She clicked off, turned to Roarke. “If Mackie’s monitoring the security cams in the apartment remotely, jamming them will tip him.”
As they walked, Roarke simply patted her shoulder and contacted Feeney. Though they launched into e-speak that made her head bang, Eve understood enough to interpret.
“You—or Feeney—can override the cam and replay a loop.”
“Exactly so. If Mackie’s monitoring closely, it won’t fool him for long, so we’ll want to time it well.”
“He could’ve rigged the door, right? He’s a cop, he’d think of details. Rig the door to let him know when anyone goes in, so—”
“Darling Eve, this is hardly my first B and E. In fact, how happy am I it’s not even my first of the day. Have a little faith.”
The snapping wind had keened to a sharp edge. She caught the scent of soy dogs and chestnuts from a cart—a puff of winter-fragrant smoke. Someone’s vehicle alarm went off in annoying, rapid beeps as a couple of teenage girls ran by giggling like lunatics.
Roarke spoke easily to Feeney.
“Override in ten,” Feeney announced.
“Copy that. Take the door,” Eve told Roarke. “Unlikely he’s got a way to monitor my master, but why take the chance?”
“And go,” Feeney said.
They went to the entrance and, with Roarke’s clever hands, were smoothly inside in under six seconds.
“No lobby cams, but the standard in the elevator.”
“We take the stairs.” Eve started up.
A decent enough place, she thought. Nothing close to the ex-wife’s duplex, but decent. She noticed sporadic soundproofing, catching snippets of sound from apartments as they moved up.
But on Mackie’s floor all held quiet.
“He bumped up his security.”
Roarke nodded as they stood out of range of the camera over his apartment door. “I’ve got this one.”
He took a device from his pocket, keyed in something, studied the readout, added more code. “Feed’s looped. Let’s see what other tricks he has for us.”
When they approached the door, Roarke used the same device to scan the locks, the security swipe. “Clever,” he murmured. “I’m reading a monitoring system, so you were right to be cautious here. No explosives, so that’s a bonus, isn’t it? Let me just . . . Aye, that’s it. Each in its time. Yes, clever enough. But . . . There you are. Hang on to this, will you?”
He handed Eve the device that hummed quietly in her hand while he took out his tools.
She watched him slip around a trio of police locks like they were thumb bolts.
Eve handed the device back to him, drew her weapon. “No explosives, good. But remember that old vid we watched a couple weeks ago? The guy booby-trapped his place. Had a big-ass shotgun rigged to go off if the door opened?”
“Classic vid,” he corrected, “but I do remember, yes. So why don’t we . . .”
They stepped to either side of the door. Eve turned the knob, dropped low, shoved the door open from the bottom.
No booby trap, no trip wires, no internal cameras.
And very little else.
She stepped into a living area that held one aging and sagging sofa.
“You reading this, Feeney?” She turned a circle to give him the three-sixty with her lapel recorder.
“Yeah, shit.”