In Death 29 - Kindred in Death

Trueheart, with Baxter.”
    “But—”
    She simply turned and pulled her new communicator out of her pocket as she got moving. “Feeney,” she said. “We found the bastard’s hole. Conference room. Now.”
    “I want to play,” Roarke told her.
    “You’ve earned it.” She caught herself before she grabbed him, kissed him, right in front of a corridor full of cops. Instead, she sent him a fierce grin. “Get me a tube of Pepsi, will you?”
     
    In under ninety minutes, Eve had the pretty brick town house in the West Village covered. Cops in soft clothes sat at a bistro table outside a tiny restaurant, hunched in vehicles, strolled the sidewalks. Eve bought a soy dog from a glide-cart manned by Jenkinson.
    “Some of them give tips,” he said. “I’m keeping the tips.”
    “I don’t want to hear about it.”
    “Maybe he rabbited, LT.” He handed her the dog.
    “No reason to. The son didn’t make a call, hasn’t asked to yet. If he thinks about it, makes the demand, we can stall him. As far as Pauley knows, the fruit of his fucking loins is busy killing an old woman.”
    Roarke took the second dog, strolled away with Eve. “I could easily get in the place.”
    “Yeah, and that’s what we’ll do if he doesn’t show in another hour. We’ve got our warrant. But since the sensors show the place is empty, I’d rather wait.”
    She bit into the dog. “We wait until he comes back, until he’s in that little gated area. Nowhere to run. Jesus, Louise’s place is only a block away. I practically walked by this place a few days ago. I might’ve passed the bastard on the street.”
    Roarke took her hand, laced his fingers with hers. “Part of our cover,” he said easily.
    “Sure. He’s not home because he’s out somewhere he can be seen, where he can buy something, get a time-stamped receipt. Just in case. It’s always been about covering his own ass.”
    A difficult topic for a pretty summer evening, Roarke thought, but she needed to talk it through. “Why mold the boy into a killer?”
    “Maybe he didn’t have to mold that much. Hell if I know. That’s for Mira or someone like her. I have to figure, maybe it ate at him some. Maybe it was his way to turn it around, not just so he’d be a hero to Darrin, but so he could believe what he was spewing. Everyone else’s fault, everyone else is to blame. Punish them.”
    “Will the reasons matter to you?”
    “No. I don’t think they will.”
    “Dallas?”
    She turned, saw Charles Monroe, groom-to-be, smiling as he hurried toward them. “Shit.”
    “What in the world are you two doing around here? I left your place less than an hour ago. I thought there were major plans for the ladies tonight.”
    “There are. They should be doing some . . . thing right now.” What the hell, she thought, it was good cover. Just some friends running into each other on the street. “This isn’t your block.”
    “No. I’m just out walking off some nerves. Tomorrow’s . . . it.”
    “You don’t look a bit nervous to me,” Roarke commented.
    He didn’t, Eve agreed. He looked stupid with happy, just like Louise. And elegant despite the casual shirt and pants.
    “I take it the rehearsal went off okay. Sorry about needing stand-ins.”
    “No problem, and it went very well. As far as I could tell.” He laughed a little. “I want it to be perfect for her. I caught myself checking the weather forecasts every ten minutes on my way home, and once I got there. So I got out of the house. You should come back, come have a drink, save me from my weather obsession.”
    “Can’t. I’m on an op, and subject sighted,” she said. “Hold positions. Let him get inside the gate, then move in.”
    “What?”
    “Just keep talking,” she said to Charles. “Roarke, talk to Charles.”
    “Have you made your honeymoon plans?” Roarke asked pleasantly even as his eyes tracked over to the man who strolled down the sidewalk carrying a shopping bag.
    “Ah, yes. We’re going to Tuscany.”
    “Don’t look around, Charles. Talk to Roarke.”
    “We . . . have a villa there for a couple of weeks. Then we—”
    “It was great to see you.” Eve shot him a huge smile, lifting her voice as Pauley reached out for his garden gate. “Wish we had more time, but we have to . . . Go!”
    She sprinted, caught the gate Pauley left to swing shut behind him. And pressed her weapon to the back of his neck. “You don’t want to move.”
    Ten armed officers surrounded the