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“On it.” As McNab bounced out of the room, Callendar sent Roarke a quick and pretty smile.

“So, you’re like absolutely packed, right? Doing the backstroke in the megawealth. What’s that like?”

“Satisfying,” he decided.

“Betcha.” With a push of her feet, she sent her chair skidding over so she could see his screen. “Wow. Multitudinous data with simo searches and cross. You got secondary recog going, too?”

This, he could easily translate. “I do. Checking like names, anagrams, cross dates. Lay it down for a spread, go deep for ancestry and other potential connects.”

“Smart. McNab said you were frosty in there. Serious mining.” She looked back at her own station. “All around.”

She slid back to her work, and jiggling her shoulders to some internal tune, went back to the task at hand.

Amused, he turned back to his own work, then stopped when Eve and Feeney came in.

Gia Rossi, he thought, as the name, the idea of her that he’d made himself set aside, pushed once again into the forefront of his mind.

His eyes met Eve’s, so he pushed back from the work to walk to her.

“We need to update the team regarding Rossi,” Eve said. “Those in the field will be briefed via ’link. We need to factor your connection in.”

“Understood.”

“Okay, then.”

Peabody came in, sent Roarke a quiet, sympathetic look. She crossed over to insert a new data disc.

“We have an update,” Eve announced, and the clacking, the bouncing, the voices, and shuffling ceased. “We have reason to believe a woman reported as missing since Thursday night was abducted by our unsub. Rossi, Gia.”

Peabody ordered the image and data on screen. “Age thirty-one, brown and brown, height five feet, five inches, one hundred and twenty-two pounds. She was last seen leaving her place of employment, a fitness center called BodyWorks on West Forty-sixth. Captain Feeney.”

“Rossi’s ex-husband,” Feeney began, “one Riley, Jaymes, notified the police at oh-eight-hundred Friday morning. Per procedure, she wasn’t formally listed as missing until the twenty-four-hour time limit had passed. The subject did not return home as expected on Thursday night where she was scheduled to meet her ex who, according to his statement, was there to drop off the dog they had joint custody of.”

There were a few of the expected smirks at this, and Feeney just eyeballed the smirkers until they faded away.

“Neighbors confirm the arrangement. Nor was Riley able to reach her via her pocket ’link. We’ve confirmed that he did, in fact, attempt to ascertain her whereabouts by contacting her coworkers, her friends. The statements given to the responding officer and to me have been corroborated. He is not considered involved in her disappearance.

“Habitually the subject exited the building on Forty-sixth and walked west to Broadway, then north to the Forty-ninth Street subway. We’ll canvass for witnesses in that area. Transit Authority security discs do not show the subject entering that station on Thursday evening, nor has her Metro pass been used since Thursday morning. Witnesses do verify the subject left the building at approximately seventeen-thirty on the night in question. She was wearing a black coat, black sweatpants, a gray sweatshirt with the BodyWorks logo, and a gray watch cap.”

He stepped back, looked at Eve. “Lieutenant.”

“The subject fits the established pattern. Probability runs exceed ninety-six percent that she was taken and is being held by the unsub. Her disappearance and other information gathered today add another element to the pattern. Both York and Rossi were employed by an arm of Roarke Enterprises. Given the breadth of that organization, that factor alone scores low on the probability scale for a connect. However, the soap and shampoo identified by brand by the lab has been determined to be manufactured and sold through subsidiaries of that organization, as was the sheet used with York.”

Roarke felt the eyes on him, and the speculation. Accepted them.

“The probability is high,” Eve continued, “that there