Vengeance in Death

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Roarke muscled his way through crowds of people, lines of emergency vehicles. Airlifts hovered above, shooting out their streams of lights amid the shriek of sirens. There was a smell of sweat and blood and burning. A child was screaming in long, gulping wails. A woman sat on the ground, surrounded by sparkling, fist-sized diamonds of Duraglass, and wept silently into her hands.

He saw blackened faces, shocked eyes, but he didn't see Eve.

He refused to allow himself to think or to feel or to imagine.

He'd been in Eve's office, tinkering with McNab, when the hail for Peabody had come in. He'd continued to work, amusing himself by listening to Eve's voice, the irritation spiking it, then the disgust when she'd ordered Peabody to call for a floater.

Then the almost female shriek of the explosion had caused the communicator to jump in Peabody's hand. He hadn't waited, not even a heartbeat, but had been out of the room and gone even as Peabody had desperately tried to raise Eve again.

He'd abandoned his car a full block back, but was making good time on foot. Sheer force of will had people scrambling out of his way. Or perhaps it was the cold rage in his eyes as he scanned faces, forms.

Then he saw her vehicle – or what was left of it. The twisted hulk of steel and plastic was hulled out and coated with thick white foam. And his heart stopped.

He'd never know how long he stood there, unable to breathe, his body rocking with shock. Then he broke, started forward, with some wild notion of ripping the ruined car to pieces to find her.

"Goddamn it, I said I'm not going to any hospital. Just patch me up, for Christ's sake, and find me a fucking communicator before I kick your sorry ass over to the East Side."

He whirled, his head whipping up like a wolf's scenting its mate. She was sitting on the running board of a medivan, snarling at a harassed medical technician who was struggling to coat her burns.

She was singed, bleeding, bruised, and furiously alive.

He didn't go to her at once. He needed a moment for his hands to stop shaking, for his heart to stop sputtering and beat normally again. Relief was like a drug, a spiked drink to make him giddy. He gulped it down, then found himself grinning like an idiot as she rammed her elbow into the MT's gut to prevent him from giving her a dose of medication.

"Keep that thing away from me. Did I tell you to get me a communicator?"

"I'm doing my job, Lieutenant. If you'd just cooperate – "

"Cooperate hell. Cooperate with you guys and I'll end up drooling and strapped to a gurney."

"You need to go to a hospital or health center. You have a concussion, second-degree burns, contusions, lacerations. You're shocky."

Eve reached up and grabbed him by the band collar of his uniform coat. "One of us is going to be shocky, ace, if you don't get me a goddamn communicator."

"Well, Lieutenant, I see you're in your usual form."

She looked over, up, and, seeing Roarke, wiped the back of her hand over her bruised and sooty face. "Hi. I was just trying to get this jerk to find me a communicator so I could call you. Let you know I'd be late for dinner."

"I figured that out for myself when we heard your explosion." He crouched down until they were eye to eye. There was a nasty scrape on her forehead, still seeping blood. Her jacket was gone, and the shirt she wore was ripped and singed. Blood stained the sleeve of her left arm from a six-inch gash. Her slacks were literally tatters.

"Darling," he said mildly, "you're not looking your best."

"If this guy would just patch me up enough so I could – hey, hey, hey!" She jerked, slapped out, but wasn't quick enough to prevent the pressure syringe from shooting into her arm. "What was that? What'd you give me?"

"Just a pain blocker. This is going to hurt some."

"Ah shit, that's going to make me goofy. You know that stuff makes me goofy," she said, appealing to Roarke. "I hate when that happens."

"I rather enjoy it myself." He tipped her chin up as the MT went to work on her arm. "How many devoted husbands do you see?"

"Just you. I don't have a concussion."

"Yes, she does," the MT said cheerfully. "This gash is plenty dirty – got lots of street grit in it – but we'll clean her right up and close it."

"Make it snappy then." She was starting to shiver – part cold, part shock – but didn't notice. "I've got to follow this up with the fire team and the explosive unit. And where the hell's Peabody, because I… shit, shit, shit, it's happening. My tongue's getting thick." Her head lolled, and she shook it back into place. She felt a snort of laughter building and fought to suppress it. "Why don't they just give you a couple shots of Kentucky bourbon?''

"It isn't cost-effective. And you don't like bourbon." Roarke sat on the running board beside her, took her free hand to examine the scrapes and burns himself.

"Yeah well, I don't like this either. Chemicals make you all otherwise." She stared dully as the medic guided a suturing wand over her ripped flesh, neatly mending it. "Don't you take me to the hospital. I'll be really pissed."

He didn't see her beloved leather jacket anywhere and made a mental note to replace it. For now he stripped his own off and tucked it over her shoulders. "Darling, in about ninety seconds you're not going to know what I do with you, or where I take you."

Her body began a lovely slow float to nowhere. "I will when I come out of it. Why, there she is. Hey, Peabody. And McNab, too. Don't they make a cute couple?"

"Adorable. Put your head back, Eve, and let the nice MT bandage it for you."

"Okay, sure. Hiya, Peabody, you and McNab out on the town?"

"He drugged her," Roarke explained. "Tranqs always do this to her."

"How bad are you hurt?'' White-faced and shaken, Peabody knelt down. "Dallas, how bad?"

"Oh." She gestured widely, and managed to slap the long-suffering MT. "Bumps and stuff. Boy, did I fly. Let me tell you, the up part can be pretty cool, but those landings suck space waste. Wham!" To demonstrate she attempted to slam her fist on her knee, missed and caught the medic in the crotch. "Oops, sorry," she said when he folded. "Hey, Peabody, how's my vehicle?"

"It's a dead loss."

"Damn. Well, good night." She wrapped her arms around Roarke, nestled into him, and sighed.

The MT sucked his breath back then got shakily to his feet. "That's the best I can do for her here. She's all yours."

"Indeed she is. Come on, darling, let's go."

"Did you save me some pizza? I don't want you carrying me, okay? It's embarrassing. I can walk fine."

"Of course you can," he assured her and hefted her into his arms.

"See, told you." Her head dropped on his shoulder like lead. "Mmm. You smell good." She sniffed at his throat like a puppy. "Isn't he pretty?" she said to no one in particular. "He's all mine, too. All mine. Are we going home?"

"Mmm-hmm." There was no need to mention the detour he intended to take to the nearest hospital.

"I need Peabody to stay for… I need her to stay for something. Yeah, for follow-up, get those bomb guys to spill it, Peabody."

"Don't worry about it, Dallas. We'll have a full report for you in the morning."

"Tonight. 'S only the shank of the evening."

"Tomorrow," Roarke murmured, shifting his gaze from Peabody to McNab. "I want to know everything there is to know."

"You'll have it," McNab promised. He waited until Roarke carried Eve through the crowd, then turned to study the car. "If she'd been inside when it went up…"

"She wasn't," Peabody snapped. "Let's get to work."

Eve woke to silence. She had a vague recollection of being poked and prodded, and of swearing at someone – at several someones – during a physical examination. So her waking thought was panic, laced with fury.

No way were they keeping her in the damn hospital another five minutes.

She shot up in bed, and her head did one long, giddy reel. But it was relief that settled over her when she realized she was in her own bed.

"Going somewhere?" Roarke rose from the sitting area where he'd been keeping one eye on the scrolling stock reports on the monitor and one eye on his sleeping wife.

She didn't lay back. That was a matter of pride. "Maybe. You took me to the hospital."

"It's a little tradition of mine. Whenever my wife's been in an explosion, I like to make a quick trip to the hospital." He sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes keen on her face, and held up three fingers. "How many do you see?"

She remembered more now – being awakened half a dozen times through the night and seeing his face looming over her while he asked that same question. "How many times are you going to ask me that?"

"It's become a habit now. It'll take me a while to break it. How many?"

"Thirty-six." She smiled thinly when he simply continued to stare. "Okay, three. Now get your fingers out of my face. I'm still mad at you."

"Now I'm devastated." When she started to shift he laid a hand on her shoulder. "Stay."

"What do I look like, a cocker spaniel?"

"Actually, there's a resemblance around the eyes." He kept his hand firmly in place. "Eve, you're staying in bed through the morning."

"I am not – "

"Think of it this way. I can make you." He reached out, caught her chin in his hand. "Then you'd be humiliated. You really hate that. Think how much easier it would be on your pride and ego if you decided to stay in bed a couple more hours."

They were fairly well matched physically, and Eve figured they were about even in takedowns. But there was a look in his eyes that warned he'd make good on his threat. And she wasn't feeling quite her best.

"Maybe I wouldn't mind staying in bed a couple hours, if I had some coffee."

The hand on her shoulder slid up to her cheek. "Maybe I'll get you some." He leaned forward to kiss her lightly, then found himself holding her tight against him, burying his face in her hair, rocking as every thought and fear he'd held back during the night flooded free. "Oh God."

The emotions that poured out of him in those two words swamped her. "I'm all right. Don't worry. I'm all right."

He thought he'd dealt with it, thought that through the long night he'd conquered this sick, shaky sensation in his gut. But it shot back now, overwhelmingly strong. His only defense was to hold her. Just hold.

"The explosion came through Peabody's communicator – loud and clear." As his system began to settle again, he laid his cheek against hers. "There was a long, timeless period of blind terror. Getting there, then getting through the chaos. Blood and glass and smoke." He ran his hands briskly up and down her arms as he drew back. "Then I heard you, sniping at the MT, and life snapped back into place for me." He did kiss her now, lightly. "I'll get your coffee."

Eve studied her hands as Roarke walked across the room. The scrapes and abrasions had been treated, and treated well. There was barely a mark left to show for their violent meeting with asphalt. "No one ever loved me before you." She lifted her gaze to his as he sat on the bed again. "I didn't think I'd ever get used to it, and maybe I won't. But I've gotten to depend on it."

She took the coffee he offered, then his hand. "I was giving the MT grief because he wouldn't get me a communicator. I had to get one to call you, to tell you I was okay. It was the first thing I thought of when I came to… Roarke. That was the first thing in my head."

He brought their joined hands to his lips. "We've gone and done it, haven't we?"

"Done what?"

"Become a unit."

It made her smile. "I guess we have. Are we okay now?"

"We're fine. Clear liquids were recommended as your upon awakening meal, but I imagine we'd like something more substantial."

"I could eat the best part of a cow still on the hoof."

"I don't know that we have that particular delicacy in the pantry, but I'll see what I can come up with."

It wasn't so bad, she decided, this being tended to. Not when it included breakfast in bed. She plowed her way through a mushroom and chive omelette made from eggs laid by pampered brown hens.

"I just needed fuel," she managed over a bite of a cinnamon bagel. "I feel fine now."

Roarke chose one of the thumb-sized raspberries from her breakfast tray. "You look amazingly well under the circumstances. Have you any idea how a bomb was planted in your official unit?"

"I've got a couple of theories. I need to -" She broke off, frowned a little when a knock sounded on the door.

"Peabody, I imagine. She'd be prompt." He went to the door himself to let her in.

"How is she?" Peabody whispered. "I thought they might have kept her overnight at the hospital."

"They might have, but then she'd have hurt me."

"No whispering," Eve called out. "Peabody, I want a report."

"Yes, sir." Peabody crossed over to the bed, then grinned from ear to ear. The woman in a red silk nightie, settled back on a mountain of pillows in a huge bed, a tray loaded with food on fine china settled over her lap, was not the usual image of Eve Dallas. "You look like something out of an old movie," she began. "You know, like… Bette Crawford."

"That would be Davis," Roarke told her, after he'd disguised a chuckle with a cough. "Or Joan Crawford."

"Whatever. You look sort of glam, Dallas."

Mortified, Eve straightened up. "I don't believe I asked for a report on my appearance, Officer Peabody."

"She's still a little testy," Roarke commented. "Would you like some coffee, Peabody, a bit of breakfast?''

"I had some…" Her eyes brightened. "Are those raspberries? Wow."

"They're fresh. I have an agri-dome nearby. Make yourself comfortable."

"When you two finish socializing, maybe we could take a moment to discuss… oh, I don't know, how about car bombs?''

"I have the reports." Drawn by the raspberries, Peabody sat on the side of the bed. She balanced her shiny black shoe on the knee of her starched uniform pants. "The sweepers and bomb team put it together pretty fast. Thanks, this is great," she added when Roarke supplied her with a tray of her own. "We used to grow raspberries when I was a kid." She sampled one and sighed. "Takes me back."

"Try to stay in this decade, Peabody."

"Yes, sir. I -" She glanced over at the three quick raps on the door. "Must be McNab."

McNab poked his head around the door. "All clear. Hey, some bedroom. Outstanding. Is that coffee I smell? Hey, Lieutenant, looking decent. What kind of berries are those?"

He crossed the room as he spoke, the cat jogging in behind him. When both of them made themselves cozy on the bed, Eve simply gaped.

"Make yourself right at home, McNab."

"Thanks." He helped himself to her bowl of berries. "You look steady, Lieutenant. Glad to see it."

"If someone doesn't give me a goddamn report, I'm going to look a lot more than steady. You," she decided, pointing at Peabody. "Because normally you're not an idiot."

"Yes, sir. The explosive device was a homemade boomer, and whoever put it together knew their stuff. It had a short range, classic for car explosives, which is why it took out your vehicle, but had – relatively speaking – little effect on the surrounding area. If you hadn't been in a jam, cars locked in on all sides, there would have been basically no outside damage to speak of."

"Were there any fatalities?"

"No, sir. The vehicles on your perimeters were affected, and there were about twenty injuries – only three were serious. The rest were treated and released. You sustained serious injuries as you were outside of the vehicle and unprotected at the time of the explosion."

Eve remembered the two teenagers who'd boarded by only moments before. If they'd still been in range… She ordered herself to shake that image away. "Was it on a timer? How was it cued?"

"I'll take that." McNab gave Galahad an absent stroke on the back as the cat curled next to Eve's legs. "He went for the standard car boom style – which was his mistake. If he'd used a timer, well, let's just say you wouldn't be eating berries this morning, Lieutenant. He linked it to the ignition, figuring it would trigger when you engaged the engine. Fortunately for our side, you drive – or drove – a departmental joke. The electrical system, the guidance system, the ignition system, well, just about every damn system in your vehicle was flawed. My guess is when you started it up yesterday, it hiccuped a few times."

"It took me three tries to get it going."

"There you are." McNab gestured with a berry, then popped it in his mouth. "It threw the link with the boomer off, skipped over the trigger. It was primed, could have gone off at any time from there. You hit a pothole, stop short, and boom."

"I slammed the door," Eve murmured. "When those idiot cab drivers pissed me off, I got out and slammed the door."

"That's likely what did it. Nothing wrong with the boomer. I took a look at the debris myself, and I can tell you he used top-grade components. It was just waiting for the signal to trigger."

Eve drew a breath. "So what you're telling me is I owe my life to budget cuts and a departmental maintenance crew who have their heads up their butts."

"Couldn't have put it better." McNab patted her knee. "If you'd been driving one of those rockets like the boys in Anti-Crime, you'd have gone up in the garage at Central and become a legend."

"The garage. How the hell did he get into the garage to plant it?"

"I'll take that." Peabody did her best not to speak through clenched teeth. Not only did McNab report in an unsuitably casual style, but it should have been her damn report. "I swung by Central and requested a copy of the security disc for yesterday. Whitney cleared it."

"Have you got it?"

"Yes, sir." Smug now, Peabody patted her bag. "Right here."

"Well, let's – Oh for Christ's sake." Eve swore as someone banged on the door yet again. "Just come the hell in. We should be selling tickets."

"Dallas." Nadine rushed in, all but leaped on the bed. Her usually shrewd eyes were clouded with tears. "You're all right? You're really all right. I've been sick worrying. None of my sources could get the status. Summerset wouldn't say anything but that you were resting every time I called. I had to come see for myself."

"As you can see, I'm dandy. Just hosting a little breakfast party." She picked up the bowl of berries McNab was rapidly depleting. "Hungry?"

Nadine pressed her fingers to her lips to control the trembling. "I know this is my fault. I know you could have been killed because of what I did."

"Look, Nadine – "

"It was easy enough to put together," Nadine interrupted. "I go on air with that statement I hammered out of you, and a couple hours later, your car blows up. He came after you because he heard the report, because I put it on the air."

"Which is exactly what I intended." Eve set the bowl down again. The last thing she needed on her conscience was a hysterical, guilty reporter. "You didn't hammer anything out of me. I said what I wanted to say, and what I wanted you to broadcast. I needed him to make a move, and I needed him to make it in my direction."

"What do you mean you -" As it struck home, Nadine held up a hand. It took a moment before she was certain she could speak. "You used me?"

"I'd say that was quid pro quo, Nadine. We used each other."

Nadine took a step back. Her face was bone white now, her eyes blazing. "Bitch. Goddamn cop bitch."

"Yeah." Weary again, Eve rubbed her eyes. "Wait a minute. A minute," she repeated before Nadine could stalk out. "Would you all give Nadine and me some space here? Peabody, McNab, set up in my office. Roarke… please."

Peabody and McNab were already out the door when he walked to the bed, leaned down close. "I think we'll have to discuss this latest development, Lieutenant."

She decided it was best to say nothing, and waited for him to go out and quietly close the door behind him. "He's not going to understand," she murmured, then looked over at Nadine. "Maybe you will."

"Oh, I get it, Dallas. I get it. You want to move your investigation along, why not fake a statement to a credible on-air reporter. Just use her – after all, what does she matter? She doesn't have any feelings. She's just another idiot reading the news."

"The statement wasn't faked. It was what I wanted to say." Eve set the breakfast tray aside. Doctor's recommendation or not, she wasn't going to have this confrontation while lounging in bed. "It was what I felt, and what, under most circumstances, I'd have kept to myself."

She tossed the covers aside, got to her feet. Then realizing her legs weren't quite ready to support her, she abandoned pride for dignity and sat on the edge of the bed.

"It was impulse. That's not an excuse. I knew exactly what I was doing, and where you would go with it. But one thing, Nadine. It wouldn't have happened if you hadn't come after me with a camera."

"That's my fucking job."

"Yeah, and it's my fucking job to catch this guy. I've got lives on the line here, Nadine, and one of them may be Roarke's. That means I'll do anything it takes. Even use a friend."

"You could have told me."

"I could have. I didn't." Her head was starting to pound, so she rested it in her hands. Meds wearing off, she supposed. It was just as well. "You want me to tell you something in confidence, Nadine, I will. And where you go with it is your choice. I'm scared." She moved her hands to cover her face, just for a moment. "I'm scared to the bone because I know the others are just layers. He's working his way through them to get to the core. And the core is Roarke."

Nadine stared. She'd never seen Eve really vulnerable. Hadn't known she could be. But the woman sitting on the bed, her sleep shirt hiked on her thighs, her head in her hands, wasn't a cop. Not then. She was just a woman.

"So, you wanted to make sure they had to go through you first."

"That was the idea."

A softened heart couldn't hold anger. She sat on the bed beside Eve, draped an arm around her shoulders. "I guess I do understand. And I wish I wasn't so damn jealous. I've scouted around a lot and never hunted up what you've got with Roarke."

"I figure it doesn't work that way. It finds you, and it grabs you by the throat and you can't do a damn thing about it." She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, then sighed. "But I stepped over the line with you, and I'm sorry."

"Jesus, you must have a big bruise on the brain if you're apologizing to me."

"Since there's nobody else here, and I think you're feeling sorry for me, I'll tell you I feel like I've been run over by a fleet of airbuses."

"Go back to bed, Dallas."

"Can't." She scrubbed her hands over her face, hard, rolled her aching shoulders. "He's still a step or two ahead, and I'm going to fix that." When the thought occurred, she turned her head and studied Nadine. "But if some hotshot on-air reporter were to broadcast that Lieutenant Dallas's injuries are serious, that she is recuperating at home and is expected to be laid up for a couple days…"

"You want me to lie to the public?" Nadine arched a brow.

"My injuries are pretty serious. Everybody's been saying so until I want to deck them. And I am recuperating at home, aren't I? You can see that for yourself."

"And you will be laid up, as you put it, for a couple of days."

"It already feels like a couple of days. It might buy me time, Nadine. He'll want to wait until I'm on my feet again before he tries to take the next one out. He isn't playing solo. He wants an opponent." She shook her head. "No, he wants me. Particularly. I can't play if I'm flat on my back and tranq'd."

"I'll do it." She rose, looked down at Eve. "And let me tell you, Dallas, I wouldn't be surprised if Roarke sees to it that you are flat on your back and tranq'd for the next few days." Hitching her bag on her arm, Nadine smiled. "Anyway, I am glad you're not dead."

"Me, too."

When Nadine left her, Eve managed to rise and make her way slowly into the shower. Bracing both hands against the tile, she ordered water, full force at one hundred degrees. Ten minutes later, she felt steadier, and by the time she was dressed, nearly normal.

But when she walked into her office, it took only one long stare from Roarke to have her inching back.

"I figured I'd just stretch out in the sleep chair. I feel pretty straight," she hurried on when he said nothing. "I guess that stop at the hospital last night was a good move. I appreciate it."

"Do you think you'll get around me that way?"

"It was worth a shot." She tried a smile, then let it go. "Look, I'm okay. And I need to do this."

"Then you'll do it, won't you? I have some things to see to myself." He moved to his office door, then flicked a glance over his shoulder. "Let me know when you have a free moment, Lieutenant. For more personal matters."

"Well, shit," Eve sighed when his door shut.

"Never seen anybody steam that cold," McNab commented. "He even gave me the shakes."

"Do you ever shut up, McNab? I want to see the disc, garage security." Skirting the sleep chair, Eve sat behind her desk. "Cue it up, Peabody, start at sixteen hundred. That's about the time I logged in to Central."

Struggling not to sulk over more personal matters, Eve kept her eyes glued to the monitor as the image flicked on. "Keep it on the access doors. He had to come from somewhere."

They watched cars and vans pull in and out. Each time, the scanner eye above the access doors blinked green for cleared.

"That wouldn't be a problem for him, would it, McNab? Anybody who can pull the electronic magic he's been pulling could skim by the security eye for garage level."

"Security's tight there. With the bombs in public buildings plague during the Urban Wars, all government and state facilities had new security installed at all access areas." He nodded, kept watching. "Even with budget cuts, they get maintained and upgraded twice a year. That's federal law. A specialized droid unit does spot inspections on a regular basis."

"Could he do it?"

"He could, but it wouldn't be a round of Rocket Racers. And it's a hell of a lot riskier than a vid-game. If the alarm trips, all access and exit areas are automatically sealed. He'd be in a box."

"He was pissed, and he's cocky." Eve leaned back. "He'd have risked it – and since he didn't trip any alarm, he pulled it off. He got into Cop Central garage, planted the boomer, and got out. That's the only place he could have gotten to my car during the time frame. Computer, split screen, second image section AB, level two. There's my vehicle, safe and sound."

"You don't want to see it now," Peabody commented and managed to suppress the shudder. "They hauled it in to vehicle analysis. I shot through the automatic requisition for a new unit."

"They'll probably stick a couple of bolts in it and expect me to make do." However foolish and sentimental it was, she almost hoped they did. "Idiot bureaucrats are always… wait, wait, what's this?"

Turbo-van, the computer told her helpfully. Model Jet-stream, manufactured 2056 -

"Stop, freeze image. Look at this." Eve gestured Peabody closer. "The windows are privacy tinted. Surveillance vans aren't allowed to have that tint on the driver's area. And those plates, see the plates? That's not a van ID. It's a cab plate, for God's sake. Our boy's in there, Peabody."

"Good catch, Dallas." Impressed, McNab tapped some keys and had the frozen image printing out in hard copy. "I'll run the plates for you."

"Let's see what he does," Eve murmured. "Continue, computer." They watched the van circle the first level, climb slowly to the next. And stop directly behind Eve's car. "We've got him. I knew he'd get sloppy."

The van door opened. The man who stepped out was concealed in a long coat, and his hat was pulled low. "Police issue. That's a beat cop's overcoat. It's a uniform's hat… But he got the shoes wrong. He's wearing air treads. Damn it, you can't see his face. He's wearing sunshades."

Then he turned, looked directly into the camera. Eve got a glimpse of white, white skin, just a hint of the curve of a cheek. Then he lifted a slim wand, pointed it, and the picture swam with color.

"Fucking hell, he jammed it. What the hell was that he had in his hand? Play back."

"I've never seen a jammer like it." McNab shook his head both in bafflement and admiration as the image replayed and froze. "It's no more than six inches long, barely thicker than a ski pole. You ought to have Roarke look at it."

"Later." Eve waved that away. "We've got coloring, we've got height and build. And we've got the make of a van. Let's see what we can do with it."

She continued to stare at the screen as if she could somehow see through the concealing shades and hat to his face. To his eyes. "Peabody, run the make and model of the van. I want a list of everyone who owns one. McNab, find out when that cabbie lost his tag. And figure this: He's driving into the garage at six twenty-three – that's less than one hour after Nadine's broadcast. Maybe he already had the boomer made up, but he had to have time to rig it for transport, to decide on a plan, to find my location. And you bet your ass he needed time to have a temper fit. How much time did he spend in transpo?"

She sat back again and smiled. "I'm betting he's located downtown, within a ten-block radius of Cop Central. So we're going to start working our own backyard."

Smiling, she ordered her computer to continue. She wanted to see just how long it took the son of a bitch to rig her car.