In Death 25 - Creation in Death

Feeney. I’ll need a homer for my vehicle, and—”
    “Already done,” Roarke said, then smiled serenely when she turned on him. “You agreed to that action earlier.”
    True, she thought, but she hadn’t expected him to take it on himself before she’d officially cleared it. Which, she had to admit, was stupid. That’s exactly what she should’ve expected. “Yeah, I did.”
    “You’ll wear a vest,” Mira told her.
    “A woman after my own heart,” Roarke murmured, and his smile spread at the annoyance on Eve’s face.
    “A vest’s overkill. His pattern—”
    “He’s breaking pattern with you,” Mira reminded her. “A vest ensures your safety and success, should he try to stun or injure you in order to incapacitate you. He’s intelligent enough to know he needs a physical advantage with you.”
    “Wear the vest.” Whitney’s voice was clipped. “Set up the electronics with Feeney. I want to know where you are, from this point on, at all times. When you’re in the field, in your vehicle, on the street for any reason, so is a shadow team. It’s not just a matter of keeping one of my people safe, Lieutenant,” he told her, “it’s a matter of slamming that window shut, the minute he comes through it. Work it out, relay the details.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Dismissed.”
    Roarke ran his fingers down her arm as they headed for the glide down. “A vest isn’t a punishment, darling.”
    “You wear one for a couple hours, then say that. And no ‘darling’ on shift.”
    “You can call me darling anytime,” Peabody told him, and made him grin.
    “I’ve a few arrangements to make. I’ll see you back in the war room.” He started to split off from them. “Later, darling. I was talking to Peabody,” he said when Eve bared her teeth.

16
    IT DIDN’T TAKE LONG FOR ROARKE TO MAKE arrangements. In the end, however, it would be more than the appearance he was tending to his own organization. He’d have to put in some time on just that, once he could get to his home office, juggling deals and finance with murder.
    But for now he headed back to the war room to keep the various balls of his e-work in the air. He caught sight of Eve coming from the direction of her office. With a few yards between them, he watched her—long, quick strides. Places to go, he thought, murderers to catch.
    He stopped off, grabbing a bottle of water for both of them, then walked in.
    She’d gone to Feeney’s station. The cop Feeney was working with—the detail-minded young Newkirk’s father, Roarke remembered—nodded, and gathering a few discs, shifted to another area.
    So she wanted a direct with Feeney, Roarke concluded. He went to his own station to work on a problem, and to study their dynamics.
    He could see Feeney absorb the information, see Feeney’s eyes narrow in consideration. And the faintest frown of concern. There was some back-and-forth, rapid-fire on Feeney’s part, then he scratched his ear, dipped into his pocket. Out came a bag.
    It would be nuts, Roarke knew, as Feeney dipped into it, then held it out to Eve.
    Taking that as a signal they were now at the thinking through and strategy stage, Roarke rose to walk over and join them.
    “Raised his sights considerably,” Feeney said to Roarke.
    “So it would seem.”
    Feeney swiveled idly left to right, right to left, in his chair as he spoke. “We can wire her up, no problem there. Could put a camera on her, too. Give us eyes if and when we need them.”
    “I don’t want him spotting a camera,” Eve began.
    “I have something.” Roarke looked at Feeney. “The new generation of the HD Mole. XT-Micro. Most often used lapel-style, but as she’s not known for accessorizing it can be easily reconfigured into a button—shirt or jacket. Voice print option. She can activate or deactivate it with any choice of keyword or phrase.”
    “She’s standing right here,” Eve pointed out.
    “There were a couple bugs in the last generation,” Feeney pointed out, easily ignoring Eve.
    “Exterminated,” Roarke assured him. “It would take care of audio and video, and with the XT model—unless she’s going up against top-level security—it wouldn’t be detected.”
    Feeney nodded and munched. “We can go with that. Like to have a look at it first.”
    “I’ve got one coming in now. I used a multitrack homer on her vehicle, military grade.”
    In appreciation of the high-level equipment, Feeney let out a low whistle, along with a quick