New York to Dallas (In Death 33)

She looked up as pieces began to link together in her head. “He’s got another one. He’s got another place in Dallas, and he’d want some of the same there. Would he use the same people? Maybe not. But . . . We find them, we find out more.”

She pulled out her ’link, tagged Peabody.

“Franklin J. Milo—that’s the ID McQueen used to book his transpo—private shuttle—and a hotel room. A hotel with a penthouse. Find them.”

“Okay, but—”

“It’s just tying the ends, Peabody. It may not lead anywhere, but let’s tie it up tight. And find Baker and Hugh, men’s clothing in New York. See if he picked up any clothes there. And what transportation he used to get to the shuttle. I’ll pick it up from here.”

“Okay, got it. Listen. Tray Schuster came back in. They didn’t notice—pretty understandable—on the day they were attacked, but they’re missing a duffel, an old ’link they hadn’t gotten around to recycling, a new pair of navy blue skids, a shirt Julie had boxed up for her brother’s birthday. A bunch of little things. I’m going to send you an inventory.”

“Things that would be useful for checking in a hotel. When you find the hotel, see if he left anything behind in his room. I’ve got to get on this from here.”

“You look beat,” Peabody commented.

“Not yet, I’m not.” She clicked off. “Let’s take this to Ricchio, let him and the feds start working on tracking down the names. We’d better go by the hospital first. We can probably pass the box to somebody there.”

Peabody was right, Roarke thought as she resealed the door. She looked beat. Pale and strained.

“You need a couple hours down. You know you do.”

“I’ll take it when I can. I can’t stop yet.” She got in the car. “I’ll down a booster if I need it.”

“A booster isn’t what you need. I’m not going to press you, yet. Especially not if you agree once you’ve talked to Melinda and Darlie you’ll go back to the hotel if there’s nothing immediate. You’d rather work there anyway.”

Since she’d already planned to do just that, it wasn’t hard to go along. “If you agree to try not to tranq me.”

“That’s a tough bargain, a hard line. Agreed.”

“That was easy. Too easy.”

“I’ll let Mira tranq you.”

She managed a weak laugh. “I can take Mira.”

“I imagine she’s wily.”

So was he, he thought, as he pulled her directly to Vending at the hospital. “Pick something.”

“I’m not really—”

“You may not think you’re hungry, but you need food. I’ll pick. Veggie-and-cheese pocket. Some protein,” he said as it slid out of the tray.

“I’d rather have the—”

“Candy bar, yes. And so you shall. When you eat that.” He ordered up the bar, wishing he could offer her some rich Belgian chocolate.

She stuffed half the pocket in her mouth. “Why do I have to eat and you don’t?”

“I’m considering my choices, which are all equally unappetizing. Ah, well.” He ordered up a second pocket. “We’ll suffer together.”

“It?

??s not that bad.”

He took a bite. “Yes, it certainly is.” Not wanting to risk the coffee, he ordered them each a tube of Pepsi.

“Food snob.”