Calculated in Death (27 page)

“I appreciate your sense of efficiency.” He ran a hand over her butt, down the back of her thigh. “You’re still tight.”

“Why don’t you stretch me?”

She started to lean down again, but this time he flipped her, pressing body to slick body and mouth to mouth in an explosion of heat that quaked down to the core.

Her system shuddered from it, then leaped toward it.

Passion for passion, reckless and greedy.

She dragged at his shirt, short nails scraping along his skin, fingers digging into muscle. She craved his body, the weight, the shape, the glorious
feel
of it pressed into hers.

In moments she was breathless again, muscles quivering, heart slamming. Before she could catch that breath again, he drove her up and over with hands and mouth.

He felt her go, that shuddering release, the gasp and moan.

It wasn’t enough, not yet, for either of them.

He yanked off her bra, knew his hands were rough. Didn’t care. He wanted her wild, he wanted her desperate, wanted—needed—to drag her down into the madness with him.

She went. Her body alive and eager and reckless under his. Her hands, rough as well, grasping, taking.

No patience, no tenderness here. Not now. Only urgent, avid need gnawing to be quelled.

He set the animal in him free, and its mate met it as ferociously.

Crazed, careless, they stripped each other. He drove into her, hard and deep, shoved up her knees, wanting her to take more. To take all.

To take him.

She cried out, the pleasure tearing through her in keen, hot claws. Her hands gripped his hips as her own pistoned in response.

Fast. Faster, until her cry of release came in desperate sobs. Until her hands slid limply to the floor.

Until he choked out her name.

Her breath whistled out. She wondered her raging heart didn’t jump out of her chest and dance around the room.

“Jesus!” she managed in a voice harsh with a sudden, impossible thirst. “Holy cartwheeling Jesus.”

“Well, that’s an image I didn’t expect.” He’d collapsed on her. He meant to roll off, give her air, and he would. In a day or two.

“I may really have pulled something that time.”

“I won’t be falling for that again. You’ve used me up.”

“Good, because I don’t think I can move.”

With considerable effort, he rolled off her, lay on his back staring at the ceiling as she did. “We can stay here.”

“Forever?”

“It’s an option.”

“Crime would overtake the city, and the financial world would collapse. We can’t be responsible.”

“I suppose not. I need water anyway. A gallon might do it.”

“Just pour my share over me.”

He gained his feet, realized he felt just slightly drunk. Pleasant enough, he decided as he retrieved two bottles of water. He gulped some down as he came back, then smiling down at her—her eyes closed, her face still flushed, tipped the bottle so cold water splashed on her belly.

“Hey!”

“As you requested.” He sat beside her, offered her a bottle.

She drank half of it, sighed. “I figured on tuning up, clearing my head. Mission accomplished, with a big bonus.” She laid a hand on his. “It’s going to be tomorrow night.”

“I suspect you’re right.”

“We’ll be ready. Did you find anything at Milo’s I can use?”

“Oh, we found quite a bit. More than enough already to put a number of people—including Alexander—in prison for considerable lengths of time. Milo keeps exceptional records, and has that insatiable curiosity of the hacker. Alexander opened his personal Pandora’s box when he hired him.”

“Anything on Frye? You got the memo on Frye?”

“I did, yes. Nothing by name. He called Frye the Ass-Kicker, or AK, but he did document the jobs by name. Marta Dickenson, time, location, fee. Parzarri, Ingersol, the same. Cocky little bastard, Milo. He made his own files on everything, secreted them away believing, obviously, no one would be smart enough or good enough to get to them and then past his shields.”

“But you are, and you did.”

“We were, and we did. And what about Frye, and hold that. It’s a bit much, even for us, to sit here naked and sweaty talking murderers. Let’s at least have a swim while you bring me up to date.”

Because that wasn’t a bit much, Eve thought, but welcomed the cool water, the time to run it all through for him.

“I need to make some contacts,” she said when they’d dried off and changed. “I want to talk to Frye’s commanding officer, get a sense of his military time, and talk to whoever his coach was when he played ball. I should connect with Reo, just find out where they are with Milo. And figure out how to keep the feds out of this for another twenty-four.”

“You could have Alexander tucked in a cage by then, but you want him there, at the premiere.”

“I do. He thinks he’s gotten away with it. He’ll be all smug, puffing around in his tux, glad-handing with Hollywood. Those hands are bloody. Besides the petty satisfaction of arresting him in public, it’ll give us time to coordinate, and have his operatives picked up. If the feds or the locals move on them too soon, somebody might alert Alexander. If we move on him too soon, it alerts them. I’d really like a clean sweep.”

“Let’s have a drink and some food. Mad sex has me hungry. And I think with Milo’s data, and some I gathered myself, we may hand you a very big broom.”

•   •   •

I
t was a damn big broom, Eve thought as she read over the files. It was the mother of all brooms. National, international, and global, between Milo the Mole and Roarke she had chapter and verse on Sterling Alexander’s illegal operations. Names, locations, amounts. Add the audit files to it, and you had a bonanza.

The feds would wet themselves. But the trouble with feds was the bureaucracy. She didn’t have time to waste untangling red tape.

But she had a respected judge, the NYPSD commander, and the chief of police to do that.

“Can you set up a holo-conference?”

“Yes, of course. What do you have in mind?”

“Judge Yung, Whitney, Tibble. They have connections and muscle. If the feds want Alexander, they not only have to play ball, they have to move on our timetable. I think the evidence we have, the scope of it’s going to be enough of a lure to get the cooperation. It’s a huge bust. They agree to that, and to prosecuting Alexander for the fraud and the rest
while
we prosecute for the murders? Everybody wins.”

“And if they get greedy?”

“They can’t move on Alexander until they have the data.” Her ace in the hole, she thought. “They can’t snatch the data from us until they go through the process. By that time, we’ll have him. If they accept the terms, they get the glory. If they don’t, they’re afterthoughts.”

“It could work.”

“It could.” Now she needed to make certain it would. “Let’s add Reo in. And I need you.”

“I think that was evident in the gym.”

“Ha-ha. I also need your geek in case any of the data and the obtaining thereof needs to be spelled out. Shit, we should pull Feeney in, maybe McNab. Then if I leave Peabody out, she’ll sulk.”

“You make the contacts. I’ll set it up.”

She looked down at her T-shirt. “Is this a rag?”

“On what scale?”

“Come on.”

“It’s comfortable-at-home wear, and perfectly acceptable.”

“That’s right.” She pointed at him. “Set it up.”

It took more than two hours to report the details. She wished for coffee more than once, but didn’t feel comfortable drinking it while briefing her superiors. She’d made the right call asking Roarke to participate. Feeney and McNab could explain the e-work, but Roarke cut through the ins and outs of the business quicker and more succinctly than she could have hoped to.

“I’m not second-guessing you, Lieutenant,” Yung said. “I want to ask if you’ve thoroughly considered the bird in the hand. With everything you have, you could arrest Alexander tonight. It would be possible to have local authorities round up his operatives, or many of them.”

“A bust of that size and scope, Judge Yung, information will leak. I don’t want to give Frye any reason to postpone the plans he may be making. If he goes into the wind, I can’t know when we’d find him, or when he may try to finish the job as he sees it. And I’m sorry to be blunt, Your Honor, but though Alexander ordered your sister-in-law’s murder, and he needs to pay, Clinton Frye snapped her neck. Not only does he need to pay for that, and two other murders, but he needs to be stopped before he does it again.”

“All right. If we’re agreed, I do have some pull, and with the cooperation of the prosecutor’s office can lay out a legal blueprint I believe the federal authorities will agree to.”

“The prosecutor’s office will assist in any way possible,” Reo told her. “And we’ll sweeten the pot with Milo Easton.”

“We’ll start the ball.” Tibble nodded at Dallas. “This is good work, Lieutenant. Detective, all of you. It’s good work. We’ll start working on the politics.”

“When we have it sealed, we’ll let you know,” Whitney told her. “Meanwhile, proceed as you’ve planned. And yes, good work.”

When Roarke ended the conference, Eve hit the coffee. “God, I’m glad that part’s over. Talk, talk, talk.”

“Business is hell.”

“And you love the front seat in hell. Okay. I’m going to fine-tune my op. Where the hell am I going to carry a weapon in that damn dress?”

“I thought of that. Actually, it’s a little something I intended to give you for Christmas. You can have it now.”

He went into his office, came back with a box.

“What is it?”

The look he shot her was a perfect mix of amusement and exasperation. “Why do you always ask when you’ve only to take off the lid?”

She didn’t have a reasonable answer, so opened the box. “Oh, this is excellent.” She drew out the sleek holster.

“It’s worn on your thigh. Admittedly, not as easy a draw, but you’ll have a weapon on you, and no one will know.”

To test it, she stripped off her pants where she stood and strapped it on.

“Who knew I’d be giving myself a gift as well? That’s quite a look, Lieutenant.”

“My clutch piece will work. It’ll work.” She walked around the room to check the fit and feel. “Yeah, it’ll work just fine. Thank you.”

“Oh no, in this case, thank you.”

“I used you up, remember?”

“Yet strangely, seeing my bare-assed wife walk around with a holster on her thigh re-energizes me. Your bruising in that area, by the way, is more like a faded map of Mexico tonight.
Olé
.”

She laughed, unstrapped the holster, then pulled her pants back on. “It’s a really good present.”

“Merry Christmas.”

“I’ll test it out with my clutch piece tomorrow. I’ve got to be at Central by eighteen hundred.”

“Understood. Trina’s adjusted the schedule.”

“No!” The simple horror slapped her silly. “No, no, no. I don’t have time for that fuss.”

“You’ll be saved the time of fixing your hair and makeup, be able to talk the op through with Peabody, and be completely done before you go to Central. It’s efficient.”

“Fuck efficient,” she complained.

“Be brave, darling,” he said and patted her butt. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

It never was, she thought. But the bitch of it was suffering through it would give her more time to gear up.

The things she did for the job.

SHE SPENT HOURS PORING OVER THE THEATER’S
blueprints, plugging holes where she found them, checking and rechecking possible routes, possible points of entry.

If he came in, he wouldn’t get out again.

And if he didn’t come in, she’d issued BOLOs and APBs, she’d sent his sketch, his ID, a written physical description to every transportation center, public and private, in the city. Despite the fact he didn’t hold a valid driver’s license, she did her best to cover vehicle rental agencies.

He could buy a vehicle, she considered. He could just take one of Alexander’s company cars. But short of putting up roadblocks on every bridge and tunnel, she couldn’t shut down New York in her pursuit of one man.

She weighed her options heavily on her own instincts and Mira’s profile.

He’d come for her.

She looked forward to it. The idea of the confrontation, of taking down a killer took her mind off—mostly—a Trina session.

She told herself that personal torture was hours off, then spent so much time on ’link conferences, coordinating theater and NYPSD security, taking updates from her commander, she lost track.

When Peabody came into her home office, Eve didn’t give it a thought. She’d asked her partner to come early to be briefed.

“Sorry I’m late.”

Eve’s head jerked up. “Late?” And her gaze shifted to the time. “You’re late. Why are you late?”

“Traffic’s insane. We figured since we had our fancy clothes to bring we’d take a cab instead of the subway. We hit jam after jam. We’ve still got time before Trina gets here to set up, and I’ve been monitoring all the memos going back and forth between you and the commander, you and the security head at the theater. You and everybody else. You’ve been at this all day.”

“We’ve got civilians to think of, plus the freaking media. We have to be prepared to take him down when he comes because we don’t want the civilians and media treated to a couple of dead or injured cops and the panic resulting therefrom.”

“I vote against that.”

“We also don’t want civilians hurt, our suspect to escape, or the media blasting NYPSD screwups.”

“Also vote nay.”

“So the best possible outcome is we spot him, then take him down quick and quiet.” Eve circled her neck, stiff from hours of work. “Which is very unlikely.”

“Why? You’ve covered and recovered, you’ve got Plans A through Z. We’re prepared.”

“And he’s big, he’s fast, and not above hurling a toddler.”

“I don’t think there’ll be any toddlers at the premiere.”

“He can bench-press three hundred,” Eve reminded her. “He could hurl both of us and barely break stride.”

“Listen, Dallas, if you think it’s going to go south, maybe we should cancel. Just not be there.”

“I didn’t say it’s going to go south. We’ll get him, but I’m not counting on the quick and quiet part. I’m holding for no civilian injuries and no panicked stampede.”

“We can do this.”

“We will do this,” Eve corrected. “He’s used to a chain of command. Army, paramilitary, organized sports. Probability is he’ll go for me first. But that doesn’t mean he won’t take a run at you if he sees an opening. Where’s your weapon?”

“With my stuff. We put everything in the guest room Summerset gave us. I was going to carry it in my clutch. I got a really nice bag with this fake ruby clasp on sale at—”

“Peabody.”

“It looks good with the dress,” Peabody said stubbornly, “and it’s just big enough. But then I had a brainstorm.”

“What kind of brainstorm?”

“Well, see, the dress has a kind of draping skirt, so I opened a side seam, and put in a kind of slit.” She demonstrated with her hand low on her hip. “And I made a thigh holster.”

“You
made
a holster?”

“It’s sort of like a reinforced garter, but not very pretty. I didn’t have time for pretty. I just made it last night with what I had on hand. But it’ll secure my weapon so I just have to slide my hand in the slit to get to it.”

“You made a holster,” Eve repeated, both puzzled and impressed. “The making stuff, that’s Free-Ager roots. The holster? That’s sort of anti-Free-Ager, but crafty cop.”

“Crafty Cop.” Peabody’s eyes lit in appreciation. “I could make a whole line of them under that name, start up a police officer supply cottage industry. I saw the sketch of your dress. Where’s
your
weapon?”

“Thigh holster, suited for my clutch piece. I didn’t make it,” she added. “I could use a damn slit.”

“I don’t think I could work that in your dress. I saw the sketch. It would ruin the line.”

“Yeah, I’m real worried about that.” But the important thing, Eve thought, was they’d both have quick access to their weapons. “Let’s go over this again.”

“Can I get coffee first? I figure since we’re essentially on duty, wine’s out, which is too bad because I’m still a little nervous about the whole red carpet thing.”

“Be more worried about being attacked by a former semi-pro running back who outweighs you by over a hundred pounds.”

“That’s the other side of the nerves.”

Fueled with coffee, they went over every inch of the operation, backtracked, rerouted, and then repeated.

Enough, Eve decided, and seconds later heard Mavis’s signature laugh.

Maybe Trina hit Peabody’s insane traffic. Maybe she was stuck in some hellacious traffic jam that would last for days and days. Maybe—

Then, beside the pink and gold pixie of Mavis came the doom.

“Hey! Are you ready to party?” Mavis asked and did two fast twirls. The twirls brought her close enough to see the screens, the blueprints, the operation outline on the computer. “You’re working? Why are you working?”

“Crime never sleeps?” Eve ventured.

“Do
not
tell me you’re not going.” Mavis pointed index fingers at both Eve and Peabody. “This night is multimag. It’s
your
vid, and Peabody and I have our total screen debut.”

“We’re going.” Eve’s gaze slid cautiously toward Trina who stood studying her as if she were smeared on a slide in Dickhead’s lab. “We’re going and working.”

“And partying,” Peabody added.

“You’re going to look good doing all that when I get done with you.” Trina, her hair piled in red and gold curls that made Eve think of a flaming tower, circled. Then she stunned Eve speechless by pinching Eve’s cheek.

“Your skin’s good. You’ve been taking care of it.”

“I . . . Maybe.” She slapped on the gunk Trina pushed on her. Not because she was afraid of Trina, very much, but because it felt pretty good. “Pinch me again and I’ll flatten you.”

“Relax. I’m going to give you both a hydro boost. It’ll give you a nice dewy glow.”

“I don’t need a—”

“It’s fast and relaxing.” In her fearless way, Trina rolled over Eve’s objections. “I prep and paint the canvas. Let’s get started.”

“I need to fill Mavis in on what’s going on tonight.”

“You can do that while your skin’s hydrating. Mavis already had her boost. We’re set up in the master suite.”

“Already?”

“Do I paint you up like a slut? Make you look homely and haggard?” Trina demanded.

“You’ve painted tattoos on me without my knowledge or permission.”

Trina just bared her teeth in a wide, wide smile. “Not tonight.”

“Maybe I could get one. My dress has these rosebuds around the waist,” Peabody explained. “A little rosebud tattoo would be cute.”

“We’ll take a look. Let’s go,” Trina insisted. “You changed the schedule so let’s stick to it.”

No arguing with that, Eve thought. Time to suck it up.

“Where’s everybody else?” she asked as they trooped to the bedroom.

“McNab and Roarke are playing with the e-angle of the op,” Peabody told her.

“Op? There’s an op?”

Eve patted Mavis’s shoulder. “I’ll explain. Where’s Leonardo?”

“He’s still home with Bella. He’s going to meet up with us at Central because you said we had to leave from there. We didn’t want to leave her with the sitter so early. Carly’s mag, she’s the sitter. Completely on the sweet, and Bellamina likes her bunches, but it’s a long time from now till after the after.”

“They dote,” Trina put in. “Belle brings out the dote in everybody.”

“She’s a dote magnet,” Mavis agreed. “If there’s an op that means there’s a bad guy, and your bad guys kill people. We already had that on this vid, Dallas. No way to skip the replay?”

“Different killer, different play.” Eve looked at the two portable salon chairs in her bedroom, wished she were anywhere else.

“You and Peabody first,” Trina told Eve. “That way you can tell us what the hell’s going on while you’re boosting. Mavis, you can get us some of that bubbly Roarke told us about.”

“On the job,” Eve said.

“Me, too, but I get bubbly.”

Trina opened one of her cases.

And so it began.

An hour later—or was it days—Eve had her face boosted, slathered, energized, and painted. Giving Mavis the basics helped a little, but when Trina got to her hair, she clutched.

“Don’t do anything crazy.”

“Define crazy.”

“Look in the mirror.”

“Ha-ha. I’m going to give it some shine, a little bit of lift. I was on set a few times, so I know how Marlo Durn had hers styled for the part, which is how I style yours anyway. I don’t want to move too far away from that, but give it a little glam.”

“I love mine!” Obviously enraptured, Peabody turned in front of the mirror.

She’d gone for a pileup, as Eve thought of it. Not a tower like Trina, but a kind of scoop and bounce, and a little rosebud blooming on the nape of her neck.

“I’m going to get my dress on so you guys can see the whole deal.”

“Don’t forget your weapon!” Eve called out as Peabody danced out of the room.

“Do you really think this asshole’s going to try to kill you at the premiere?”

“Not only think,” Eve said to Mavis, “hope. We’re ready.”

“Well, if he kills you, you’re going to be a fine-looking corpse.” Trina stepped back, eyed Eve critically, then nodded. “I am good.” She gestured Eve up, pushed her to the mirror.

The hair didn’t look that different, Eve decided. Fussier, and it seemed to go in more directions, but in a fancy way. Probably appropriate. There was a hell of a lot of gunk on her eyes, she knew because she’d watched Trina blending and mixing and smearing. But mostly they just looked bigger and a little dramatic. Probably appropriate again.

And no visible tattoos.

“Okay, it works.”

“You look sexily uptown,” Mavis decreed. “We’ll go play with Peabody while you get dressed, then Trina can do me. We’ll just hook up at Central.”

“I thought you were already done.”

With a rolling laugh, Mavis fluffed at her spiraling mop of pink-tipped blonde curls. “This is just regular. We’re going out there for this.”

Eve seriously couldn’t stretch her imagination far enough for Mavis’s definition of
out there
. She let herself take one long relieved breath when she had the room to herself again.

Op or not op, as far as she was concerned, the worst was over.

When Roarke walked in she was dressed, in a half crouch, one hand under the abbreviated hem of her dress. Smooth and quick she brought her arm up, weapon in hand, and shifted into cop stance.

“Do that again. I’d love a little personal vid.”

“It’s not as awkward as I thought, not after some practice.”

“Holster it, do a turn. Let’s have a look.”

She hiked up the dress, rolled her eyes at his hum of approval, smoothed it down.

Would she see how she glowed against the deep, rich color of the dress? He doubted it. For a spookily observant woman, she missed much about Eve Dallas. It skimmed down her long, lean frame from its square neck where the teardrop diamond he’d given her lay above the subtle curve of her breasts, then floated ever so gently to mid-thigh.

“I needed to practice getting to it in these ankle-breakers.” The shoes, the same deep color as the dress, sparkled like the diamond around her neck. “It’s doable.”

“I’m a very lucky man.”

“Goes without saying.”

“It can’t be said often enough. You look stunning. Wear these.” He took a box out of his pocket, flipped it open to a pair of long diamond and ruby earrings.

“Are they new?”

Her accusatory tone made him laugh. “They’re not, no. I got them out as they work well with the dress. I’d another necklace in mind, but I think the Giant’s Tear is exactly right, and a sentimental favorite. I’ll be dressed in a minute.”

“It’s just wrong because you will be, and it took forever to make me up like this.”

“Worth every moment. McNab and I—and Feeney—are set, by the way.”

“Good.” She turned back to the mirror, again drew her weapon.

So was she.

•   •   •

S
he dealt with Baxter’s
hubba-hubba
, Trueheart’s blush, Santiago’s wiggled eyebrows by coolly ignoring them. Because she figured it helped tamp down nerves, she let Peabody do a couple exaggerated runway strides and turns to a chorus of wolf whistles.

Once the expected bullshit ran its course, she ran through the op, the positions, the codes.