She tapped her fingers on the wheel as she thought it through. “Klok ran clean—and no, I’m not discounting that could be another fabrication. Either way, I want to talk to him. And if this actually turns out to be his move on me, he’s giving me free entry.”
“Into a trap,” Roarke pointed out.
“It’s only a trap if I let him spring it. I’ve got three men at my back, I’ve got eyes and ears. I’m going in, and you can dig deeper on his house while I’m in transit. If I see or feel anything off, you’ll know it. Peabody move in, secure the van three blocks from destination.”
“Copy,” Peabody acknowledged. “We’re about ten blocks back now, got a little snag in traffic. We’ll route around it and move in.”
“Go ahead and do another run on Klok. Let’s see if he arrived in New York today as advertised. Search public and private shuttles and transports. If you get those results while I’m in, relay. Otherwise, cut all chatter now. I’m only a couple blocks away.”
Jumpy, Eve thought, rolling her shoulders. Damn chemicals from the energy pills were bouncing around inside her like little springy balls.
“Transmission’s going a little fuzzy on the homer,” Feeney commented, then glanced over at Roarke. “You getting that?”
“I am. A little interference. Could be some stray transmission that bled onto the frequency. Can you clean it up?”
“Working on that. Peabody, you still have her?”
“Yeah. McNab says the beacon’s jumping a little.”
“It’s interference,” Roarke repeated as the signal went in and out. “It’s another transmission, crossing ours. Bloody hell.” He shoved back from his station. “It’s another homer. Another homer on her vehicle. It’s crossed ours now because she’s near or at the base point. He’s tracked her, that’s how he knew to call her in. He knew she was close.”
“Dallas, Dallas, you copy?” Feeney shouted into the receiver. “Dallas, goddamn it. Peabody, move in, move the fuck in.” He leaped up, rushed after Roarke as Roarke ran out of the room. “She knows what she’s doing,” Feeney said as they shoved onto an elevator.
“So does he.”
Eve parked, then moved across the sidewalk. The courtyard gate opened for her. Awfully damn accommodating, she mused, and shifted her shoulders just to feel the weight of her weapon.
“At the door,” she murmured into her receiver and pressed the bell.
The droid opened it. “Lieutenant, thank you for coming. Mr. Klok is in the parlor. May I take your coat?”
“No. Lead the way.”
She’d keep the droid where she could see him, just in case.
The curtains were drawn, the lights low. She could see the figure of a man in a chair near a quiet fire, his foot wrapped with a soft cast and resting on a padded stool.
He had a short brown beard, short brown hair, some bruising around his left eye. “Corpulent” would have been the polite word for him, Eve supposed. Hers would have been “really fat.”
“Lieutenant Dallas?” He had the slightest Germanic accent. “Please pardon me for not getting up. I was clumsy, banged myself up a bit this morning. Please sit down. Can I offer you something? Tea? Coffee?”
“No.”
He offered his hand as he spoke. She moved in to take it. The common gesture would bring her closer, close enough, she judged for her to determine if he was Robert Lowell.
And as she angled herself to look into his eyes, she knew. She shifted, pulling her right hand back to reach for her weapon. “Hello, Bob.”
He only smiled. “No one has ever called me Bob. You saw right through me.”
“Get up. You.” She gestured toward the hovering droid. “If you don’t want your circuits fried, stay exactly where you are.”
“I’m a little hampered,” Lowell said pleasantly. “All this padding, and the cast.”
Eve kicked the footstool away, so his foot thudded on the floor. “On the floor, on your face, hands behind your back. Now.”
“I’ll do my best.” He slid and humped his way off the chair, huffing as he struggled to roll onto his belly.
When she reached down to grab his wrist, to pull his arm behind his back, he turned his hand, closed it over hers.