Remember When

She jerked her head, knowing he'd get results quicker. "Talk the talk. Peabody, let's get that backup."
    She yanked out her communicator to contact her commander and apprise him of the situation.
    By the time she was finished, she was ready to confer with McNab and Feeney in the security office. The diagram of the building was up on screen.
    "We send a uniform up to the other units on this floor. We determine what other tenants are in residence and move them out quick and quiet. Then we lock down the floor again. Make that happen," she said to Peabody.
    "Yes, sir."
    "Emergency evac in Dix's unit, here." She tapped a finger on the screen. "Can that be sealed from this location?"
    "Sure." Feeney jerked a thumb toward McNab to put him on that detail.
    "He won't be going anywhere," Eve stated. "Got him locked, got him boxed. But that doesn't help Dix. We wait and Whittier remains unaware of our presence, maybe he just walks out, but odds are he kills Dix, takes his prize, then tries to walk. That's his style, that's his pattern. We move in, we've got a civilian in the crosshairs. We let Whittier know we're here and he's sealed in, he's got a hostage."
    "Has to be alive to be a hostage."
    She met Feeney's gaze. "Yeah, but he doesn't have to stay that way. Big place," she continued, studying the diagram of the apartment. "Chad's got himself a big-ass place. No telling where they are in it."
    "They came in chummy," Feeney reminded her. "Maybe he takes the toy, leaves Dix alive."
    She shook her head. "Self-preservation comes first. Dix is too big a risk, so he has to eliminate him. Easier to do it now. He's killed twice before and gotten away clean."
    To better absorb the whole of it, she stepped back from the screen. "We seal it up, we seal it up tight. Isolate him. Let's go with decoy first. Delivery. See if we can get Dix to open the door. He opens it, we get him out, move in. He doesn't, we assume he's dead or incapacitated and we take the door."
    She pushed at her hair. "We work on getting eyes and ears in there, but we try the decoy now.
    This turns into a hostage situation, you take the negotiations?" she asked Feeney.
    "I'll get it set up."
    "Okay, somebody get me a package. McNab, you're playing messenger. I want three of the tactical team up, positioned here, here, here." She tapped the screen again. "Feeney, security and the coms are on you. McNab, let's move."
    She looked at Roarke. "Can you ditch the locks on the door without letting anyone inside know?"
    "Shouldn't be a problem."
    "Okay." She rolled her shoulders. "Let's rock."

31
    Inside the apartment, Dix suggested another drink. "Since I'm blowing off the day, I might as well make it worthwhile."
    Calculating, Trevor watched him get out a martini shaker. The doorman had seen him come inside. Security disks would show him entering. If he needed a little extra time, it might be wise to set the stage for an accident. Alcohol in the bloodstream, a slip in the bathroom? He could and would be gone before they found the body. Gain a little more of a buffer while they investigated what would appear, on the surface, to be a drunken fall.
    My God, he was clever. Wouldn't his grandfather be proud?
    "Wouldn't say no to a drink. I'd really like to see the piece."
    "Sure, sure." Dix waved him off while he mixed drinks.
    He could send a text message from Dix's 'link to his office, Trevor decided. Set it to transmit ten minutes after he left the building. Security and the doorman would both verify his exit if need be, and the message would appear-until they dug deeper-to have been sent by Dix himself, alive and well, and alone in his apartment.
    God was in the details.
    He could knock him out, anywhere, then cart him into the bath, angle him, let him fall so that his head hit the corner of the tub, say.
    Bathrooms were death traps, after all.
    "What's the joke?" Dix asked as Trevor began to laugh.
    "Nothing, nothing. Little private moment." He took the glass. His prints wouldn't matter. In fact, all the better that they show up on a glass. Nice, companionable drink with a friend. Not trying to hide a thing.
    "So, what's wrong with your father?"
    "He's an anal-retentive, stiff-necked, disapproving asshole."
    "A little harsh, seeing as he's dying."
    "What?" Trevor cursed himself as he remembered. "Being dead doesn't change what he is. I'm not playing the hypocrite over it. Sorry he's sick and all that, but I've got to live my own life. Old man's already had his, such as it