She tagged Peabody first, gave her partner the update and instructions while she checked for any incoming reports from Harvo, Morris, the sweepers.
Nothing yet, but she had to consider it was still shy of six hundred.
From Peabody to Jenkinson, from Jenkinson to Feeney, from Feeney to Reo. Rather than wake up Mira and Whitney, she sent memos.
Forty minutes after her comm sounded, she had her teams set, her plan in place, and was ready to roll.
When she walked over to Roarke’s office door, he held up a finger for her to wait. She saw a group of people at a conference table on-screen, and … yeah, that was Big Ben outside the glass wall.
“Once we receive those changes, we’ll look over the paperwork. We should be able to have this done by the end of your business day. Thank you.”
Once he’d finished, he turned to Eve. “It only lacks a whip, and since I expect you want the hard-ass image today, well done.”
“He’s going to get more than the image. I’ve got a no-knock warrant coming through and a whole bunch of no-bullshit cops ready to go through the door.”
“Hard-ass playing hardball.” He rose, walked over to set his hands on her hips, kiss her. “Eat something. Coffee and adrenaline aren’t actual fuel, and you’ll need it,” he added when she rolled her eyes.
“I’ll pull up something in the car.”
“Good enough. You should wear your long black coat—finish off the look. He’s a bad one, Lieutenant.” He kissed her again. “So you take care of my cop.”
“I’m a lot badder than he is.”
Trusting she was, he watched her go, then sat down to take the next conference.
At oh-six-thirty, Eve stood outside the uptown townhouse. She’d have pegged Whitt the type for a fancy penthouse in a building chock-full of fancy amenities. But she realized this made sense.
No real neighbors, fewer people who might notice his comings and goings, no one in charge of security but himself.
As ordered, Peabody had pulled in four uniforms, Jenkinson had drafted Baxter and Trueheart, and Feeney added on McNab and Callendar.
Overkill, sure, but she wanted the show.
“One heat source,” Callendar announced. “Second floor. He’s still beddy-bye, Dallas.”
“Then this should fulfill my quota of waking people up this morning. Can you get through the locks and alarms, Feeney?”
“We’re getting it,” he muttered as he and McNab worked. “You wanted this quick, you should’ve brought Roarke.”
“I’ve got the battering ram for quick.”
“Couple minutes,” Feeney griped.
“We’re starting to draw some early-morning attention. Officers?”
The uniforms snapped to, moving people along as Feeney and McNab exchanged fist bumps. “You’re clear.”
“On my lead then. We announce as we enter. Keep announcing as we move through as outlined.”
She drew her weapon—considered that mostly show as well—nodded to Peabody. Went through the door.
“This is the police! NYPSD. We have a warrant to enter. This is the police,” she repeated and aimed for the stairs. “We have a warrant. We are armed. Stephen Whitt, you’re ordered to come out, to show yourself. Show your hands.”
He came out of a bedroom, and since he was naked, showed more than his hands.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Stephen Witt, we have a warrant to enter and search these premises. We have an additional warrant for your arrest on suspicion of conspiracy to murder, two counts, possession and distribution of chemical weapons, suspicion of murder, one count.”