Glory in Death - J. D. Robb [112]
“He’s on the run. I know he’s on the run. He knew we were coming after him.”
Rocking back on her heels, she considered the possibilities: leaks—human—or electronic leaks.
“Call in your best man to come over here. You take the computer at the station. That’s where he was when he ran.”
“It’s going to be a long night.”
“Lieutenant.” Peabody came to the door. Her face was impassive, but for the eyes. And the eyes were on fire. “I think you’d better see this.”
In the living room, Peabody gestured to the blocky platform sofa. “I was giving it the once-over. Probably would have missed it, except my dad likes to build stuff. He was always putting in hidden drawers and hidey-holes. We got a kick out of it, used to play hidden treasure. I got curious when I saw the knob on the side. It looks like an ordinary decorative device that simulates old-fashioned turn bolts.” She stepped around the front of the couch and gestured.
Eve could almost feel the vibrations rising from her skin.
Peabody’s voice rose slightly in octave. “Hidden treasure.”
Eve felt her heart kick once, hard. There in a long, wide drawer that slid from under the cushions lay a purple umbrella and a high-heeled red-and-white-striped shoe.
“Got him.” Eve turned to Peabody with a fierce and powerful grin. “Officer, you’ve just taken one giant step toward your detective shield.”
“My man says you’re harassing him.”
Eve scowled at Feeney’s face in her communicator. “I’m simply asking him for periodic updates.” She paced away from the sweepers who were scanning the living area of Morse’s apartment. They had the lights on high. The sun was going down.
“And interrupting his flow. Dallas, I told you this would be slow work. Morse was an expert on compuscience. He knew all the tricks.”
“He’d have written it down, Feeney. Like a fucking news report. And if he’s got Nadine, that’s on one of those damned discs, too.”
“I’m with you on that, kid, but breathing down my man’s neck isn’t going to free up the data any quicker. Give us some space here, for Christ’s sake. Don’t you have a fancy do tonight?”
“What?” She grimaced. “Oh hell.”
“Go put on your party dress and leave us alone.”
“I’m not going to dress up like some brainless idiot and eat canapés while he’s out there.”
“He’s going to be out there, whatever you’re wearing. Listen up, we’ve got a citywide net out on him, his car. His apartment’s under heavy surveillance, so’s the station. You can’t help us here. This part’s my job.”
“I can—”
“Slow up the process by making me talk to you,” he snapped. “Go away, Dallas. The minute I get anything, the first byte, I’ll call you in.”
“We’ve got him, Feeney. We’ve got the who, the what.”
“Let me try to find the where. If Nadine Furst is still alive, every minute counts.”
That was what haunted her. She wanted to argue, but there was no ammunition. “Okay, I’ll go, but—”
“Don’t call me,” Feeney interrupted. “I’ll call you.” He broke transmission before she could swear at him.
Eve was trying hard to understand relationships, the importance of balancing lives and obligations, the value of compromise. What she had with Roarke was still new enough to fit snugly, like a vaguely uncomfortable shoe, and lovely enough to keep wearing it until it stretched to accommodate.
So she dashed into the bedroom at a full run, saw him standing in the dressing area, and launched into the offense strategy.
“Don’t give me any grief about being late. Summerset already handled that.” She whipped off her harness, tossed it on a chair. Roarke finished securing a square of gold to his cuff, hands elegant, steady.
“You don’t answer to Summerset.” He looked at her then, a brief flick of the eyes as she tugged off her shirt. “Nor to me.”
“Look, I had work.” Naked from the waist up, she dropped into a chair to pull off her boots. “I said I’d be here, and I’m here. I know guests are going to be arriving in ten minutes.” She heaved a boot aside as Summerset’s abrasive words scraped through her head. “I’ll be ready. I don’t take hours to put some dress on