbaum stretched over his shooting stand, weapon aimed. “If you have to stun me, don’t go for the body shot. The coat’s lined with body armor.”
    “No shit.”
    “None. I’ll show you later.”
    “Lots of traffic inside,” he told Eve. “Waitstaff moving by the booth. The table in front of it partially blocks the target. If you can move the interference, I’d appreciate it.”
    “On the list.” She turned as Roarke came toward her, had to roll her eyes.
    He’d ditched the suit jacket, the top coat for somebody’s bunged-up fake leather jacket. He’d pulled his hair back in a tail, added a red, I ♥ NY ski cap.
    “How much did you pay for that ridiculous hat?”
    “Entirely too much.”
    “Well, you don’t look so rich anyway.” She took his hands. “Let’s go bag this bitch. On the move, Lowenbaum.”
    “Copy that.”
    “I bet the pasta’s good here,” Roarke commented as they crossed the street.
    “Maybe we’ll get some to go when we’re done. Clear visual on target from here,” she said when they’d reached the door. “Entering building now.”
    “Team Alpha, go.”
    Into the kitchen, Eve thought as they entered the happy noise, the engaging scents. She slid her hand in her pocket as the cheerful-eyed maitre d’ approached.

    “Welcome.”
    She turned up her badge before he could continue. “Focus on me. What’s your name?”
    “I—Franco. Is there a problem?”
    “There is, and I need you to keep on me, listen, and do exactly what I say. Are you a steady sort of guy, Franco?”
    “I—yes, I think I am.”
    “Stay steady. There are cops moving into the kitchen right now. They’re going to get your staff to safety. No, keep looking at me. There’s a woman in the booth—west corner, rear.”
    “Ms. Weaver, but—”
    “The woman beside her. She’s dangerous, probably armed. Steady, Franco. When we’re at the booth, when I draw her attention, I want you to—quietly, very quietly, begin to move the people at the tables on her blind side out through the kitchen. One table at a time. You can tell them they’ve been chosen for some special deal, whatever it takes. Get them into the kitchen, and we’ll take them from there. Do the same with your staff, one person at a time. Quietly. Can you do that, Franco?”
    “Yes. But Ms. Weaver—”
    “I’ll take care of her. Now, first thing. The table directly in front of the booth, the one with the kid with sauce all over him and the older kid pretending to eat his vegetables? Move them out now. You can make a fuss there. You have something special for the family in the kitchen. Something for the kids, right? Big smiles, big surprise. Got it?”
    “Yes.”
    “Do it now—happy face, Franco.”
    His smile looked a little sick, but Eve thought it would pass. Shelet him reach the table. He actually clapped his hands—nice touch. Eve watched Gina’s attention flick toward him, assess, then veer away.
    “We’re going in,” she said as the family—lots of kid excitement—rose from the table.
    She wandered through, caught Gina’s glance to and away. The minute the kitchen door closed behind the family, she zeroed for the booth.
    “Nancy! Nancy Weaver, is that you!”
    She let out a laugh, took advantage of Gina’s momentary surprise and plopped down next to the man. “Who’d’ve thought I’d run into you this way. How the hell are you?”
    “I—I’m fine.” Weaver’s eyes widened with recognition, but she held surprisingly steady. “Just fine.”
    “You look just fine,” she said as Roarke took a chair from the vacated table, angled it beside Eve.
    “I’m sorry.” Gina spoke coldly. “But this is a business meeting. You’ll have to catch up another time.”
    “Oh, don’t be such a party pooper, Gina. I’ve got a weapon aimed at you under the table. Use yours on Nancy, make any wrong move, and I use it. Let’s just talk.”
    Out of the corner of her