Connections in Death (In Death 48)

His lifted brows said it all.

“Use the department weapon if you’re called to use one. Simplify. Don’t take off your coat.”

“And yours?”

“I’m going to get it.”

“Then I’ll walk with you.”

“You’ll ride with McNab,” she told him as they started for her office. “Peabody and I will meet you.”

“I missed the first part of the briefing, but I assume you got what you wanted from Cohen.”

“I got a lie, and that’s going to sink him. He fingered Jones, and it’s not Jones.” In her office, she put on her coat. “Unless I’m way off, Jones doesn’t want a war or exposure, and the murders flirt with both.”

“I doubt you’re off at all. Pointing the finger at Jones eliminates his business partner. Cohen may have hopes he can recoup some of his funds and property.”

She headed for the elevators to save time. “He was hard to crack. It’s Mira territory, but I see it as he believes his own bullshit. Like he gave Vinn a good life, was just looking out for her, investing in their future. And all the way it was just business with Jones, just consulting. He didn’t kill anybody, jeez. He just advised, just consulted. So you had to keep hacking away at that to expose the meat and draw some blood.”

She tried to ignore the squeeze as more cops and support staff piled on.

“I don’t know if that makes him a sociopath or just a really good bullshitter.”

“Can be both.” One of the females wedged in turned her head toward Eve. “I was married to one of those for three years, eight months, and fourteen days. It can be both.”

“Yeah, it can be both. Your level,” she told Roarke. “I’ll see you there.”

“Knock back a protein drink from your car AC.” With the cramped car, she couldn’t avoid the kiss on the forehead. “It’ll give you a boost and clear up the headache.”

The woman sighed as Roarke got off. “In three years, eight months, and fourteen days, that asshole never worried about my protein. And he was my headache. You’re lucky.”

She supposed she was.

When she got to the garage—finally—Eve opened her trunk, studied her mobile weaponry. She chose a combat knife, snapped it on her belt.

And hearing Peabody’s cowgirl boots, got behind the wheel. Ready to roll.

17

Eve parked on the edge of Banger territory. Nightfall provided some cover as she and Peabody moved quickly across the blocks to the EDD van. She wanted a sense of the streets before they moved in.

Shops locking up, she noted, pulling down their steel doors. Bars open, the neon beginning to pulse. Lights on in apartments—many with riot bars over the windows even on high floors.

Not a lot of street action yet—too early.

She gave a one-two-three rap on the cargo doors of the van. McNab opened it.

“We’re just setting up. Roarke’s getting you some ears. Marley’s working on the heat sensor.”

Marley, Eve noted, looked about twelve with girlie ringlets—raven black tipped with Peabody pink—tumbling down her back. Her skin looked as smooth and creamy as chocolate mousse. She wore bibbed baggies in screaming red with zigzag blue trim over a skin shirt covered with big-eyed kittens.

“Bebopping, McNabber.” She blew a purple bubble, snapped it back. “Got them some filters. Must be flush. Gonna zap them.”

“She says they paid for some pretty good shields to—”

“I got it.” Eve cut off McNab’s translation.

“Solid.” Marley tapped the heels of her hands together. “Take a mo. Ears up, Dreamcake?”