Connections in Death (In Death 48)

She wanted to break a good sweat before she pulled Cohen into the box, so took the elevator straight down to the gym.

She programmed tropical for her run, but chose a hilly terrain rather than the flat beach. Her quads woke up and whined in the first half mile, so she kept the pace steady until they stopped complaining.

The sweat broke in mile two as she pushed herself up a hill into some sort of rain forest. In the thick, damp air, vegetation dripped green and madly colorful flowers rioted alongside her track.

Since, to her mind, it felt just a little creepy, she picked up her pace. Topping mile three she came to the base of a waterfall spewing down from a cliff and beating itself into a rushing blue river. A white bird with a wingspan as wide as a maxibus swooped down, skimmed the water. And came up with a flapping fish in its long, sharp bill.

As she judged the look in its eye definitely homicidal, she ran on. And with as much relief as satisfaction, saw that curving white beach and the rolling breakers below.

She aimed for it, leaving the drumming water behind, kept a steady pace while birds as bright as the flowers zipped overhead. Then ran flat out for the last half mile to reach the beach dripping like the vegetation in the hills.

She slowed, jogging lightly until her heart rate leveled again, cut back to a walk while she guzzled water.

Satisfied, she pumped weights for fifteen, stretched it out, then walked through Roarke’s version of an indoor rain forest to the pool. Stripping down, she dived in.

After a few lazy laps, she rolled over to float and think about Cohen and connections. He hadn’t resisted arrest, though he’d refused to unlock the hotel room door. Once the officers gained admittance he’d squawked—according to Officer Trace—about his civil rights, suits against the NYPSD and the individual officers, even the hotel.

He’d bitched—her word—all the way down to Central, through the booking process, and into his holding cell.

And somewhere in there he’d offered the booking officer his wrist unit and two hundred in cash to let him go.

So an additional charge of attempted bribery was added just to sweeten the pot.

He’d been allowed his single contact. And the report stated whoever he’d contacted hadn’t come through. So there’d been a little blubbering as well as the squawking and bitching.

She’d lay money he’d contacted Vinn, begged for her help. A guy didn’t blubber after tagging his lawyer.

Which made him—Officer Trace’s words—a weak sister.

She ate weak sisters for breakfast.

Looking forward to it, she got out, dried off. And, wrapped in a robe, rode back to the bedroom, where Roarke programmed coffee.

“You’re up early,” he commented.

“Not as early as you, but then I only wanted a workout, not global domination.” She took the coffee he held out to her. “I did about five miles in some jungle mountain beach place with killer birds and plants that looked like they ate small mammals. That’s probably why I did the five in about forty-five.”

“With that under your belt, you should be ready for breakfast.”

“Quick shower first.”

When she came out, she saw waffles, fruit, and the bacon that wasn?

??t bacon but some sort of ham. And good.

“I imagine you’re primed for Cohen,” he said as she went about the business of drowning and smothering the waffles.

“I need a quick roundup with Whitney. The tax shit’s federal, but I want the shot at him before they slap him down. And they’re going to confiscate all his e-toys, so I want a look at them first.”

“Holo with Whitney,” Roarke suggested, “then you can get that first shot on the way to Central and Cohen.”

“Huh.”

“Better time management.”

She told herself she hadn’t thought of it herself because she wasn’t used to the holo feature on her command center.

“It is.” She got up, grabbed her ’link off the dresser, got busy sending texts. “Peabody can meet me at the residence, bring McNab. He can clear it with Feeney. I can holo from here with Whitney as soon as he sets a time. I’m already poking through the electronics and everything else by the time Whitney contacts the feds, starts laying it out. Plus, get the jump on Cohen.”