New York to Dallas (In Death 33)

“Cover it,” Eve ordered. “We’re not taking any chances.” She turned away from Annalyn when she spotted Roarke. “Stay on her. If they take her out, stay with her. I need to take care of something.”

She intercepted Roarke. “Let’s go outside. I could use some air.”

He touched the abrasions on her cheek, the cut on her lip.

“Just the air bags. Hers didn’t deploy, so she’s banged up pretty good. She’ll live, but she’s going to hurt for a while.”

“McQueen?”

“She made us, tried to rabbit. So no. Not yet.” She went out, kept walking. Away from people moving in and out. “She didn’t have time to warn him, and we’ve got a window to work her.”

“That’s not what’s wrong.”

“I need you to do something for me, fast and private.”

“All right.”

She pulled the swabs out of her pocket. “I need DNA. Need these two samples compared. I need to know if... One’s mine. One’s hers.”

She saw it come to him, first the shock, then the sorrow. “Christ. Christ Jesus, Eve.”

“I recognized her from the first on some level.” Her voice wanted to shake, but she feared if she let it, it would never stop. “Down deep where I couldn’t—or wouldn’t reach it, I knew her. It made me sick. Then I pulled her out of that van, and she looked at me, and I knew. It was the same look. The same as the day I remembered when I was two or three—who knows—and I’d been playing with her face stuff. She was so angry, hyped, violent. And she looked at me with such hate. Murderous hate.”

She took a shuddering breath. “My mother.”

“You’d just been in an accident,” he began.

“Roarke.” She made herself meet his eyes, made herself let him see. “I know. She was Stella then, but the name doesn’t matter. She sticks with names starting with S. Maybe she’s got monogrammed sheets or some shit.”

She didn’t tremble, not until he touched her. Then she shook, her body, her voice. “I know. I just need it confirmed.”

“I’ll take care of it.” He drew her in. “I’ll see to it, don’t worry about that. Did she know you?”

“No. Why would she? I was nothing to her.” You’re nothing. She’d said it even now, Eve thought. “A potential meal ticket, a punching bag. Just another long con.”

He eased her back, took her face in his hands. “You need to step back from this, from her.”

“Never going to happen.” Reaching up, she wrapped her fingers around his wrists, felt his pulse beat against her palms. “I won’t let who she is, what she did get in the way of finding McQueen. It’s only more important now. I’ll think about that after it’s confirmed. Think about what to do, how to do it. It’s not going to break me.”

“I want to see her.”

“Seeing her’s not what you have in mind.” She drew away to stand on her own, to prove she could. “There’ll be time to deal with her, to figure all that out. She’s going to be caged for the rest of her life. But now, we need her. She’s the solid link to McQueen.”

“Maybe not the only link. I found two of his accounts.”

“You—why didn’t you tell me?” She lifted a hand. “Sorry. Obvious.”

“He tapped one of the accounts on the day he first contacted you in New York. He had two hundred thousand wired to a bank in the West Indies, and from there to one in South Africa, and then here to Dallas.”

She lifted her hand again, needing a minute to sort it through. “You’re telling me you have the name of his bank here, in Dallas?”

“I do. He’s using a South African passport and address for this account, one he tapped yesterday for seventy-five thousand. In person. Prairie Bank and Trust, their Davis Street branch.”

“Let me think, let me think.” Rubbing her head, she paced away and back, away and back. “Too much clutter. Why does he go, withdraw that much in cash, in person? He doesn’t want her to know. He’s about done with her, so he’s stockpiling traveling money. How did he get to the bank? Does he use the van? I don’t see how without her knowing. Public transpo, maybe. Or maybe he’s got another vehicle. One he’ll drive when he puts that traveling money to use.

“We need to get to that bank, check their security cams.”

“I expect so.”