New York to Dallas (In Death 33)

“Use the com on your mobile. I’m crossing to give us two points. Try to give me some time with the track. Linking now.”

She changed positions, waited.

“Twice in one day. You must miss me, Isaac.”

“Not for long.”

Something wrong, she thought again. She heard it in his voice—not the usual controlled amusement, but temper, ripe as roses.

“So you keep saying.”

“But you just couldn’t be patient. It’s rude, very rude, Eve, to come to my home without an invitation.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. “Just dropped by. When are you coming back, Isaac? I have a housewarming present for you.”

His breath hissed in and out, in and out. “You think you’re smart.”

“Found your hole, didn’t I?”

“Luck. Blind luck. It won’t be luck when I come for you. I’m going to make you very, very sorry, so sorry you’ll be grateful when I finally cut your throat.”

“Do you plan to use the knife you bought at Points and Blades? That’s a lot of money for a sticker. I can’t wait to see it.”

“You will. One day I’ll just be there.”

“You know, you sound a little miffed. Why don’t we—”

She swore under her breath when he cut her off.

“Working on it,” Roarke said before she could ask. “I can’t nail it, not from here. The best I can give you is somewhere on Davis Ave., between Corral and Kingston.”

Ricchio came on. “I’m alerting dispatch. We have an all-points out.”

“He’s not coming back here,” Eve said. “We’re going in. He’s running now, maybe we can find something that tells us where he’s most likely to run.”

She wanted to punch something, but kept it together as she got out of the van. She’d watched the sweeps, kept track of the cops they’d put on the street. Nothing should have tipped him off.

“How’d he make us?” she demanded when Roarke joined her. “How the hell did he make us?”

“Instincts perhaps.”

“Nobody’s are that good.” She shook her head at him. “He knew we were here. I was here. And he is seriously pissed.”

She let Ricchio clear the road with the check-in droid, building security. By the time they’d reached McQueen’s apartment and gained access, she found calm again.

“We think it was one of my men,” Ricchio told her. “Nothing he did, or we did. Someone recognized him, a college student. My detective had spoken to his class recently, spent some time answering the boy’s questions after. The kid came out of the building, spotted him. He got rid of him, but did a run on him anyway. He works at a gourmet market a few blocks away—just outside our perimeter.”

“Talk about luck.”

“He’s down there now, speaking to the boy. It’s possible McQueen was in there, the boy said something about the police.”

“Jesus.”

“No one could’ve predicted or foreseen—”

“No, no one could. It just swung McQueen’s way, and that’s all.” But she stiffened when Nikos strode up to her. “If you’re going to crawl up my ass on this, just save it.”

“Not this time. It was running like clockwork. But I want to know why you didn’t deny it when he made contact. Why you confirmed.”