In Death 06 - Vengeance in Death

pattern -- which clearly indicates a different source."
    "You can prove the transmission didn't originate from here?"
    "Exactly."
    "Is this the kind of proof you can put into black and white and I can take to Whitney?"
    "You betcha." McNab beamed at her. "EDD's used this kind of evidence in hundreds of cases. It's standard. This one was buried deep and the pattern was nearly smooth. But we found her."
    "You found her," Roarke corrected.
    "I couldn't have done it without your equipment and your help. I missed it twice."
    "You came through."
    "Before I toddle off," Eve interrupted, "and leave you two boys to bask in the glow of mutual admiration, would you mind taking just a moment to distill this evidence into hard copy and disc for my pesky report?"
    "Lieutenant." Roarke laid a hand on McNab's shoulder. "You're embarrassing us with your praise and gratitude."
    "You want praise and gratitude?" On impulse, she grabbed Roarke's face in her hands and kissed him hard on the mouth. Then -- what the hell -- she did the same to McNab. "I want the data within the hour," she added as she strode out.
    "Wow." McNab pressed his lips together to hold on to the taste, then patted a hand on his heart. "The lieutenant has some great mouth."
    "Don't make me hurt you, Ian, just when we're beginning such a beautiful friendship."
    "She got a sister? Cousin? Maiden aunt?"
    "Lieutenant Dallas is one of a kind." Roarke watched the needle give another, barely discernable jerk. "Ian, let's distill this data for her, then wouldn't it be fun to see just how far we can follow this echo?''
    McNab's brow furrowed. "You want to try to track an echo this faint? Hell, Roarke, it takes days of man-hours and top equipment to track a solid one. I've never heard of anything below the scale of fifteen being tracked."
    "There's always a first time."
    McNab's eyes began to shine. "Yeah, the boys in EDD would bow to me if I pulled it off."
    "More than enough reason to push forward, I'd say."

CHAPTER TWELVE
    Eve paced the reception area outside Mira's office. What the hell was taking so long, she wondered, and checked her wrist unit once again. It was twelve-thirty. Summerset had been in testing for ninety minutes. Eve had until one to present her progress reports to her commander.
    She needed Mira's findings.
    To help herself wait, she practiced her oral backup to her written reports. The words she would use, the tone she would take. She felt like a second-rate actor running lines backstage. Sweat pooled at the base of her spine.
    The minute the door opened, she leaped at Summerset. "What's the deal?"
    His eyes were dark and hard in a pale face, his jaw clenched, his mouth thin. Humiliation rolled greasily in his stomach. "I've followed your orders, Lieutenant, and completed the required testing. I've sacrificed my privacy and my dignity. I hope that satisfies you."
    He stalked past her and through the outer doors.
    "Screw it," Eve muttered and walked straight into Mira's office.
    Mira smiled, sipped her tea. She'd had no trouble hearing Summerset's bitter comments. "He's a complicated man."
    "He's an ass, but that's irrelevant. Can you give me a bottom line?"
    "It will take some time for me to review all the tests and complete my report."
    "I've got Whitney in twenty minutes. I'll take anything you can give me."
    "A preliminary opinion then." Mira poured another cup of tea, gesturing for Eve to sit. "He's a man with little respect for the law, and a great deal of respect for order."
    Eve took the tea but didn't drink. "Which means?"
    "He's most comfortable when things are in their place, and he's somewhat obsessive about keeping them there. The law itself, the laws society makes mean little to him as they are variable, often poorly designed, and quite often fail. Aesthetics are also important to him -- his surroundings, appearances -- as he appreciates the order in beauty. He's a creature of routine. This soothes him, this pattern, this stability. He arises at a certain hour and retires at a certain hour. His duties are clearly outlined and followed. Even his recreation, his free time is organized."
    "So, he's a tight-ass. I already knew that."
    "His way of dealing with the horrors he witnessed during the Urban Wars, the poverty and despair he escaped from, and the loss of his only child is to create a certain acceptable pattern, then follow it. But... in unclinical terms, yes, he's a tight-ass. However rigid he might be, however much he may sneer at the