Thankless in Death (In Death 37)

When Roarke came in, she stood studying results, rocking back and forth on her heels more from frustration than fatigue.

“Too many damn possibles. Hotels, apartments, condos, duplexes, single-family residences. Even when you calculate high-end and focus on sectors near his old neighborhood, there’s too many. And hell, he could decide to live uptown. Freaking New Jersey. Brooklyn, Queens. No, no.” Annoyed with herself, she rubbed at the tightness in the back of her neck. “It’s going to be Manhattan, and near what he knows. He won’t want to feel superior from a distance. But …”

“You’re working in circles, Lieutenant.”

“I know it. It’s pissing me off.”

“You need sleep. Clear your mind,” he continued, and cupped her face in his hand. “Come at it fresh in the mornin

g.”

“I hate this guy, and that’s stupid. I don’t even know why especially, as I’ve dealt with worse. But he’s stuck in my throat.”

“When you have him in Interview, you’ll be stuck in his.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Let’s go to bed.”

Might as well, she thought, as working in circles wasn’t going to find her mark.

“Did you get anything?” she asked as they walked to the bedroom.

“It’s slow, and bloody frustrating. I’ve got some bytes, and enough to see she’d interfaced her units. When we pull out more, we may be able to follow the money trail more precisely. Feeney’s banging his head against that wall. We’ve connected on it a few times tonight. He’ll bang it again tomorrow. And before you ask, yes, McNab’s been at work as I have, and they pulled in Callendar as well. We’ll get there, but it’s going to continue to be slow and frustrating for all of us.”

In the bedroom, she stripped down. “If we find the money trail, the accounts—and they’re out of our reach, legally—you could hack them with the unregistered.”

He glanced over as she dragged on a nightshirt. Her skin had that faint, translucent glow it developed when she’d exhausted herself. “I could, yes, and enjoy it as well.”

“I need to think about it. Well, we need to get there first, and I need to think about it. If I can’t find him my way, I may have to find him yours. Because he’s got his next target in mind, and he’s figuring it out now. He’s working it out, and feeling smug about it.”

He slipped into bed with her, pulled her against him. “One way or the other you’ll have him. He won’t be so bloody smug then, will he?”

“Not when I’m done with him.” She closed her eyes, tried to will herself to sleep.

In his new penthouse, in his swanky new bed, Reinhold swallowed another dose of pain meds, chased it with the last of the complementary bottles of champagne from building management.

His foot fucking hurt!

It hadn’t been bad when he’d left the clinic, in fact he’d felt damn good cruising on the drugs. Then he’d felt like a million—or four—when he’d walked into his new place, found the big-ass gift basket from management. Champagne, fancy cheeses, and candy and fruit and cookies, and all kinds of rich-man snack food.

He’d felt so damn good, he’d ordered the droid to unpack, then go out and buy some imported brew, and fix up that steak dinner.

He was going to like getting used to steak dinners.

He’d walked all over the apartment, all over the building checking out the shops, the fitness center, the restaurants and bars.

He’d thought about hanging out at the bar—for longer than the one drink he’d had—maybe hooking up with a woman. But he wanted to get the lay of the land first.

He’d walked around the neighborhood some, too, just getting that feel and feeling fine.

It wasn’t until the foot started throbbing some he remembered being told to stay off it, keep it elevated.

The idiot doctor should’ve made it more clear, he told himself, teeth gritted as he waited for the meds to kick in. He should’ve given him stronger drugs, more specific instructions, better care.

Maybe he’d give the asshole doctor a taste of his own. See how he liked a broken foot.

“You’re on my Shit List,” Reinhold mumbled.

He could go back for a “follow-up,” teach the asshole a lesson, grab some good drugs.

He liked the idea, rode on it through the pain until the miracle of chemistry clicked in, and eased that pain away.