New York to Dallas (In Death 33)

“I need to suit up and look over what we’ve got again. Because if there’s anything to this subconscious shit, I’m missing something. We’re missing something.”

“Give us a minute,” he murmured when she started to rise.

So she sat with him, with him and the cat, drinking coffee and watching the sky lighten into day.

In her office, she had a second cup of coffee and studied her board. She hadn’t wanted breakfast, and he’d decided not to push.

“Are you going in this morning?” he asked her.

“In? Oh, to Ricchio’s house. I’m not sure. Here’s the thing. We got Melinda back, and that was the lure. That was the specific reason to request I come here to work with them. Continuing to work with them wouldn’t be a problem for Ricchio, and probably not the feds, though they’ve all had time to study up on McQueen and don’t necessarily need me there. But unless we’re idiots, it’s very possible he’ll snatch another kid, then hang her over my head to get me where he wants me. Why not just stay put and finish it?”

She shrugged. “But I think we both work better from here, so why go in until and unless we have something solid to add?”

“Working from here suits me. That search you wanted on potential locations is in.”

“Okay. Look, why don’t you take care of the half a million things you’ve been letting dangle in Roarke’s Empire of Everything?”

“Catchy title. I may use it one day.”

“I’m going to go back to the beginning. I want to go over all the data, the interviews, time lines, the works. Basically do a solid review, and that’ll take a while. You can send me the search results, and I’ll add them in.”

“All right. But I have Summerset and Caro, and a number of other people dealing with the dangling half a million in REE. So if you come up with anything, or want something looked into, let me know.”

“Yeah.”

She went to her desk, called up the incident report and Bree’s statement on the night Melinda was abducted.

The data remained fresh in her head, she admitted. She knew all the details here, just couldn’t see anything she or the Dallas cops, the feds, had missed. But she rechecked the time lines, read over the interview with the bar owner on Sarajo, the statement from the neighbor.

She filtered in, sifted through all the information Peabody, Feeney, and the New York team had accumulated. She went step by step, stage by stage, retracing her time in Texas, reviewing every fact, speculation, and probability on McQueen and his movements.

She answered her ’link with her mind still steeped in it.

“Dallas.”

“McQueen’s made contact,” Ricchio told her. “He wants to talk to you. Should we link him up?”

“Give me a second.” She rushed over to Roarke’s office. “McQueen through Ricchio. Can you try a trace from here?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll have him linked.” She went back to her desk, sat. “I’m set.”

“Do you want to block your video?”

“No, let him see me.”

“We’re linking.”

She angled in. She wanted him to get a good look at her. She was rested, alert. She was ready.

“Eve.”

“Isaac. Really sorry I missed you yesterday.”

“I feel the same. That’s why I’m making arrangements for us to get together very soon.”

“How about now? I happen to be free.”