New York to Dallas (In Death 33)

The possibility had been one more thing eating at her gut all day. “I think we’ve got some time. A day, maybe two. He’s got to regroup, and he doesn’t have a partner running interference. He’s pissed, Feeney, and smart enough to know to take time to cool off. Plus, he’s got the recording. It won’t be the same for him—like watching the game on time delay—but it’ll take the edge off.”

“Sick fuck. I’m going to program some key words—rent, lease, real estate, closing, down payment—that kind of thing. If we dig up anything that matches, it’ll pop, and we’ll focus on cleaning that com. Can’t promise you we’ll have anything in a day, but we’ll be on it.”

“Roarke’s searching for applicable units down here. I’m going to start on the security and soundproofing he’d need done. We got lots of pieces—exclusive champagne, his vehicle, make, model, tag, nailed down multiple IDs. The feds are going to freeze his accounts, Feeney. They’re leaning that way.”

“Piss him off good.”

“Yeah, and maybe enough for him to screw up. Or maybe shake him enough for him to take the route you talked about before. Go under and wait.”

She hesitated. They’d covered it so she should let him deal with the work, then get back to his game. But she didn’t want to let him go.

“So, how’s your wife?”

“Same as always. She’s out taking one of those pottery classes. Why?”

“No reason.” Jesus, she was actually making small talk. She needed to get the hell back to New York. “I’ll wait to hear from you.”

“Get some sleep, Dallas. A pair of B-and-E men could hide in the shadows under your eyes.”

“I’ll get there.”

Since even the idea of sleep made her twitchy, she rose, w

alked over to Roarke’s office. “He has to have another account.”

“For paying the rent or the mortgage, the expenses of the unidentified second location,” Roarke finished. “I’m looking.” He sat back, studied her. “I need to deal with Hong Kong. That should give you time to start your search on the security and soundproofing.”

“That’s next.” She left him to it, started her own work.

High-end location, high-end services. Everything aboveboard on this one, she mused. Everything clean and shiny.

New?

She thought of the cranes all over the city, the new buildings popping up like glossy weeds. Custom-build maybe. He could have the amenities installed as it was constructed, designed with his needs in mind rather than rehabbing, tearing out, patching up.

She started to get up again, give Roarke that angle. And remembered Hong Kong. Maybe he was faster, but she could handle the task.

“Computer, run search on buildings constructed in Dallas within the last two years. Central location, residential accommodations.”

She closed her eyes, went through her list of requirements.

He was there, she thought. Right now, sitting in his new digs, stewing over the change of plans. But putting things in order, oh yeah, putting everything in place. And telling himself he liked it better this way. This added more challenge, more fun, would make the kill more meaningful.

But wishing, really wishing, he could start his latest collection.

Can’t let that happen, she told herself. Can’t have another pair of eyes in my head.

When she felt herself drifting, she straightened in her chair. And when the computer announced the results—what the hell was with this city that it couldn’t make it work with the buildings it already had?—she got up for more coffee.

Roarke found her hunched over the machine. He could all but see the fatigue sitting on her shoulders like stones.

“Finished with Hong Kong?”

“For the moment.”

“I’m working this angle that he bought or leased something recently constructed. He could have the work done during the build, customize the design. The problem is they build too damn much down here, but I’m filing it down.”

“Good thought.” He’d had the same thought himself, and was doing an ancillary search. But didn’t see the point in mentioning it. “Come with me.”