In Death 09 - Loyalty in Death

began, then caught herself and nearly chuckled. "Sorry, knee-jerk psychologist's question. I think it's a good possibility since they've targeted you that they may focus on Roarke's properties. It's certainly not conclusive, no more, really, than what you'd term a hunch. But you have to look somewhere."
    "All right, I'll contact him."
    "Concentrate on important buildings, something with tradition."
    "Okay, I'll get started."
    Mira got to her feet. "I haven't given you much help."
    "I didn't give you much to work with." Then Eve jammed her hands in her pockets. "I'm not really in my area here. I'm used to dealing with straight murder, not the threat of wholesale annihilation."
    "Are the steps that different?"
    "I don't know. I'm still feeling my way around. And while I am, somebody's got their finger on the button."
    She tried Roarke in his home office first, and got lucky. "Do me a favor," she said immediately. "Work at home today."
    "For any particular reason?"
    Who was to say, she thought, that the sumptuous lobby, the theaters and lounges in his midtown office building didn't make it the target?
    And, if she told him that, he'd be down there in a heartbeat, doing a search and scan personally. She wouldn't risk it.
    "I don't like asking, but if you could keep on that project we were dealing with last night, it would help a lot."
    He studied her face. "All right. I can shift some things around. I've got an auto-search going in any case."
    "Yeah, but you get things done faster when you're working them yourself."
    He lifted a brow. "I believe that was very nearly a compliment."
    "Don't get puffed up about it." She leaned back, tried to look casual. "Look, I'm kind of pressed right now, but can you shoot me some data here?"
    "Of what kind?"
    "Your properties in New York?"
    Now both eyebrows winged up. "All?"
    "I said I was pressed for time," she said dryly. "I don't have a decade or so to deal with this. Just the really jazzy ones. Jazzy old stuff."
    "Why?"
    Why? Shit. "I'm just doing a cross-check. Loose ends. Routine."
    "Darling Eve." He didn't smile when he said it, and she began to drum her fingers on the desk.
    "What?"
    "You're lying to me."
    "I am not. Jesus, ask a guy for some basic data, data which as his wife I'm entitled to, and he calls you a liar."
    "Now I know you're lying. You don't give two damns about my properties, and you hate when I call you my wife."
    "No, I don't. It's this certain tone you use that I object to. Forget it," she said with a shrug. "It's not important anyway."
    "Which one of my properties do you believe is the target?"
    She hissed out a breath. "If I knew, don't you think I'd tell you? Just send me the goddamn data, will you, and let me do my job."
    "You'll have it." His eyes were as cool as his voice now. "And if you find the target, let me know. You can reach me at my midtown office."
    "Roarke, damn it -- "
    "Do your job, Lieutenant, and I'll do mine."
    Before she could swear at him again, he'd cut her off. She kicked the desk. "Stubborn, tight-assed son of a bitch." Without hesitation, she tossed procedure out the window and called Anne Malloy.
    "I need an E and B team at a midtown address. Full search and scan."
    "You located the target?"
    "No." She said that much between her teeth, then forced her jaw to relax. "It's a personal favor, Anne, I'm sorry to ask. Mira believes one of Roarke's properties will likely be today's target. He's going into his office, and I -- "
    "Give me the address," Anne said briskly, "and it's done."
    Eve closed her eyes, breathed out slowly. "Thanks. I owe you."
    "No, you don't. I've got a man of my own. I'd do the same thing."
    "I owe you anyway. I've got data coming in," she added when her machine beeped. "It's a place to start. I'll be sifting through it, hopefully have it narrowed down by our meeting."
    "Fingers crossed, Dallas," Anne said and signed off.
    "Peabody." Eve signaled her aide. "My office."
    She sat, tunneled her fingers through her hair, then called up the data Roarke had sent her.
    "Sir." Peabody stepped into the room. "I got the reports back on the Cassandra discs. Analysis doesn't show anything. Standard units, no initializations or prints. No way to trace."
    "Pull up a chair," Eve ordered. "I've got a list here of potential targets. We'll run a probability scan, try to slim it down."
    "How did you generate the list?"
    "Mira's take is that we're likely looking for a club or theater. I agree with that. She thinks it's a pretty good