New York to Dallas

12

And, he thought as he opened the door, someone else hadn’t gotten much sleep. She’d done her best to hide it, he noted, covering the shadows under her eyes, adding color to her cheeks. But enhancements couldn’t hide the underlayment of worried exhaustion.

“Good morning, Detective.”

“It’s early. I’m sorry. I didn’t think of it until I was already here.”

“No problem. The lieutenant will be down any minute. We’ll have breakfast.”

“Oh. I should have—”

“The three of us,” he said smoothly as he took her arm, drew her in. “You haven’t eaten.”

“No, I . . . How do you know?”

“I’m married to one very like you.”

“That’s the biggest compliment you could give me. I shouldn’t have come without checking first.”

“There’s no need. I can promise you a working breakfast is what Eve has in mind. Isn’t it, Lieutenant?” he asked as Eve came down the stairs.

“That’s the plan. Detective.”

“I was hoping you had a little time before everything gets rolling today.”

“Why don’t I go up,” Roarke suggested, “set things up in your office.”

“That’d be good.”

He brushed his fingers over Eve’s arm as he went by.

“I apologize, Lieutenant, for intruding, for overstepping.”

“I’ll let you know when you’ve intruded or overstepped. Get any sleep?”

“Not really. I’m staying with my parents. I couldn’t stay at my place with Melinda . . . And our parents need me there.”

“How are they holding up?”

“They’re scared.” Bree’s fingers worried at the ring on her finger. “I keep telling them we’re going to get her back, and they’re trying to believe me. I told them I was going to the gym before I went in, to loosen up. It’s the first time I’ve been dishonest with them since the night Melinda and I snuck out of the hotel in New York. Gotta see Times Square at night. My idea. Melinda went along because I harped on her, told her I’d go alone. I know what we put our parents through now. I thought I knew, but I didn’t. Couldn’t.”

She stopped herself. “And none of that matters.”

“It all matters.” She hadn’t gone to her partner, Eve thought, so she wanted or needed something her partner couldn’t provide. “Why don’t we go up and eat? He’ll nag the crap out of us otherwise.”

“If I could just have coffee.”

“Yeah, that’s what I always say.” Eve led the way.

“It must be nice, being married.”

Eve thought of clawing out of the nightmare, and Roarke there, right there, holding her. “It doesn’t suck.”

She stepped into the office, noticed the door connecting to his place was closed. She’d known when he’d brushed her arm, exchanged a look, he intended to give her time with Bree.

She looked past the case board to the little table by the window set with two covered plates, mugs, juice, and best of all a jumbo pot of coffee.

“He’s always feeding cops,” she said half to herself. “He can’t seem to help it.”

“He works with you a lot.”

“Sort of. He consults. He’s got good instincts and extreme e-skills.”

“It’s good to be with someone who understands being on the job. I had this thing for a while, but it didn’t work out. He didn’t like the hours, the missed dates. Figured I gave too much time to the job, not enough to him. He was probably right.”

“You have to be crazy or stupid to hook up with a cop.”

“Which is Roarke?”

“I’m still working on figuring it out.” She lifted the lids off the plates. Sighed. “I should’ve known. He went for the full Irish.”

“Holy Jesus.” Bree goggled at the eggs, bacon, sausage, potatoes. “What happened to bad coffee and a stale donut?”

“Exactly my pre-Roarke breakfast.”

“Isn’t he eating? There may be two plates, but there’s enough on them for three. Or four.”

“He’s got some work to catch up on.” She gestured. “Another office.” Eve studied Bree as she sat, poured coffee. “No point letting it get cold.”

“I look at this, all this food, and I think, what’s Melinda eating? Is he giving her any food? He didn’t always give us food. Is she cold and hungry? Is she—”

“You need fuel, Detective.” God, she sounded like Roarke. “You need it to help you get through, to help you think and act and do what needs to be done to bring your sister and the girl out.”

Obediently, Bree picked up her fork.

“Why did you come here, and not to your partner, or your lieutenant?” Eve asked what she already knew, to give Bree the springboard.

“Annalyn, she’s the best. But . . . I can’t stop thinking about before, the first time. She understands. She’s worked SVU a long time, and with me, training me. She understands, but she doesn’t know. Nobody does unless they were there, part of it.”

Bree lifted her gaze to Eve’s. “You were there. You know what he did to us because you saw. What happened then, it’s important to what’s happening now. You know him better than I do, I think. Even though . . .” She trailed off, one hand going to her heart.

“I kept it.” Deliberately she undid a few buttons of her shirt to show the tattoo. “Melly had hers removed. Everyone told me to do that, have it erased. But—”

“You want to see it. When you pick up your badge and your weapon before every shift, you want to see it. You want to remind yourself why you’re picking them up.”

Bree closed her eyes a moment, nodded. “That’s why I came here. You know.”

“He’ll put it back on her.” Eve saw Bree jerk a little, but it was better to know, to be prepared. “His pride, her punishment. He won’t starve her, but he’ll keep her hungry, and uncomfortable. He’ll keep her alive until he’s finished with me. And since I’m not going to let him finish with me, he’ll keep her alive.”

Eve ate as she talked, primarily so Bree would follow suit. “He won’t rape her. Even the slim possibility of that lessens since he has the girl. He’s already raped the girl. He feels more powerful now, more in control, more focused with that release.”

Pain shimmered over her face, but Bree nodded. “He’ll think hurting the girl will make Melly weaker, more malleable, will push her to grief and despair. He used us on each other that way.”

“You told me you felt sick with relief whenever he didn’t take you, or Melinda out of the room in New York. You were one pissed off kid when you told me that.”

“I stayed mad as much as I could, so I wouldn’t go crazy. But Melly would beg him not to take whoever he came for. She’d plead with him not to hurt his choice of the night—or day. And when he was finished, threw her back in, locked her up, Melly would just fall apart. That’s what he thinks she’ll do now.”

“But she’s not a little girl now.”

“No, she’s not.” Bree firmed her lips. “She’ll get stronger, put everything she has into helping Darlie get through this. She’ll talk to him if he lets her, try to bargain and negotiate, stall. If she can find or make any kind of weapon, she’ll use it. She’d kill him to protect the girl.”

She clasped her hands in her lap. “And that’s what scares me, more than anything.”

“He’ll contact us today.”

“You sound so sure.”

“I am. He has to brag about the girl. And if he wants to get his hands on me, he has to start that maneuver soon. When he does, we start our next maneuver.”

“Which is?”

“We play him and the woman against each other, the way we do suspects in Interview. I’m just hoping for a little more meat first. And this might be it,” she said as Roarke came out of his office.

He held up a disc. “You were right.”

“Damn straight. Let’s see her.”

He passed her the disc. “Once I had her, I ran for ID. She’s going by Sylvia Prentiss, who’s clean as the proverbial whistle.”

“Why is a whistle clean? I’ve seen whistles that weren’t. Or is it the—” She curled two fingers between her lips, released a quick, high sound suitable for hailing a Rapid Cab on Fifth.

“If I’m using a whistle,” Roarke considered, “I insist on it being clean.”

“I don’t understand,” Bree said as Eve loaded the disc. “There’s a whistle?”

“Only in metaphor. And there’s Sylvia Prentiss, who’s been dead six years and was originally from Oregon where she worked as a travel agent before . . .”

“Eve?” She’d lost her color again, had a hand clutched at her belly. “What’s wrong?”

“What—nothing.” For a moment, both pain and panic had stabbed her. “Not enough sleep.” She rubbed her eyes, studied the ID shot again.

“You should sit down, Lieutenant,” Bree told her.

“I think better on my feet. Just went off for a minute. This is her, the real her. Or who she’s made herself into for him. This is what she looks like when she’s with him, when she’s in her own place, when she’s in her routine.”

“More attractive than the others.” Unable to help himself, Roarke rubbed her back as he studied the image. “Lists her age as forty-six.”

“Shaved that some, I bet. Probably had some work done, too, but this is the face she sees in the mirror now.”

“How do you know? How did you find her?”

“Mall security discs,” Roarke answered when Eve said nothing, only stared and stared at the image on screen. “The lieutenant believed, correctly, as she’d grazed that area with her more maternal aspect, she used it for herself as well. As herself, to shop for a proper wardrobe and the like.”

He waited again, this time running a hand gently over Eve’s hair. “Do you want to see her movements at the shopping center?”

“I can’t find it,” Eve muttered.

“What, darling?”

“I—I don’t know. Something. Doesn’t matter.” She tried to shrug it off, then bore down and shoved until she was clear of the feeling that dogged her. “Yeah, let’s see her—how she moves, where she goes.”

“There’s an address on her ID.” A tremor shook lightly in Bree’s voice.

“Yeah, I saw it. She might have listed her actual address here, might not. But we’ll check it out. Let’s get all we’ve got first.”

“I need to call it in. We need to get over there.”

“Detective, we don’t rush this. She’s smart. She’s worked games for years. If we go charging after her before we lay out some strategy, we could lose her.”

She checked the time. Early still. “And I’m waiting for my partner who’s working another source. Let’s look at the security.”

“Once I got the match,” Roarke said, “I isolated her a number of times, various shops, dates, times of day.”

“Going for enhancements—upscale types,” Eve noted. Blond now, hair worn long and loosely waved. Dress, brilliant blue, short and tight. Good manicure.

“Jesus, do they watch these things? She palmed that lip dye and the other thing, whatever it is, right under the clerk’s snooty nose.”

“Eye smudge,” Bree supplied. “Top-drawer brand. But she’s paying—cash—for the skin cream, and that costs more.”

“Maybe habit. Stealing for some’s like a hobby.” She shifted her gaze toward Roarke, watched him smile at her cheerfully.

“She’s good hands for it,” he commented. “Quick ones.”

“She’s using. Oh yeah, got a nice buzz on. Feeling good.”

Eve watched her walk, sort of breezily. Enjoying herself.

At a lingerie boutique she bought and lifted several sets—bras and matching panties, a couple of sex-me outfits, and a robe that would hide nothing.

“She’s peeling off the cash in the best stores,” Bree commented, “but if you ask me she’s not paying for class. Her taste leans toward tacky.”

“Shoes,” Eve muttered. “Had to be. Women always go for the shoes, especially if trying to walk in them makes your feet cry like a baby.”

“Actually I like that one pair, the green ones.”

“She’s loving it,” Eve said, “clerks fawning over her. Shoes, bags, clothes, sex-wear, face and hair gunk. Oh yeah, she’s stockpiling for McQueen. Her shopping safaris run from two weeks prior to his escape, to two days. I’m going to want stills of some of these.”

“I have something I think you’ll want more,” Roarke told her. “I have the van.”

“What the fuck?”

“Apparently she didn’t see any reason to, or perhaps didn’t have the capability to jam security when she parked as Prentiss. I took a chance, did a few scans. She also decided to give herself a break, and parked with the valet.”

He toggled something on the keyboard.

“Oh thank you, Jesus.”

“It’s Roarke.” He tapped a finger on Eve’s head. “You really shouldn’t forget your own husband’s name.”

“There it is. Make, model, year. A dark, dull brown now. You got the fucking license plate.”

“A job not done well is just buggering around.”

“Nailed the bitch,” Eve said, and felt an uneasy mix of satisfaction and trepidation. “Jones, run that plate, contact your people. Briefing in thirty. Shit, contact the feds, too.”

She turned, grinned fiercely at Roarke. “You’ve earned more than a cookie.”

“I’ll remember that come payday. Your color’s back, Lieutenant.”

“Yeah, I’m feeling more like myself. I want to run the address on her ID, see what we’ve got there.”

“I’ll do it. I would have sooner, but I wanted to get you her face, then there was the van.”

“The van’s the killer. If you find the address, I can tag Peabody. At this rate, I could’ve walked to New York, sweated Civet, and walked back.”

She yanked out her ’link.

“Plate’s registered to Davidson Millford, with the same address as her Prentiss ID. I’ll run Millford after I set up the briefing.”

“Good enough. Once I contact my—” The ’link beeped in her hand. “Peabody,” she snapped. “It’s about fucking time.”

“Sorry, Dallas, Civet was a cashew, or whatever nut’s really tough to crack. Apparently he did some studying during his last stretch and considers himself a jailhouse lawyer. Pain in the ass.”

“Did you go bad cop?”

“No.” On screen, Peabody sulked. “I wanted to, but Baxter pointed out he has more evil genius. We worked him until nearly midnight. Civet kept calling for breaks, tossing out crazy loco trades. At one point he wanted a walk on the illegals charges, free ice cream for life, and season tickets to the Yankees.”

“How the hell did you let him play you that way?”

“Dallas, I swear he wouldn’t be squeezed last night. Said we could toss him back in the cage, no problem. This time he’d come out a judge.

“I think he meant it. He could cite all these weird regulations and laws and bullshit.” As she spoke Peabody rolled her dark, tired eyes. “He was enjoying the whole deal. I figure he was trying out his bullshit lawyer chops.”

“Did you get anything?”

“We broke at midnight, then went back at him this morning, bright and early. He took the deal. He was going to take it all along, the little bastard. He knows of McQueen, swears he never had direct dealings with him. We don’t believe him.”

“No kidding?”

Peabody offered a wan smile. “We made like we bought it to get the rest. He admitted he’d had regular transactions with a Sandi Millford, who—”

“Did you say Millford?”

“Yeah. M-I-L-L—”

“I know how to spell it.”

“Okay, then. She claimed—this would be if and when he took payment in trade, and they partied together—that she was McQueen’s woman, and they had big plans. He was getting out, and they were going to fuck up who fucked with him, then they’d be swimming in money. He figured she was full of it. I believe him there. He’s a reptile, but once he got the deal—in writing, in trip—he talked for a freaking hour. We ran Millford and got a Sandra, showed him the pic with a handful of others. He picked her out first shot.”

“This is good. It’s good. Run Millford,” she said to Bree, “Davidson and Sandi and/or Sandra.”

“Who’s that? Is it Roarke? I miss you guys. Can I say hi before—”

“It’s not Roarke.”

“No Davidson Millford in Dallas or New York,” Bree told her. “But I’ve got Sandra at a New York address.”

“I guess you’re working with somebody else.” Peabody went back to sulking. “Is she pretty?”

“Oh, Jesus. I want you to dig on Sandra Millford, and a Davidson Millford. Get me some data, Peabody.”

“Sure. I’ll send you a copy of the interview with Civet now, and my report once I write it up. We were going to check out the New York address after I connected with you.”

“Do that. I’ll send you an update from here asap.”

“Can you just tell me what—”

“Not now. I’ve got a briefing—and then I’m going to bag me a bitch.”

“I want to bag a bitch with you, Dallas.”

“There are plenty more. Later.”

She clicked off, saw Roarke watching her from the doorway. “We should take her a souvenir. Maybe cowboy boots.”

“What? Who? Peabody? For God’s sake. What did you get?”

“It’s a duplex, 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 walked straight to Ricchio—smart. She’d do better in the business world than she thought. Assume command before the subject came up. And when you were off your own turf, hit the home team first.

“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.”