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In under an hour, she was moving down the corridor toward the offices of Daily Enterprises. The stairways were blocked, the elevators shut down. All exits were covered.

And she knew in her gut they wouldn’t find Julianna Dunne.

Still, she would see it through, and motioned her team into place with hand signals. She drew her weapon, then flipped out her master and prepared to bypass the locks.

Pulled back.

“Wait. She’d have thought of this. She’d have counted on this.” She stared hard at the cheap door, the cheap locks, then crouched down for a closer study. “I need some microgoggles here. A boom scan.”

“You figure she booby-trapped the door?” Feeney pursed his lips, crouched down with her. “She never worked with explosives before.”

“You learn a lot of handy household hints in prison.”

Feeney nodded. “Yeah, that you do.”

“You see anything hinky?”

“Old locks. Feeble shit. Standard alarm from the looks of the panel. Want to call in the bomb sniffers?”

“Maybe. I’m trying to out-think her, but I don’t want pieces of my team scattered all over this hallway.” She glanced up. Roarke was moving in behind her.

“Why don’t you let me have a look?” He already was, hunkering down and dancing those nimble fingers over the panel, the frame of the door. He drew his PPC out of his pocket, programmed in a task code, then interfaced it to the panel by a hair-thin cable.

“It’s hot,” he confirmed.

“Back. Pull back.” Eve gestured to her team as she yanked out her communicator. “Clear civilians off this floor, and the ones directly above and below.”

“That won’t be necessary, Lieutenant, if you’ll just give me a minute here.” Roarke already had the panel open by the time she turned back.

“Get the hell away from there.” She took two strides back to him, then stopped herself. She’d seen him defuse devices a great deal more destructive than a door blaster.

“There.” He spoke calmly to Feeney as he worked with tiny silver tools. “You see it?”

“Yep, I do now. Not my field, but I’ve seen a few homemades in my time.”

“Amateurish, but effective. She’d have done better to take more time, add in a couple of secondaries, or at least one failsafe. It’s set to trip when the door’s open. Very elementary. She’d have a bypass, of course, so she wouldn’t ruin her manicure by blowing her fingers off.”

His hands were rock steady. He paused only once, to shake his hair back away from his face. When he did, Eve saw the cold gleam of concentration on it.

“Not particularly powerful this. Wouldn’t have killed anyone who’d been five or six feet back. That’ll do it.” He replaced his tools, stood again.

Eve didn’t ask if he was sure. He was always sure. She gave the all-clear signal to her team, then indulged herself by leaving her master in her pocket. And kicking in the door.

She swept the door with her weapon, then gestured for Feeney to take the adjoining washroom.

There were a couple of ratty chairs, a dented desk. And a scent in the air that was both female and expensive. She’d left the communications center and a small, exotic arrangement of fresh flowers.

Eve stepped to the window, looked out, across, and into her own office. “She’d have needed equipment. You can’t see enough from here with the naked eye. Good equipment she wasn’t willing to leave behind. Start knocking on doors,” she ordered without turning around. “Talk to the other tenants, see who knows what. Find the building manager, get him up here. All building security discs. Feeney run the ’link and data center.”

“Sir.” Peabody cleared her throat. “This was in the flowers.”

She handed Eve a small envelope marked EVE DALLAS. Inside was a handwritten card and a data disc. The card read:

With best wishes for your speedy recovery,

—Julianna

“Bitch,” Eve grumbled, turning the disc over in her hand. “Feeney, disperse the men. We won’t be finding her here today. Peabody, call in the sweepers.”

She turned the disc over again, then plugged it into the desk unit. “Run data,” she ordered.

Julianna’s face swam on-screen—a blue-eyed blonde now, and the closest to her own coloring