In Death 17 - Imitation in Death

been taken into protective custody. The reason this is news to you is that you haven't bothered contacting your daughter since you were brought in yesterday."
     
     
"You had no right to remove my daughter from my home."
     
     
"I do. But it was the liaison who opted to do so after speaking with her and hher au pair, and other members of your staff. If you want your daughter back, it's time to step away from the madman and stand with them against him. It's time to shield your child."
     
     
The rage, that tiny hint of emotion, was iced over again: "Lieutenant Dallas, my husband is an important man. Within a year, he will be named the new British Ambassador to Spain. It's been promised to us. You will not besmirch his reputation or mine with your horrendous and ugly fantasies."
     
     
"Go down with him then. It's a nice bonus for me." Eve rose, paused. "Eventually, he'd have done you, and your daughter. He wouldn't have been able to stop himself. You're not going to Spain, Pam, but wherever you end up, you're going to have plenty of time to think about the fact that I saved your worthless life."
     
     
She walked over, gave the steel-reinforced panel two hard thuds. "On the door," she called, and walked away.
     
     
She was heading back to her office when she heard herself being hailed. Eve kept walking, and let Peabody catch up. "Dallas. Sir. Lieutenant!"
     
     
"There's paperwork in your cube. Deal with it. In my office in ten for a briefing. We head out in thirty."
     
     
"Sir, I've already been informed about the op. McNab nipped over to meet me when I came out of exam."
     
     
Good, Eve thought. Good for him. But she kept her cop scowl in place. "The fact that Detective Moron bypassed procedure does not negate the necessity for your briefing."
     
     
"He wouldn't have had to tell me if you had."
     
     
It was the mutter that did it. Eve swung into Homicide. "My office. Now."
     
     
"You put the thumb on Renquist last night." Peabody trotted behind Eve. "I should have been called in for the search. You bypassed procedure."
     
     
Eve shoved her door closed. "Are you questioning my methods or my authority, Officer?"
     
     
"Your methods, Lieutenant., Sort of. I mean, jeez. If he'd been home last night, you'd have him, and I'd've missed it. As your aide-"
     
     
"As my aide you do what you're told when you're told. If you're dissatisfied with this arrangement, put it in writing and file it."
     
     
"You worked the case last night without me. You held an op briefing this morning without me. The exam shouldn't have taken priority over my involvement in this case.".
     
     
"I decide what takes priority. It's done. If you have any more bitching and complaining to do about this matter, I repeat; do so in writing and file it through the proper channels."
     
     
Peabody's chin jutted up. "I have no wish to file a complaint, Lieutenant."
     
     
"Your choice. Complete the paperwork on your desk. Meet me in the garage in twenty-five. You'll be briefed en route."
     
     
It was going to be a long day,. Eve imagined, as she walked through Katie Mitchell's loft, just as she'd walked through the hologram. And a long night.
     
     
Wherever Renquist had tucked himself, he'd done a good job of it.
     
     
Your move, she thought, and gulped down more coffee.
     
     
She'd thrown a net over every hotel in the sector, but she hadn't found him. Even while she paced the loft, the search was widening.
     
     
She stepped up to the doorway of the office where Roarke and Feeney worked.
     
     
"Nothing," Roarke said, sensing her. "It's more likely he's using a private residence. Short-term rental. We're searching that area."
     
     
She checked her wrist unit once more. There were hours yet, and she couldn't risk going in and out of the building.
     
     
She walked back to the kitchen, poked at Mitchell's AutoChef.
     
     
"Restless?" Roarke said from behind her.
     
     
"I hate the waiting, doing nothing but going over and over it in my head. Makes me antsy."
     
     
He leaned down to kiss the back of her head. "So does having a spat with Peabody."
     
     
"Why do men always say women have spats?. Men don't, have spats. It's a stupid, weenie word."
     
     
He rubbed her shoulders. Because they were like rock, he made a mental note to schedule a relaxation treatment for her. Whether she liked it or not. "Why don't you ask her how the exam went?"
     
     
"She wants me to know, she'll tell me."
     
     
He leaned down