New York to Dallas

21

Near dawn she dreamed. Trapped in the dark, whispers and whimpers all around her. Cold, so cold, and the bite of the shackles clamped on her wrists and ankles.

He was out there, and the knowing carved a bleeding gash of fear in her belly.

Not like this, she thought as she yanked and strained against the shackles. A thousand ways to die, but not like this, and not at his hand.

Light oozed into the room, slipping dirty red through cracks and fissures to smear the dark like blood.

And she learned it could be worse to see.

They huddled all around her, all the girls, all those hopeless, empty eyes. They sat, staring and shivering in the icy room of her nightmares. All of them had her face. The child’s face.

She fought harder, twisting, dragging against the restraints. She heard—felt—the bone snap. One of the girls shrieked, and each of them clutched her arm.

“It’s not happening, not happening. It’s not real.”

“It’s as real as you make it.” Mira sat in one of the blue scoop chairs from her office, crossed her pretty legs.

“You have to help.”

“Of course. It’s what I do. Now, how does being here like this make you feel?”

“Fuck feelings. We have to get out!”

“Angry then,” Mira said placidly, and sipped tea from a china cup. “But more, I think. What’s under that anger, Eve? Let’s dig it out.”

“Get us out. Can’t you see how scared they are?”

“They?”

“I’m scared. I’m scared.”

“Progress!” With a pleased smile, Mira lifted her teacup in salute. “Now let’s talk about that.”

“There’s no time.” Her head swiveled side to side while panic gnawed at her, belly and bone. “He’ll come back.”

“He’ll only come back if you let him. Well, that’s all the time we have for today.”

“For God’s sake don’t leave us like this. Take the girls. Take them out of here. They don’t deserve to be here.”

“No.” Her voice gentle as a kiss, Mira shook her head. “You don’t.”

“What about me!” The woman, the partner, the mother stood, her throat gaping and wet with blood. “Look what you did to me.”

“I didn’t kill you.” Eve cringed while the girls, all the girls curled into defensive balls.

“Stupid bitch, it’s all your fault.” When she slapped one of the girls aside, Eve felt the blow. “Stupid, ugly, worthless bitch. You should never have been born.”

“But I was. How could you hate what came out of you? How could you hate what needed you? How could you let him touch me?”

“Whine, whine, whine, all you ever did was whine. You’re nothing but a mistake, and now I’m dead because you’re alive.” The face changed, image over image. Stella to Sylvia, Sylvia to Stella. “You deserved everything he did to you, everything he’s going to do.”

“He’s dead! He can’t do anything because he’s dead.”

“Stupid little cunt. Then how did you get here?”

“Boy, nobody lays the guilt on like a mom.”

With a sympathetic smile, Peabody crouched in front of Eve. “How’re you doing?”

“How the hell does it look like I’m doing? Get these kids to safety. Call for backup. Get me a weapon. I need a weapon.”

“Jeez, Dallas, take it easy.”

Incensed, Eve yanked at the shackles. “Take it easy? What the fuck’s wrong with you? Get off your ass and do your job.”

“I am doing my job. We’re all doing the job. See?”

She could, like a dream over a dream, see her bullpen, cops at desks, in cubes. And Feeney in his rumpled suit in the middle of the clashing colors and constant movement of EDD. Above them Whitney stood, his hands clasped behind his back. Watchful.

“Officer needs assistance,” Eve murmured, dizzy.

“You’re getting it, Dallas. Best we got, just like you taught me. Look at my guy.” She grinned and pointed to McNab, who pranced around on wildly striped ankle skids, talking incessantly in e-geek. “That’s how he works. Doesn’t he have the cutest skinny butt? Now your guy, he’s got it rough right now.”

Eve saw Roarke behind a wall of glass. At his desk he worked a comp, two smart screens, a headset. His ’link signaled, and codes and figures whizzed by on the wall screens.

He had his hair tied back. His eyes were fierce and intense, and even from a distance she could see they were filled with fatigue and worry.

“Roarke.” Everything in her spilled out in the single word, the love, the fear, the anguish.

“It’s hard to think really clear, catch the little details when you’re that worried. He loves you. You hurt, he hurts.”

“I know. Roarke.”

“Gotta break the glass, I guess.” Peabody smiled. “You’re my hero.”

“I’m nobody’s hero.”

Peabody gave the wrist cuffs a tap. “Not like this, you aren’t.”

“Get me out of these!”

“How?”

“Find the key. Find the goddamn key and get me out.”

“Wish I could, Dallas, but that’s the whole thing. You’ve got to find it. Better find the key before he gets another one. Before he gets you. You’ve never been stupid. Don’t let her make you stupid.”

“How am I supposed to find anything when I’m locked in? How—” She broke off, cringing back when she heard the footsteps. “He’s coming.”

“He never left.” The mother walked to the door.

“Don’t open it. Please!”

“Whine, whine, whine.” She opened the door.

McQueen walked in, flashed a charming smile. “Hello, little girl,” he said in her father’s voice.

And bleeding from a dozen wounds, he came for her.

She bolted up in bed, clutching at her throat. The breath wouldn’t come, no matter how wildly her heart hammered, the breath wouldn’t come.

She didn’t even feel the cat butting his head fiercely against her side.

Roarke burst into the room. He leaped to the bed, clamped his hands on her arms. “I’m here. Eve. Look at me.”

She did, she was. She saw his face, his eyes violently blue against bone-white skin. She saw fear, and struggled to say his name.

“Breathe. Goddamn it.” He shook her, hard, lifting her half off the bed.

The shock of it unlocked her throat. When her breath exploded out, his arms wrapped around her. “It’s all right. You’re all right now. Just hold on to me.”

“He came for us.”

“No, baby, no. He’s not here. It’s just you and me. Just you and me.”

“You were there, behind the glass.”

“I’m here, right here.” He cupped her face so she could see him, feel him. “You’re safe.” His own breathing unsteady, he kissed her brow, her cheeks, wrapped the throw around her.

“The room. I was in that room. He locked me up. I don’t know which one. They were all there. The girls. All the girls were me.”

“It’s over.”

But it’s not, she thought, and closed her eyes. It’s not over.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

She opened her eyes, looked around. The hotel, she assured herself. The bedroom with the lights low and soft. The cat—he’d brought her the cat—and Galahad sat at her side watchful as a guard dog.

“Where did you go?”

“I had some work. Bloody work.” He bit off the words, his voice raw. “I didn’t want to wake you, so I went up to the office. You’d slept quiet, so I thought . . . I shouldn’t have left you.”

She studied his face now, looked beyond herself and into him. Guilt, fear, worry, anger. All that, she thought. All of that in him. “Did I scream?”

“No. You started to thrash and struggle, and when I got here—”

“How did you know? How did you know to come?”

“I had you on monitor.”

“You were watching me sleep,” she said slowly, “while you worked.”

“I’d hoped you’d sleep a bit longer. It’s early yet, barely dawn.”

“But you were working, and watching me.”

“It was hardly voyeuristic.”

She waved him, and the edge in his voice away. “You were worried about me, so you had to keep an eye on me while you tried to work.”

She thought of how he’d looked behind that glass wall, handling so many tasks at once with weariness on his face.

“Of course I was worried.”

“Because I might have a nightmare.”

“You did have a nightmare, so—”

She waved him off again, and this time shoved to her feet. “So you have to monitor me like I’m some sort of sick kid, and feel guilty because you actually took a little time, before the fucking sun came up, to deal with your own work. Well, that’s just enough. They’ve screwed us up long enough, and it’s got to stop. It’s going to stop.”

He watched her storm around the room and wondered if she knew she was gloriously naked, and absolutely shining with outrage. And watching her he felt more at peace than he had since she’d walked into his office in New York days before.

“I’m not putting up with this,” she continued. “You can’t even go out and buy up a solar system without worrying I’ll fall apart. How are you supposed to get anything done?”

“Actually, I’m not in the market for a solar system right at the moment.”

“Bad things happen, who knows better? Bad, unspeakable, ugly things happen whether you deserve them or not. Your father was a bastard, and he put you through hell, but you don’t sit around whining about it.”

“No. Neither do you.”

“That’s right.” She jabbed a finger at him. “That’s fucking-A right, and it’s just more crap that needs to be flushed. I am not a whiner. I’m not weak and stupid. I’m a goddamn cop.”

“To the bone.”

“Damn straight, so this subconscious shit better latch the hell on because I’m done letting it kick me around. I’m done letting it put that look on your face. I’m a goddamn cop, and it doesn’t matter why I am or how I am. What matters is doing the job, doing it right, doing it smart, doing it all the way through. What matters is you and me. What matters is you, because I fucking love you.”

“I fucking love you, too.”

“Bet your ass, you do, and you wouldn’t have fallen for some sniveling coward.”

“I wouldn’t,” he agreed. “I didn’t.”

“So.” She took her first clear breath. “That’s it. That’s settled.”

She slapped her hands on her hips, then looked down with a frown as flesh met flesh. “I’m naked.”

“Are you really?” He felt a laugh in his chest, a marvelous sensation. “Well, so you are. I don’t mind a bit.”

“I bet.” She snatched up the robe he’d obviously laid at the foot of the bed before he’d gone off to try to work. She punched her arms through the sleeves. “I’m so pissed off.”

“Is that a fact?”

She went to the AutoChef, programmed two coffees. Then, studying the cat, who studied her, added a bowl of milk. She set the bowl on the floor, carried the coffee to Roarke.

“Thanks.”

“I’m not saying you can’t worry. Worry’s part of the deal, I get it. But I don’t want to be responsible for worry weighing you down like it has since we got here.”

“You’re not responsible.”

“I let it screw me up, so it screwed you up. I’ve got to get a handle on it. My mommy didn’t love me, well boo-frigging-hoo.”

He drew her down beside him. “We both know it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

“Whatever, I’m not letting her get me so tangled up I can’t think straight. I keep you on edge. And no more guilt. If you’re going to be guilty it’s going to be about something I want to punch you for, not for getting some work done one flight up.”

“What matters is you—as you said to me. But I’ll try not to feel guilty unless it’s a punchable offense.”

He draped an arm around her as they sat drinking coffee. “You slept well,” he commented, “until the last.”

“Credit the full spaghetti-and-meatballs treatment. Who won the game?”

“I haven’t a clue. I was right behind you.”

“So we both got some sleep, that’s a good start. Let’s make a deal. Let’s get this son of a bitch and go home.”

“Gladly.”

“I need to suit up and look over what we’ve got again. Because if there’s anything to this subconscious shit, I’m missing something. We’re missing something.”

“Give us a minute,” he murmured when she started to rise.

So she sat with him, with him and the cat, drinking coffee and watching the sky lighten into day.

In her office, she had a second cup of coffee and studied her board. She hadn’t wanted breakfast, and he’d decided not to push.

“Are you going in this morning?” he asked her.

“In? Oh, to Ricchio’s house. I’m not sure. Here’s the thing. We got Melinda back, and that was the lure. That was the specific reason to request I come here to work with them. Continuing to work with them wouldn’t be a problem for Ricchio, and probably not the feds, though they’ve all had time to study up on McQueen and don’t necessarily need me there. But unless we’re idiots, it’s very possible he’ll snatch another kid, then hang her over my head to get me where he wants me. Why not just stay put and finish it?”

She shrugged. “But I think we both work better from here, so why go in until and unless we have something solid to add?”

“Working from here suits me. That search you wanted on potential locations is in.”

“Okay. Look, why don’t you take care of the half a million things you’ve been letting dangle in Roarke’s Empire of Everything?”

“Catchy title. I may use it one day.”

“I’m going to go back to the beginning. I want to go over all the data, the interviews, time lines, the works. Basically do a solid review, and that’ll take a while. You can send me the search results, and I’ll add them in.”

“All right. But I have Summerset and Caro, and a number of other people dealing with the dangling half a million in REE. So if you come up with anything, or want something looked into, let me know.”

“Yeah.”

She went to her desk, called up the incident report and Bree’s statement on the night Melinda was abducted.

The data remained fresh in her head, she admitted. She knew all the details here, just couldn’t see anything she or the Dallas cops, the feds, had missed. But she rechecked the time lines, read over the interview with the bar owner on Sarajo, the statement from the neighbor.

She filtered in, sifted through all the information Peabody, Feeney, and the New York team had accumulated. She went step by step, stage by stage, retracing her time in Texas, reviewing every fact, speculation, and probability on McQueen and his movements.

She answered her ’link with her mind still steeped in it.

“Dallas.”

“McQueen’s made contact,” Ricchio told her. “He wants to talk to you. Should we link him up?”

“Give me a second.” She rushed over to Roarke’s office. “McQueen through Ricchio. Can you try a trace from here?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll have him linked.” She went back to her desk, sat. “I’m set.”

“Do you want to block your video?”

“No, let him see me.”

“We’re linking.”

She angled in. She wanted him to get a good look at her. She was rested, alert. She was ready.

“Eve.”

“Isaac. Really sorry I missed you yesterday.”

“I feel the same. That’s why I’m making arrangements for us to get together very soon.”

“How about now? I happen to be free.”

“Patience. I have a few more preparations to make so we can have a perfect reunion. As you know I had to dispose of the help, so I’m a little shorthanded.”

“Yeah, you were a little rushed, not so careful this time around, Isaac. When you go back to New York, it’ll only be a jumping-off point. This time it’ll be off-planet accommodations for you.”

“Oh, I have something else entirely in mind.”

“Such as.”

“Tell you what, I’ll tell you all about it when you’re gracing my guest room. Meanwhile, I thought you might enjoy a preview of an exciting home vid I produced recently.”

The screen flashed from blank to the obscenity in McQueen’s bedroom. Darlie’s screams and pleading sobs shattered the air.

Eve forced herself to watch, willed herself to give him no reaction while the child inside her wept as piteously as the child on screen.

It shut off abruptly.

“We’ll watch the whole thing when you’re here,” McQueen told her. “I’ll make popcorn. TTFN.”

She held on when Ricchio came on, his face like stone. “Jammed and filtered. We’re cutting through it.”

“Lovers Lane in Highland Park.” Roarke came on, split screen. “He’s moving.”

“Copy that!” Ricchio called out. “I’ll dispatch now. Dallas?”

She shook her head. “I’ll wait to hear from you.”

She ended the call, sat very still.

“I’m all right,” she said when Roarke came in, brought her a glass of water.

“You’re not, and pretending to be isn’t helpful.”

“I already had that in my head, already knew what he—they—did to her. I’m not going to let it mess me up.” But she drained the glass of water. “I’m not heading out because he won’t be there. They have to go, have to try, but he won’t be anywhere near there.”

“No,” Roarke agreed.

“His new location won’t be near there either, so we can eliminate that. Highland Park, right? Lovers fucking Lane. That was deliberate.”

“Yes. Do you want Mira?”

“Yes, soon—but not for me, for this. To help me refine the profile. All those years he kept what he did, what he could do locked in. He could only share his brilliance, as he sees it, with the women he intended to kill anyway. Now he’s found release and enjoyment in bragging. He contacted me to shake me up, to make sure we’re still connected, but also to share. His control isn’t what it was, and that’s an advantage for us. It also makes him more unpredictable.”

Steadier, she thought. She was steady enough. “If you could send Mira all the updates, this ’link transmission. Ask her to review and reprofile. Then we can talk it through, pass it to the locals and feds.”

“All right. Don’t watch it again.”

“You know I have to.”

“Then give it some time. You said he contacted you, with that, to shake you, to brag. Consider he may have also sent it to switch your focus, to have you spend time studying that brutality rather than pursuing other leads.”

“You’re probably right. I’m going to finish my review, run some fresh probabilities. It’s unlikely anything on that preview will help us nail down his current location. But he confirmed for me he has one, with a guest room.”

She nodded, slowly now. “He’s slipping, and I won’t.”

She dug back in, reviewing notes, making new ones, checking maps. She ran a probability and got a high enough result to allow her to eliminate the Highland Park area. She adjusted the property list she and Roarke had compiled, then began the laborious task of checking with soundproofing companies.

“I’ll help you with that,” Roarke told her when he saw what she was doing. “But the deal is you take a break. It’s nearly one, and you’ve been up since dawn without anything to eat.”

“I’m not getting anywhere. All of the locations on my list had soundproofing during the build. Most of yours, the same, or during a remodel. These sorts of buildings, people expect soundproofing, so he wouldn’t have to hire it out.”

“Then we’ll move on to security and electronics. After we eat.”

“Yeah. I’ll get it. I need to let this sit and simmer some. If I missed something, if there’s a key, I’m not finding it.”

“What are we having?”

“I don’t know.” She checked the AutoChef’s menu without much interest. “They got nachos.” She perked up a bit. “Nachos are supposed to be good here, right? And this tortilla soup. Not bad.”

“I’m in,” Roarke said, thinking that with a messy plate of nachos and the soup she’d have to sit to eat.

She ordered it up, got drinks out of the office friggie. And wandered around her board again.

“The beginning, the beginning again.” She sat, scooped up a loaded nacho. “He’s settled in New York. Excellent hunting ground. He’s got money stashed all over the place—good, solid money—but he’s settled in his working-class building. We haven’t found a second location in New York, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t have one. Higher end again. He gets caught, gets caged. But he finds people in the system to exploit. That didn’t start with Stibble and the guard. People running errands, giving him unrecorded access to coms. That takes money. You’ve got to keep the errand boys happy. So if he owned the second location, wouldn’t he sell it? Invest the money?”

“Possibly.”

“Because if he had another, and I think he did, why didn’t he go there, too? Why just where I took him down? He could’ve used that instead of a hotel. If someone else is living there, he just does what he did to Schuster and Kopeski. More fun anyway. But if he sold it, it doesn’t mean anything. Reaching,” she said, pushing her hair back.

“Maybe, maybe not. Keep going.”

“I’m not sure where I’m going, but okay. He killed the New York partner before I took him down. Our best anal is he kills his partner before he switches locations. But there wasn’t any sign he planned to leave that apartment or New York. He had his collection there.”

“He was bored with that partner.”

“Yeah, or she got on his nerves or screwed up. But say he was bored with her, wouldn’t he have another on the string? A replacement, at least potentials?”

“I’d say yes. Yes,” he repeated, pleased they both seemed to be thinking more clearly. “And wouldn’t he want or need another place—one where he didn’t have to worry about the partner dropping by, or the potential becoming too curious about that locked room. A place where he could entertain her, begin to train her, develop the bond.”

“A place more suited to his tastes.”

“I could find it for you, given time,” Roarke considered. “But I don’t see how it would help you at this point.”

“Just additional data. He’s nested in New York. It’s his kind of town, and he’s having one hell of a run there. He’s listening to the media reports on the Collector, how the cops aren’t any closer. Oh, he’s loving it, maybe about to get a new mommy, too. Life is excellent. Then some poor bastard gets mugged and murdered outside his building, and I show up at his door.”

“He couldn’t have planned on that.”

“No, and that’s what he does. He plans. Anticipates, prepares for contingencies while he”—she trailed off with a spoonful of soup halfway to her mouth—“plans.”

“Someone got a buzz,” Roarke commented.

“He plans.” She pushed up, strode to the board. “That control, anticipation. Routine, procedure. It’s what made him so good at what he did. What did he have to do in prison but plan? Oh, he’s going to get out. It may take time, but that’s all right. He wants everything in place first. It takes time to groom the errand boys, time to get the rhythm of the prison, and show what a good boy he is so he gets a few perks. Time to find the partner, start the training. Time to set it all up, so he can move right ahead.”

Roarke saw precisely where she’d landed. “We haven’t been looking back far enough for the location.”

“No. We’ve been looking back a couple of years. Not far enough.”

“A dozen years is a long time, and clever. Who’d look that far back?”

“Not that far.” She laid a finger on Melinda’s picture. “Here, right here. She went to visit him. Whatever plans he made prior, he adjusted. She was the key. A sign from whatever perverted god he worships. He took her—the last he took—and I freed her. Melinda from Dallas. I knew that would trip his switch. I knew it had. How did I miss this?”

“Bollocks. You didn’t miss a thing. You didn’t even suspect he had another hole until yesterday. Why would you?”

He got up, went to her desk. “When did she visit him?”

“August ’fifty-five.”

“Then we start there.”

“New construction. He had plenty of time, why not customize it, get exactly what he wanted?”

She pulled out her ’link, nearly tagged Peabody before she remembered. Dutifully, she contacted Ricchio. “I might have something.”

She let Roarke handle the search while Ricchio set up a team to do the same from his end.

“The feds are about to freeze the accounts,” she told Roarke. “This bought us a couple hours. They’ll hold off that long.”

“But no pressure,” he muttered.

She started to snap back, then got a look at him. Hair tied back, working the comp, a smart screen, data flashing on the wall screen across the room.

But no glass wall, she thought. And no drag of worry and fatigue on his face.

Instead of snapping she walked over, leaned down, and kissed the top of his head.

He glanced up at her. “I haven’t found it yet.”

“But you will. I’m calling Mira in. She may be able to help us. And Feeney. I should let him know where we are.”

“Go do it somewhere else.”

When she brought Mira up, Eve gave Roarke another glance. “Don’t talk to him,” she warned. “He can get bitchy when he’s in this deep. I don’t know if we have any of that tea stuff.”

“I had it stocked, and I don’t get bitchy. Bloody, buggering hell.”

Eve just rolled her eyes and got the tea.

“Thanks.”

“We can take this downstairs.”

“No. The board’s helpful to me, too.” But Mira spoke quietly as Roarke switched to Irish and mutters. “He’s devolving.”

“No, he just gets more Irish when he’s frustrated.”

“Not Roarke.” Mira smiled a little. “McQueen. He spent a long time in prison, and as many do, he grew used to the routine, the structure. Freedom after confinement can be frightening, overstimulating, leave you floundering. How do you make a decision when making decisions has been taken away?”

“But he made decisions in prison. He chose a partner, chose a location, chose his first victim with Melinda.”

“Yes, but even those were illogical. He’s first and foremost a pedophile, but he risks his freedom with a plan to kill you.”

“I stopped him. He’s also made of ego.”

“Yes. I would have expected him—and so did you—to go under first, to hunt next, and to come after you last. He put you first. And since he’s been out, he’s acted on impulse, he’s been impatient, broken pattern. His confidence is broken. He denies it, but his actions are rash . . . inelegant. Contacting you today, showing you the video—”

Eve looked Mira in the eye. “I’m okay.”

“Showing you tells me he’s fighting to get his confidence back, to show you how confident he is.”

“Ties and olives.”

Mira simply stared. “I’m sorry?”

“He’s bought a lot of stuff, duplicated it, which doesn’t go with his previous pattern. Like dozens of ties, multiple jars of olives. Other stuff. And Melinda said he went blank for a minute after he got the call from Sylvia. Pulled out the knife, then just went blank. Like he forgot what he wanted to do.”

“It fits.” Mira nodded. “Freedom after a long confinement can be stressful even though deeply desired. Decisions are more difficult. Adjustments when a factor changes unexpectedly, even more so.”

Like Eve she studied the board. “In my opinion, he’ll continue to devolve. His actions will deviate more and more from the pattern he once carefully adhered to. And he’ll become more violent. If he abducts another girl, he’ll be more brutal. He may kill her because the rape and the violence won’t be enough, not for much longer. Nothing will be enough but you. He’ll take greater risks to get to you. As long as you exist, he can’t feel complete. You punished him. In a terrible way, you’re the mother now.”

“Jesus. I’d gotten some of the rest, but I hadn’t gone there.”

“You don’t fit the pattern. You’re not old enough, you’re not an addict, you’re not weak or susceptible to his charms. But. His mother abused him, punished him, and more important, for many years had control of him.”

“So he had to eliminate her, replace her periodically with someone he controls.”

“It’s most probable, and my opinion, you’re the only woman to take control away from him since his mother.”

“And I’m damn well going to do it again.” She glanced at her wrist unit. “Less than an hour till the feds freeze his money. What will he do when—”

“Moot point,” Roarke told her. “I’ve got him.”

“You’ve got some locations that fit all the parameters?”

“No. Do you honestly think it would’ve taken me that long just to pull out possibilities? It’s a wonder I tolerate your insults. I’ve got the location.”

“How did you determine?” She rolled her eyes when his narrowed. “I’m not questioning your big, sexy skills. I have to be able to relay to Ricchio and the feds, convince them you’re right.”

“I am right. He put a deposit on a projected two-bedroom, two-anda-half-bath apartment, with gourmet kitchen and private elevator—sixty-sixth floor—in September of ’fifty-five.”

“Why didn’t you see the transfer for the deposit before? It had to be a hefty chunk.”

“Because, as you suspected, he had another account.”

Since she could clearly see he was annoyed he’d missed it the first time, she kept it zipped.

“A corporate brokerage account,” Roarke continued, “and he has a law firm handling the deposits and transfers. A law firm out of Costa Rica. I know that because when I found this location, I did another search, a bloody miserable one,” he added grimly, “and was able to track it back to him. The apartment’s leased by Executive Travel, yet another dummy corporation, which has made him a nice return by renting it to legitimate corporations for overnight or shortterm stays or meetings.”

“Then it’s—”

“However”—Roarke ignored the interruption—“the apartment was taken off the market for refurbishing three months ago. Which is when he added the electronics. It remains unavailable for lease.”

“We got him.”

“As I said. Now, call off the feds, Lieutenant, and call in the dogs. Let’s go finish this.”