Leverage in Death (In Death 47)

I needed time to think. And I needed time to put some cash together. I can give you a hundred—and that’s simply to avoid the bother of police prying into my business. I don’t appreciate this, Jordan.

We’ll consider that a downpayment. You’ve got a week to come up with the rest. Bring it to the party.

I certainly will not. I still have to get it, and I won’t be seen with you. Our friendship’s over, Jordan. I’ll meet you at three A.M., Central Park. By the JKO.

Dramatic! I love it. See you then—have the money. Oh, and Lucius? We were never friends.

“Idiots,” Eve said and shook her head. “Both of them. Banks threatens Iler with exposure, then meets him, middle of the night, middle of the damn park. And Iler doesn’t throw his ’link in the damn river after beating it with a hammer.”

“Custom ’link, platinum casing. Cost him about ten thousand.”

“Which makes him an idiot on that, too. This is going to wrap him, at least on Banks.” As she spoke, she copied the transmission, sent it to Reo.

“You’re not overly worried about wrapping Iler. You know you’ll break him. And you know you’ll get him to flip on Silverman eventually. It’s the eventually that worries you. It’s the thought you might have to put others on your board before the eventually that worries you.”

“I’m hamstrung until the damn Earth rotates. But we’ve got the vehicle ID’d, we’ve got a location on the garage, and we might find something there that points to the other targets. Maybe there aren’t other targets.”

“You’re saying that to not add pressure on me.” He bent over, kissed the top of her head. “I’ll get back to it.”

“Listen, I suck at the e-stuff, but I can follow directions. I’ve run out of what I can do here.” Frustration rippled as she look around her command center. “If they find anything at the garage, I’ll hear about it. If they find the vehicle, I’ll hear about it. I’ll work with you until I do. I can do drone work.”

“I’d say you’d be better off trying for at least a couple hours sleep, but you won’t. All right then, if I can be your Peabody, you can be my drone.”

It didn’t take long for her to figure out he tossed her busywork. Still, he kept her busy, and maybe it saved him some time and trouble.

She knew when he had the bit between his teeth because he muttered, swore, and his Irish thickened.

For herself she settled into the mind-numbing job of scanning codes, looking for—or waiting while the computer looked for—matches or patterns.

If one popped, she toggled it to Roarke so he could do whatever came next. She had no idea what the whatever might be, but a few times when she toggled something over, Roarke made the kind of noises she interpreted as progress.

She wondered if brains actually could spill out of the ears, and she sent Roarke another section.

“Ah well now, that could be useful,” he mumbled. “Pry this bleeding bitch open just a bit more. Aye, that’s clever, but not fecking clever enough, is it then?”

She rose, turned to the friggie because she realized she’d finally hit a point she’d never believed possible to hit. She couldn’t handle more coffee.

She got water for both of them.

“And there, you shagging, cross-eyed whoremonger, I’ve got it.”

Half asleep, too used to his mutters to think anything of them—though whoremonger was new—she held out the water.

He flicked her away. “Not now. There it is. Hiding out, tucked away in a bunch of bollocks. Not clients, no, they’re fucking not clients.”

She heard it now—not frustration or inching progress, but pleasure edging toward triumph. “Who?”

“Not done. Quiet. It wants to go sick if I get too close, and we won’t have that. Standard virus is all it is. Just kill it, and then . . . There you are.”

“Who?” she demanded again. He shot whatever he’d found to a wall screen.

“Paul Rogan,” he read. “Along with his wife, his daughter—and considerable salient information. Then the same for Wayne Denby.”

“Target list, two more. Jesus Christ. Tyber Chenowitz—wife, six-year-old son. That address—”

“Is all but around the corner.”

“Send the second—Miller Filbert, Lower East—to Baxter. Now, now, now. How fast can you get me eyes and ears on Chenowitz?”