New York to Dallas (24 page)

“Lieutenant, my partner will join the briefing through communications when I reach the point in the briefing where her data is relevant. I’ll need to speak with your SWAT commander, and the EDD team assigned. Detective Jones informs me you have men on the UNSUB, watching her current location.”

“That’s correct. At last communication, no movement reported.”

“Maybe she’s sleeping in. Have you run a heat source to confirm she’s in there?”

“Just setting that up.”

“Let me know as soon as you do. She may be out on foot. Can you get me a visual of the area, a ten-block radius? Shops, restaurants, businesses?”

“Of course. The men at the duplex have photos and descriptions of all known IDs. I take it you want to head the briefing?”

“Simpler and faster. We don’t know when she’s going to move. It’s imperative for the safety of the abductees, and for a quick containment of the two subjects that the operation be set in place fast. Fast and clean, Lieutenant. I need you to select your best for this, and to brief me and the feds regarding the area around the duplex. Subsequently, on the area around McQueen’s location. Once she leads us there, we’ll want to know what we’re dealing with as far as civilians, escape routes, best points for SWAT op, if necessary.

“I don’t know your city, Lieutenant, but I know McQueen. And over the last couple days, I’ve gotten to know his partner.”

“If you’ve got operation strategy worked out, I’d like to hear it. I’ve got my own.”

“Absolutely. If we could get started. I don’t want the men you assigned forced to tail before we’re set.” She paused a moment. “If time wasn’t so crucial, I’d go over everything with you first, work this out with you, then step back. I don’t want the collar, Lieutenant. I want to be in on the interviews when we’ve got the fuckers, but I don’t care about the rest.”

“Understood. It is understood, Lieutenant,” he said. “You’ve got the room.”

“I appreciate it.”

She turned then, scanned the faces of the men and women standing, sitting, moving.

“Everybody sit. Knock off the chatter. Here’s the situation.”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Nikos start to rise, and Laurence put his hand on her arm, shake his head.

First problem solved.

“You.” She pointed to a Texas version of McNab—gaudy colors, a dozen pockets in baggy red pants. “EDD?”

“You bet. Detective Arilio.”

“Run the screen, Arilio, and keep up. Get the surveilled location on screen one.”

He scrambled to obey the order. “We found the UNSUB’s hole,” she began, rattling off the address as Arilio fed the video. “We have eyes on it now. We’ve identified and found the vehicle purchased by the partner for McQueen. Images of UNSUB’s last two aliases—on screen two. Sandra Millford is the persona used to troll for McQueen’s vics, and used in the abduction of Darlie Morgansten. Sylvia Prentiss, we believe, is the UNSUB as she looks when not using a disguise. This is her preferred appearance in what we’ll say is her own time. She lives at this location under one, more likely both, of these IDs. We have another ID to add.”

She tagged Peabody.

“Put this on screen, Arilio.

“Detective Peabody, send ID image of the UNSUB identified by Civet during Interview.”

“Yes, sir. Sending.”

“Give us the salients on this ID.”

“Lieutenant,” Peabody began, and with her face sober as stone, her hair pulled back, gave the data quickly.

“In addition, sir, we are currently at the location where the UNSUB resided under this ID while in New York. We are in the process of interviewing other residents of the building, and have a name and address for her place of employment while she resided here.”

“Good work, Detective.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Contact me with further data as it comes. Dismissed.”

She cut the transmission. “I want everyone in this room as familiar with every one of these names, faces, salients as they are with their own. If, by chance, the UNSUB goes on the move under one of these IDs, she is to be followed. Not approached.

“Whether she’s on foot or using the vehicle, we’ll tail her until she leads us to McQueen.”

“Why don’t we put a homer on the vehicle?”

She glanced at Detective Price. “We have no way of knowing if said vehicle has sensors or security that would alert either the woman or McQueen if any attempt at tampering is made. As his vehicle we confiscated in New York did. Four-vehicle tail,” she continued. “Five with me. Your lieutenant will assign the teams, and select the best location to wait until she’s on the move. Air backup. EDD coordinating switchoffs and visuals throughout. We give her a clean path to McQueen. To his location, and straight to him. She so much as smells cop, we lose her. Lose her, and we lose McQueen, Melinda Jones, and Darlie Morgansten.

“Nobody, absolutely nobody goes near the vehicle or the house, not when she’s in or out. There may be alarms set on the residence. We wait.”

“Heat sensors identified a single hit inside the residence,” Ricchio told her. “Moving around.”

“Excellent. She’s there, she’s up. Surveillance at that location is to be changed hourly. If she’s spending some time at home, I don’t want her noticing unfamiliar vehicles in place for long. I want a team of four ready in softclothes in case she leaves on foot.”

She waited a beat. “Now, McQueen.”

Tough to refine an op when the location remained unknown, but she laid out basic strategy for recovery and apprehension.

“When she leads us there, we’ll refine and adjust for specific location. We take this a step at a time. We’re careful and we’re smart. And we get it done.”

She answered questions, but kept it short. Time, she thought. The bitch was no housewife, who’d putter around half the day.

Nikos waited until she’d finished to approach. “We can work the air surveillance and tail. Laurence and I will stay on the ground, part of the ground tail.”

“That’ll work.”

“I’ve got some concerns about the recovery and apprehension.”

“Let’s work that out when we have the location. Once she’s with McQueen, we’ll have time to nail it down. But I don’t want to lose her now, so let’s get where we’re going.”

She turned away, went to Roarke. “I need you in EDD on the financials. I know you’d rather stick with me.”

“My first and last priority, Lieutenant.”

“I get it, but I need those accounts. I’m going to be with two dozen cops, federal agents, SWAT. I’d say I’ve got plenty of backup there. Plus, I’ll tag you the minute she’s on the move. And again when she goes to McQueen. I’ll give you the location, and you can come in then. You can come in before we take him.”

“That’s fair enough.”

“I’m good,” she said, because he was studying her just a little too carefully.

He touched his fingertips, just a skim, to hers. “I can see that.”

“I’ve gotta go. I’m taking the car. Nobody tails in a rig like that, so she’ll never smell cop. I’ll arrange for an officer to bring you to McQueen’s location when we’ve got it.”

“No, you won’t,” Roarke corrected, with feeling. “I’ll arrange for another car, and get myself there.”

“Have it your way.”

“That’s the way I like best.” This time he took her hand, but very briefly. “Go nail her down, Lieutenant.”

“Count on it.”

13

N
ice neighborhood, Eve mused. Solid middle-class, with a selection of young families if the kid shit in the yards was a gauge. Little playgrounds with a lot of stuff to swing on, climb on, fall off, and break your arm on. A whole slew of bikes. Bikes not locked away, she noted, which meant nobody was too worried about theft.

A safe neighborhood—according to Ricchio’s data and her own observations—where the people didn’t know they had a predator sipping nightly cocktails right next door.

Mostly older vehicles sat in the drives and at the curbs, but with a sprinkling of shiny new ones so her ride didn’t stand out. In any case, she sat a full block away from the target and well out of sight.

She studied the duplex on her dash screen, listened idly to the chatter in the EDD van and the other vehicles on surveillance.

Nice little yard in the front, shared with the other half of the house. The slim two stories appeared all neat and tidy on the exterior. Sizzling red and purple flowers flourished in emerald-green pots on the stoop of the connecting house. Most of the houses sported gardens or flowerpots. Apparently the UNSUB wasn’t interested in posies as her entrance remained bare.

A pint-sized bike in vivid blue rested on its kickstand in the front yard of the house one unit up from target. Boy’s bike, she figured, given the style, and with those training-wheel deals.

Not a kid McQueen would be interested in, so his partner probably didn’t give him a thought.

Did she get along with her neighbors? Probably. Didn’t know how long she’d have to stay, wouldn’t want trouble. Kept to herself, the neighbors would say when interviewed after the fact.

Nice, quiet, pretty woman—women, she thought. She had to be able to come and go as either, didn’t she? They’d be college pals, living together, or sisters or something. Roommates. Never seen together, but who noticed? One worked days, say, the other nights. Different days off.

Not hard to run a game like that if you stayed smart and careful.

Top-line security, doors and windows. Well, a couple women, living alone. Who’d question that? Privacy screens drawn.

Come on, come out. Take a walk, take a drive. Don’t you miss him? You’re obsessed with him. Addicted. You think about him all the time.

Who are you? How do I know your face—your faces? Did you spend some time in New York before you hooked up with McQueen?

Maybe she’d busted one of her aliases. But then, she’d have run her. Wouldn’t she have felt some buzz there the way she felt it now?

Way back, maybe, Eve considered, gnawing on the sensation. Maybe busted her under her real name. Or interviewed her.

Maybe she’d crossed paths with the woman when she’d been riding the system in foster homes or state institutions and schools. That was more likely, she decided. That would explain the dread. All those years, trapped in the system that, at its base, tried to help. But most of those years had just been another kind of torture.

She hadn’t lived, hadn’t felt real, until she’d gotten out, gone to New York. The Academy.

She shifted, sat straighter when the door on the far side of the next unit opened. A kid ran out. Yeah, a boy, she thought. Maybe too young for school. Didn’t matter, no school today anyhow, she remembered. She watched as he zipped to the bike as if it was his one true love, his face shining with joy.

She eased back again, watching the boy pedal like a demon up and down the sidewalk. She saw him wave and shout, got a look at the guy in the shared yard. Older guy, ball cap, coming around to the front yard with gardening tools. The man set them down, planted his hands on his hips, and grinned at the boy.

Friendly neighbors. Yeah, just another day in the neighborhood. Kid playing, yard work. And here comes woman walking dog. Some weird little dog, all hair, pulling at the leash, jumping a lot, running in circles and yapping.

Why did anyone want something that yapped all the damn time?

Now Yard Work Man and Yapping Dog Lady stop to chat. How’s it going? Hot, isn’t it? Blah blah.

Thank God she didn’t live in a place where she’d have to make conversation with people about the weather, little hairy dogs, and how the garden grew.

She’d want to stun every one of the neighbors inside a week.

Now Yard Work Man has to show Yapping Dog Lady his flowers. Yeah, it’s a flower all right, growing right there on a bush.

And the dog jumps and sniffs and pulls and chews at the stupid leash while the kid keeps riding as if life itself hangs in the balance.

No, if she had to live here, she’d stun herself inside a week.

She came to full alert when the duplex door opened.

There you are, she thought. There you are. All dressed up for him. Sylvia this fine morning, hair all blond and shiny, pink sundress showing lots of skin, plenty of cleavage. Matching sunshades, high pink and white heels, big-ass pink purse.

All dolled up for him.

“We got her,” she said into her com. “Give her room. She’s going for the van.”

It happened fast. From her screen angle she couldn’t see it all. But she saw enough.

The dog snapped the leash, and off balance, Yapping Dog Lady landed on her ass. Yard Work Man reached down to her.

And the dog raced straight for the kid. Even from her post, Eve could hear the wild, high-pitched barking.

The suspect turned as she opened the driver’s side of the van.

The boy, startled, let out a yelp and swerved the bike, bumping it off the sidewalk, veering straight out into the street. And into the path of an oncoming car, one moving too fast for a quiet, family neighborhood.

“Shit, oh shit.”

As the kid did a header off the bike, one of the surveillance team—Price—bolted out of his vehicle, sprinted like an Olympian toward the kid while the oncoming car hit the brakes. The cop scooped the boy up, never breaking stride until he hit the sidewalk.

The car sent the bike flying as the cop and boy went down.

Price’s jacket fell open. Eve clearly saw his badge, his weapon.

And so did the suspect.

“She made us!” Eve shouted. “Move in, move in!”

Even as the woman leaped into the van, Eve was punching the accelerator.

“Cut her off. Abort op and apprehend.”

She swung around the stalled, damaged car and flattened bike with a harsh squeal of tires on hot pavement. Screams and shouts and the little boy’s wails followed her. And the van had her by half a block.