The in Death Collection Books 11-15 - J. D. Robb [125]
“Okay, it plays,” Feeney agreed. “But if Clooney’s following the same dots, why didn’t he hit the cops in the squad car?”
“He did. One of them transferred to Philadelphia three months ago. He was hanged in his bedroom. Ruling was self-termination, but I think the PPSD will reopen that case. Thirty credits were scattered on the bed. The other drowned, slipped in a bathtub while on vacation in Florida. Ruled accidental. The coins were found there, too.”
“He’s been eliminating them for months.” Peabody blew out a breath. “Just ticking them off, and going on with business.”
“Until Kohli. Kohli snapped him. He liked Kohli, knew his family, felt close to him. More, his son and Kohli were friends, and when Ricker, through IAB, planted Kohli, spread rumors that he was on the take, it was like losing his son all over again. The eliminations became more violent, more personal, and more symbolic. Blood on the badge. He can’t stop. What he does now he does in his son’s memory. In his son’s honor. But knowing he killed an innocent man, a good cop, is breaking him down. That’s Ricker’s angle. He can sit back and watch us destroy each other from within.”
“He’s not that clever, not anymore.” Roarke spoke up. “He wouldn’t understand a man like Clooney, or that kind of love and grief. Luck,” he said. “He put the pieces on the tray, and luck, or if you prefer, love, linked them.”
“That may be, but putting the pieces on the tray is enough to fry him. Which brings us to the second avenue of this investigation. As you are now aware, Roarke has been enlisted as temporary civilian liaison on the matter of Max Ricker. Peabody, are you familiar with the street name for civilian liaison?”
Peabody squirmed. “Yes, sir.” When Eve merely waited, Peabody winced. “Um. . . weasel, Lieutenant. The street name’s weasel.”
“I imagine,” Roarke said, “that weasels are adept at catching rats.”
“Good one.” Feeney leaned over and slapped Roarke on the back. “Damn good one.”
“We have a very big rat for you.” She straightened, jammed her hands in her pockets, and outlined the plan for the rest of the team.
There was no doubt who was in command here, Roarke thought as he watched her. Who was in control. She left no angle unexplored, no corner unswept. She prowled the room, thinking on her feet, and her voice was clipped.
In some past life she’d have been wearing a general’s braiding. Or armor.
And this woman, this warrior, had trembled in his arms. That was the power between them. The miracle of it.
“Roarke?”
“Yes, Lieutenant.”
Something in his eyes had her heart stuttering a bit. She clamped down on it, frowned at him. “I’ll leave you to go over the security with Feeney and McNab. I don’t want any holes in it. Not a single pinprick.”
“There won’t be any.”
“Make sure of it. I’m calling Martinez in on this for the bust. And she’ll get the collar when it goes down. Any objections?” She waited, got none. “Peabody, you’re with me.”
She started out, glanced back. Roarke was still watching her, the faintest of smiles on that killer mouth, the faintest glint in those wild blue eyes.
“Jesus, he makes your mouth water.”
“Sir?”
“Nothing.” Mortified, she strode out. “Nothing. Has my unit been repaired or replaced?”
“Dallas, that’s so sweet. I didn’t know you believed in fairy tales.”
“Damn it. We’ll steal one from somewhere.” Then she began to grin. “I’ll just take Roarke’s.”
“Oh, tell me it’s the XX. The 6000. It’s my favorite.”
“How the hell are we going to bring in a suspect in a two-seater? It’s some snazzy sedan type today. I’ve got the code. Won’t he be surprised when he goes down and finds it gone. I think—”
Distracted, she nearly walked into Webster. “Lieutenant, a minute of your time.”
“I’m low on minutes, walk and talk.”
“You’re going for Clooney.”
“Goddamn it.” Though he