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“I still have my sources.” His face was grave, and his voice remained quiet. “You left the breadcrumbs. I can still follow the trail.”

“Have you been in my files?”

“Dallas.” He laid a hand on her arm, felt the tremor of temper. “I’m deep in this. Part of what I did, following orders, may have sparked what’s gone down. I did the internal run on Clooney’s son. I feel responsible. Let me go with you to pick him up.”

She angled her head. “Someone in IAB’s dirty, in Ricker’s pocket. How do I know it’s not you?”

His hand dropped away. “You don’t.” He let out a breath. “You can’t. Okay.” He stepped back, started to turn.

“Hold on. Peabody.” She gestured, moved a few steps away. “Do you have a problem on staying with the briefing, finishing the paperwork?”

Peabody glanced back at Webster, who was standing with his hands in his pockets and a miserable look on his face. “No, sir.”

“All right. Set up an interview room, block observation. I don’t want anybody nosing in while I’m talking to Clooney. Let’s give him what dignity we can.”

“I’ll take care of it. Good luck.”

“Yeah.” She walked back to Webster. “Let’s go.”

He blinked, then took in a breath. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me. You’re along for ballast.”

chapter twenty-one

Peabody dawdled. She procrastinated. She fiddled. Then when she couldn’t avoid it any longer, she went back into the conference room.

Some complex schematic was on the wall screen, and Feeney was whistling at it as though it were the image of a naked and nubile woman.

“Hey, She-Body. What’s up?” McNab asked.

“Just a change of plans. I’m going to sit in on the security briefing.”

“Dallas isn’t going for Clooney?” Feeney asked.

“Yeah, yeah, she’s going.” As if it was vitally important, she selected a chair, brushed off the seat, settled into it.

“Alone?” Roarke’s voice made her want to cringe, but she looked up over his shoulder, shrugged her own. “No, no, she’s got somebody. Um, you’ll have to explain the system to me in English. I only speak pidgin tech-speak.”

“Who’s with her?” Roarke asked, though he already knew. It was just like her.

“With her? Oh, ah, hmmm. Webster.”

Silence fell, a clatter of broken bricks. Peabody folded her hands in her pockets and prepared for the explosion to follow.

“I see.” When Roarke simply turned back to the screen and continued, she didn’t know whether to be relieved or scared to death.

Webster resisted, barely, making some smart comment about the sleek luxury car and instead settled in to enjoy the ride.

Or tried to, but his nerves were jumping.

“Okay, let’s just get this out of the way. I’m not Ricker’s man in IAB. I guess I figured there had to be one, but I don’t have a line on it. I will have. I’m going to make a point of it.”

“Webster, if I thought you were hooked to Ricker, you’d still be back at Central, crawling over the floor trying to find what was left of your teeth.”

It made him smile. “That means a lot to me.”

“Yeah, yeah, save it.”

“So . . . I went into your files. You can kick me about that later if you want. I had your code and password. Bayliss dug it out. I didn’t have any right to and blah, blah, but I did it. I followed your line on Clooney. It was good work.”

“You expect me to blush and say aw, shucks? You try that crap again, and I’ll have you up, toothless, before the review board.”

“Fair enough. You didn’t get a warrant.”

“That’s right.”

“What you got’s thin, but it spreads enough that a judge would’ve issued.”

“I don’t want a warrant. He’s entitled to a little consideration.”

“Bayliss hated cops like you.” Webster looked out at New York, the jam of it, crowded, colorful, arrogant. “I’d forgotten what it was like to work this way. It’s not something I’m going to forget again.”

“Then listen up, here’s how we do it. Clooney’s living on the West Side. It’s an apartment. He moved out of his house in the burbs a couple months after his son died. Hang a busted marriage on Ricker while you’re at it.”

“It’s the