New York to Dallas - J. D. Robb [81]
“Never going to happen.” Reaching up, she wrapped her fingers around his wrists, felt his pulse beat against her palms. “I won’t let who she is, what she did get in the way of finding McQueen. It’s only more important now. I’ll think about that after it’s confirmed. Think about what to do, how to do it. It’s not going to break me.”
“I want to see her.”
“Seeing her’s not what you have in mind.” She drew away to stand on her own, to prove she could. “There’ll be time to deal with her, to figure all that out. She’s going to be caged for the rest of her life. But now, we need her. She’s the solid link to McQueen.”
“Maybe not the only link. I found two of his accounts.”
“You—why didn’t you tell me?” She lifted a hand. “Sorry. Obvious.”
“He tapped one of the accounts on the day he first contacted you in New York. He had two hundred thousand wired to a bank in the West Indies, and from there to one in South Africa, and then here to Dallas.”
She lifted her hand again, needing a minute to sort it through. “You’re telling me you have the name of his bank here, in Dallas?”
“I do. He’s using a South African passport and address for this account, one he tapped yesterday for seventy-five thousand. In person. Prairie Bank and Trust, their Davis Street branch.”
“Let me think, let me think.” Rubbing her head, she paced away and back, away and back. “Too much clutter. Why does he go, withdraw that much in cash, in person? He doesn’t want her to know. He’s about done with her, so he’s stockpiling traveling money. How did he get to the bank? Does he use the van? I don’t see how without her knowing. Public transpo, maybe. Or maybe he’s got another vehicle. One he’ll drive when he puts that traveling money to use.
“We need to get to that bank, check their security cams.”
“I expect so.”
“The other, that other.” She glanced back toward the ER doors. “It can wait. This is more important.”
“I said I’d take care of it. Don’t worry about that part.”
“I need to update Ricchio and the feds on this. We need to move on it.”
They started back in. She stopped when she saw Detective Price standing just outside the doors, looking lost.
“Detective.”
“Lieutenant. Lieutenant Ricchio wanted to speak with you. He’s here. He’s . . . inside.”
“Roarke, will you find him, give him what you’ve got? I’ll be right there.”
She waited a moment, standing there with Price, saying nothing.
“I know it’s my fault. She would’ve led us right to Melinda, and I fucked up. We had it down cold, and I broke protocol.”
“Do you think any of us wanted to see that kid pancaked on the street, Price? Do you think Melinda would want that?”
“I don’t know. God, we’d have her back by now. We’d have her.”
“If you hadn’t reacted, that kid would probably be dead. Now he’s home and safe and whole. You saved a life today, Detective. You did the job.”
“At what cost?”
“Nothing’s free. We’ve got the partner. We’ve got other leads, and we’ve got some time. So shake it off and keep doing the job.”
She went inside, started back toward the treatment room. This time the nurse stopped her. “We’ve got her stable. She needs some minor surgery. She’s got a concussion, two broken ribs, whiplash—”
“She’s conscious and stable,” Eve interrupted.
“That’s right.”
“I want to talk to her.”
“She needs a little repair. As soon as—”
“No. Now. If she’s not critical, she can wait for her repair. There are two lives on the line, and neither of them are hers. Is she still in there?”
“Yes. She’s being monitored, then she’ll need to be prepped.”
“Prepping can wait, too.”
Eve pushed past, shoved through the doors. She studied the woman on the table for a moment.
“Pay attention,” she snapped, and watched the woman’s eyes open, go feral. Stepping forward, she Mirandized her mother.
14
You get that?” Eve asked her.
“I want a ’link, and I want one now.”
“You’re not in a position to make demands. Give me your name. Your real name.”
“Sylvia Prentiss.”
“The longer you bullshit, the longer it’ll be before a medical’s cleared to come in