In Death 19 - Visions in Death

But because she could, she let her head lean on Mavis's shoulder a moment. "Maybe after she's better, Trina could give her the full works. Peabody'd like that. She can be a real girl." "Good thinking. We'll have a complete girl party." "I didn't mean . . . sure, whatever. You got any sunshades on you?" "Do monkeys screw in the jungle?" She reached into the purple fringe worked into her shirt and drew out a pair of purple shades with green lenses.
    "What the hell." Deciding they were marginally better than going around with red, swollen eyes, Eve put them on.
    "Uptown!" "No, I'm thinking down." Eve got up, helped Mavis to her feet. "Thanks for the loan. I've gotta go bust this bastard."

CHAPTER 21
    Roarke said nothing until they were back in the car, Eve behind the wheel.
    "Not your usual fashion accessory." "Huh?" He tapped a finger on the frames.
    "Oh. Mavis. I, ah, borrowed them because. . ." She blew out a breath.
    "You don't need to hide them from me." He slipped the glasses off, leaning over to lay light kisses on her eyelids.
    "Aw," she said with a half smile. "What're ya gonna do?" She threw her arms around him, burrowing in. "I didn't want to break down and start blubbering all over McNab. I got most of it out, so you don't have to worry about me blubbering all over you." "I never worry. You were due for a breakdown, and you timed it until you were sure our girl was going to be all right." "Yeah, I guess." It was so good to hold, to be held. "Now we're going to take care of business." She eased back. "Eyes bad?" "They're beautiful." She rolled them. This is not Peabody on drugs." "By the time you get to Central, good as new." "Okay." But she stuck the sunshades back on. "Just in case."
    They weren't even out of the parking garage when her communicator beeped. "Dallas." "Got him." "Oh Jesus, Feeney. Send it through to my vehicle's unit. I want to see him. We're on our way to Central now. Can you meet me in my office?" "I'll be there. Take a look." Quickly, she programmed the vehicle for Central's garage and shifted to auto so she could give the image her full attention.
    "There you are, you son of a bitch. Blue, John Joseph. Age thirty-one. Damn it." Since auto didn't allow her to exceed speed limits or outrun reds, she switched back, hit the sirens. "I don't want audio," she said to Roarke. "I don't need to hear it all. Just give me the salient." "Single, mixed-race male. No spouse, no legal cohabitation partner. No offspring on record. No criminal on record." "He's got something. Juvenile, I'll bet your ass. And sealed.
    We'll worry about that later." "Residence listed as Classon Avenue, Brooklyn." "Brooklyn?" She shook her head as she screamed through traffic. "No, that's not right. Can't be." "That's what's here. Resided that address eight years.
    Owner, operator Comptrain, Inc. same address. Want the details on that?" "Yeah." But he didn't live in Brooklyn. Not now.
    "Ah, small data analysis company. There's your hacking skills, Lieutenant. He'd do most of the work right out of his home for this. Tech support and the like." "Cross with the customer and member lists." "Moment. You've got him as a member, ten years standing, at Jim's Gym downtown." "And he didn't pop because of the Brooklyn addy. We'd've gotten to him, but he wasn't in the first layer. He's not coming to the city from Brooklyn to stalk and kill. I don't buy it.
    And they've got gyms in Brooklyn, for Christ's sake." She flew into the garage, cut speed seconds before she arrowed into her slot. Roarke, made of sterner stuff than Peabody, never flinched. He was out of the car with her, moving double-time to the elevator.
    "A second residence in the city then. One he hasn't listed, or rents, has bought under another name." She jumped off the elevator on the first floor and dashed to a glide, hot-footing it up, elbowing passengers aside on the way.
    Ignoring protests, she hopped off, jumped on another. "I'm going to put this op together, fast. Two tactical teams. One to Brooklyn." "And the other?" "I've got an idea on that." She streamed up the glide at a run, pivoted, and rushed through her bull pen without acknowledging any of the calls or questions.
    "Full data up," she snapped at Feeney.
    "Up. What's with the shades." "Hell." She yanked them off, tossed them on the desk.
    "Mother. Ineza Blue, age fifty-three. Address listed on Fulton.
    Bingo, you rat bastard." "Ineza Blue," Roarke said, working rapidly on his PPC.
    "Retired licensed