New York to Dallas

brief the conversation.
    “They’re still working on finding his New York hole. But we’ve sussed out his steps from the breakout to Dallas.”
    She went to her board, started another time line. “He picked up a package at the mail drop he’d arranged with his partner. The IDs, some clothes, the jammers, the ’link. From there, he goes to his old apartment. Secures Schuster and Kopeski, does his particular brand of torture. Has some breakfast, cleans up, takes what he wants. When he’s finished there, he takes a stroll. He checked into the Warfield Hotel, reservation, early check-in secured, under Milo, picks up a package they’re holding for him—which I’d say is the suit. Peabody tracked down the cab that dropped him off, and that’s damn good work. He’d walked five blocks from his old place, hailed one. We’ve got the security disc from check-in.”
    She ordered it on screen. “See, working man—traveling. A duffel, a ball cap, sunshades—Tray Schuster’s—skids, Schuster’s again. He makes contact with me from the hotel room, using the filtered ’link and jammer. He calls for the valet to press his suit, the one she sent him. He orders a hearty meal from room service. Gets suited up.”
    She shifted the screen image, showed him coming out of the elevator, blond hair, sharp suit, briefcase he probably bought in New York. “He used the in-room checkout. He’d arranged for private car service, which picked him up, took him a block from Central, where he ordered it to wait. Breezed by to see me, slipped back into the car, which dropped him off at the shuttle. He had a light snack and two glasses of Cabernet in flight. Stibble spilled he’d helped McQueen purchase a vehicle that was waiting at the transpo station here.”
    She snorted. “Claims, according to Peabody, McQueen told him it was a gift for an old friend.”
    “He’s a poor judge of people for a grifter,” Roarke commented.
    “He wasn’t. Prison’s taken some of the shine off him, and he had a fairly murky pool to fish from. Stibble served his purpose well enough,” Eve added. “McQueen didn’t think we’d fish Stibble out of the pool so fast.”
    “One of a number of miscalculations this time around.”
    “Even miscalculating, he’s killed two people, tortured two more, abducted Melinda, abducted and raped Darlie.”
    “So don’t underestimate him,” Roarke concluded.
    “Never. We lose him once he picks up the car at the transpo center here, but I’ll fill that in. What he did was go to the fancy wine store, run more errands before going to the apartment.”
    She tucked her hands in her pockets as she tried to put herself in McQueen’s head. “I think he didn’t give Sylvia his ETA. Didn’t want her there to greet him. Had things to set up. He’d want to enjoy his alone time, check the cams, hide whatever he didn’t want her poking into. Plus, she’d want a romantic reunion, wouldn’t she? No time for that. He wants to get Melinda in before the champagne and caviar.”
    She walked around the board. “And maybe, most probably, one of the errands he ran was a stop-off at his second location. Check it out, set up whatever he wanted in the place, assure himself it was adequate when and if, if and when.”
    She glanced over, saw the cat had found the sleep chair, and was putting it to his usual good work. Then she turned, saw Roarke drinking coffee, watching her.
    “No comments?”
    “Just watching my cop work. I like the look of her when she’s on her game.”
    “I feel on game—or close. Better.”
    “I can see it.”
    “Aired out the brain, and the belly. Then filled the belly part with spaghetti and meatballs. McQueen’s toasted.”
    He smiled at her. “And what does all this tell you, his errands and caviar?”
    “It’s pattern, it’s movement. The more you know, the more you know. He’s had to take time to change his hair, subtle changes to the face, eye color. That means supplies. Wigs and rinses, enhancers. We didn’t find anything at the apartment, so he took those with him. Which tells me he means to use them again.”
    She stepped back to study the various photos, the IDs he’d used.
    “You’re always buying me jewelry.”
    “Are you angling for a gift?”
    “Jesus, no, I can’t keep up as it is. She had jewelry at her place. A couple of nice pieces. She was wearing jewelry when I crashed her van. Wouldn’t she have had some at his place? She had clothes, shoes, the face and