New York to Dallas

with the lease in the name of Davidson Millford— signed in absentia—ten months ago. It’s about a ten-minute drive to the mall where the girl was taken, by my calculations.”
    “It’s her place.” Fresh energy buzzed through Eve’s blood. “She’s there. McQueen won’t be far away. Let’s put it together, take it in.”
    “Lieutenant—”
    “I’m contacting your LT on the way,” Eve told Bree. “We need eyes on that location. He can work with the feds to decide whose eyes, but that’s it. Just eyes. We don’t want to move on her.”
    “She could lead us right to Melinda and Darlie.”
    “You bet your ass she could, and if we work it right, she will.”
     
     
    Who was in charge? That was the sticking point in Eve’s mind. The Dallas LT was good, was solid, but too damn polite. And the feds, well, they just assumed they were taking over. It was ingrained. But Nikos skewed a little too much by the manual and numbers for Eve’s taste.
    So she was taking point. If the rest didn’t like it, they’d have to muscle her aside. And she wouldn’t move easy, not on this one.
    She said as much to Roarke as he drove and she worked out her operation strategy on her PPC.
    “Ricchio knows the area, and the men,” Roarke pointed out. “That’s where he’d best lead.”
    “Agreed, and that’s what I plan to outline. I don’t know how he works an op, how he lays things out, puts it together. And I don’t have time to find out. The feds . . . Nikos knows her take on McQueen snatching a kid was off, and she’s dealing with that. She may be more cooperative because of it. Laurence, he’s got the best eye, nose, gut in my opinion. And he takes in the big picture fast. But I don’t want the federal group-think system crowding me on this.
    “Do this right, we end it today. All I want when we do is a piece of McQueen and the woman, in whatever box they choose.”
    “I’m closer to his accounts,” Roarke told her, “if that’s any help at this point. I’ve found his pattern, and there’s always a pattern. His is a very good one, with lots of tricky lures and dead ends. But I’m close now.”
    “It all helps. If you can keep on that while we set up this op. We need to cut off his revenue stream once we have him. He’s not going to bankroll his way out of the cage again.”
    She tagged Bree. “Eyes on?”
    “The LT put four men on the duplex, orders to observe only. The van’s there, Dallas. She’s in there.”
    “Eyes only. Make it clear, Detective. If she moves, we need an experienced tail. Don’t approach, don’t get twitchy.”
    “The lieutenant ordered just that. I’m two minutes from the house. We’re setting up in the briefing room.”
    “We’re right behind you.” She clicked off, tapped her fingers a moment, then tagged Peabody.
    “We’re en route to the New York address,” Peabody told her. “Baxter and Trueheart say hey.”
    “Yeah, yeah. I’m going into a briefing within minutes. At some point I’ll need to bring you in.”
    Peabody pumped a fist in the air. “I’m going to Texas!”
    “On com, Peabody, for Christ’s sake. I want you to organize your notes. You’re going to reel off data, names, facts, statements. Every fucking thing you’ve got, and I want clipped, cop precision. No amusing sidelines. Straight, hard. Tough cop.”
    “I can be tough.”
    “Right. You’ll address me as ‘Lieutenant’ or ‘sir.’ ”
    “Got it. You want them to think you’re a hard-ass.”
    “I am a hard-ass.” Eve scowled at the ’link screen. “You’ve got that flippy deal going with your hair. Pull it back and get rid of the lip dye.”
    “But I look really good today. Yes, sir, Lieutenant,” she said quickly. “When will you pull me in?”
    “I don’t know yet. But be ready.”
    She broke transmission before Peabody went into chat mode.
    “Very good,” Roarke commented as he turned into the station garage. “Giving them the somewhat clichéd version of the New York cop.”
    “Who do you want heading an operation like this? You want the hard-ass, the one with all the data, the players, the contingencies at hand—the one who puts it together with no room for bullshit.”
    “And that would be you.”
    “You’re damn fucking skippy.”
    He watched her move, through the building, the halls—laser sharp, eyes flat. When she strode into the briefing room, she projected a woman already in charge, one who wore her authority as she did her weapon.
    She