“Less fun if it’s easy.”
“Straight up.” She offered her fist to bump. “Wonder if Dallas is having fun yet.”
Eve gulped coffee as she waited for the results from her button pushing. Losing time, she thought as she stared out her window, watched evening rolling toward night. All because some pricey lawyer with a sociopath for a client would play every trick in the hat, use every evasion on the field to get some sort of win.
Baxter came in, pointed at her AC, got her nod. “Good news first. My friend at the IRS is very, very interested in Iler, and is pushing the paperwork through the system, the legal areas to do just what you want. Freeze it all.”
“What’s the bad?”
“Singa just pulled the plug for the night. His client’s exhausted, requires his full eight hours of rest before resuming interview.”
“Goddamn it. I knew that was coming, but goddamn it.”
“The maybe good news in the bad? Singa didn’t look happy. In fact, he looked pretty seriously pissed off.”
“Not good enough.” Frustrated, she gave her desk a quick kick. “Right now, he’s pulling in his own investigators, and they’ll be all over trying to get data on Silverman. He’ll use, or try to use, everything he gets to deal down Iler. Silverman could be on his way to Argen-fucking-tina.”
“But you don’t think so.”
?
?No, I don’t think so. I think it’s a hell of a lot worse.”
She stared at her desk ’link, willing it to signal.
“Maybe, maybe I can break through. But if he’s got Iler locked for the night, I can’t break until morning. Eight hours. Fine. Not a second more. Go get Trueheart, go get something to eat or whatever. Go home. Keep in touch with the IRS skirt, let me know if that moves any. Be back here at four hundred. We’ll put him back in the box at oh-four-thirty.”
Baxter grinned. “That’s just nasty. I like it. Are you heading out, too?”
“Waiting for a tag back. If this works, we’ll break Iler by five hundred.” She looked back out at the dark. “I hope to Christ it’s soon enough.”
* * *
At least she didn’t have to deal with Summerset by the time she finally made it home. As Roarke had texted he’d tackle Iler’s electronics in his lab, she tossed her coat over the newel post, headed straight up.
There he was, full work mode. He’d changed into a black sweater, had the sleeves shoved up above his elbows. A strip of thin leather secured his hair back in a short tail.
She assumed there was logic and order in the line up of Iler’s many e-toys, just as she assumed the same about the codes, images, symbols rolling over Roarke’s multiple wall screens.
The cat found it all fascinating, or so it seemed, as he squatted on a stool and watched. He gave Eve a glance with his bicolored eyes when she walked in, then went back to his evening’s entertainment.
“Anything?” she asked.
“A considerable lot, actually.” Roarke continued to work, swiping screens, tapping keys and controls. “You’ll have him on tax evasion. I pushed through some files, got enough to see that, then moved on as it’s not your priority right now.”
“It’s not, but still.”
“Insider trading as well—and you might find it interesting he paired up with Hugo Markin there.”
“I do, but.”
“Not priority, understood. Which is why those files are earmarked for another time.” He paused the work, rolled his shoulders. “If he’d applied himself, he might have had a very successful career in cyber security. He’s buried data deep, encoded it well. It’s a job of work getting down to it.”
“You’re better than he is.”
“I am.” Now he put his hands on her shoulders. “We are. I can see by the look in your eyes you didn’t get what you need from Iler. You will.”
“I will. I’m working an angle.” She picked up the water on his workstation, drank deep. “He’s lawyered up, which is no surprise. Sharp, high-priced lawyer, also no surprise. He’s not talking. I could get a few rises out of him, but the lawyer shut him down. But he’s scared of being locked away off-planet. Got annoyed at the idea of a white-collar cage, but scared, shaky at the threat of off-planet. Off-planet’s the key,” she said as she wandered the room.