Olivia turned back, studied the image. "No. I don't recall seeing her before. There are a number of offices and companies in this building. I don't see how—"
"Look closer. Just the face. Forget the hair."
There was a flicker of impatience, but Olivia did as she was asked. "I know everyone on this level, and she's not... Wait. My God. That's Dunne, isn't it? I didn't recognize her at first glance."
"Yeah, most people wouldn't."
* * *
By noon she had a conference room booked and her team assembled.
"Here's how it went," she began. "Julianna forges a firm ID—child's play—and passes it off to the security guard. Same guard was on duty the day before—six to noon shift—and she signed in as Janet Drake, clerical temp for Mouton, Carlston, and Fitch at eight-forty-three on that date. Made a point in giving him a big, flirty smile and making some small talk so he'd remember her when she came in this morning. Walks in early," Eve continued, gesturing to the disc running on-screen. "Bops right on up to the main floor of the firm. We've got her until she walks into the offices. Eight minutes later, we have Mouton following the same route. For the next twenty minutes, we deduce."
She paused the run. "Statements from staff and associates confirm that Mouton habitually entered his office at oh-seven hundred. He was a creature of routine, and no doubt Julianna researched his habits. The most likely scenario is she introduced herself as a temp, claimed to be eager to start work, flattered him in the area most important to him—his firm, his work, his work ethic. She offers to bring him coffee, goes to the break room, orders a cup, poisons it. She'd have stayed to make sure he drank it, make sure he died. She likes to see the job through. At seven-eighteen, she exits the offices."
Eve ordered the run to continue, zipped it up. "She's got a glow about her now," she commented. "She really gets off on this. Exits by a second-floor fire door so she doesn't have to bother with the guard. She could catch the glide to street level and be home for brunch."
"She's changed her pattern," Feeney put in. "She's stayed in New York, she's greasing guys not previously known to her. But some habits die hard. She's still going for the same type of target, still modifying her appearance without any permanent changes."
"She's dug in here." Eve reached for coffee as a matter of habit more than need. "Mira's opinion is I'm part of the appeal—the only woman she's ever really combated with. She needs to be better than I am, and the way to do that is to kill on my turf while I chase my tail."
"Good." McNab caught her attention. "Then it'll hurt more when you rear back and bite out her throat."
"Sucking up, Detective?"
"Yes, sir." He flashed a grin as bright as his trio of earrings. "But hey, what is, is. She's not better than you."
"Right now I've got two dead men who aren't likely to agree with you. We need to keep on those units impounded from Dockport. She's got a place here."
Somewhere, Eve thought. Classy uptown digs, trendy downtown.
"Swank apartment or house, in the city. She either bought it while she was in the cage, or arranged for it to be maintained during that period." She gulped more coffee, waited for the kick. "There have to be transmissions. She's smart enough to have used her smuggled PPC for that, but she might have gotten sloppy. She researched targets. There has to be data."
"We're cleaning out the excess," Feeney assured her. "If it's there, we'll find it."
"Find it fast. There are disc copies of Mira's report for all of you. You'll read her opinion, and I concur with it, that Julianna's story regarding her stepfather sexually abusing her is inaccurate. I need to interview him, push out the truth. The more we know about her, the quicker we hunt her down. In addition, it's possible he's a future target. I'll be going to Texas as soon as it can be arranged."
"Am I with you, sir?" Peabody asked.
"No, I need you here." Can't take you to Dallas. Can't risk it. Can't stand it. "Keep running the poison. She's getting it from somewhere." She was careful to keep her voice professional as she continued. "You'll also read in Mira's report that regardless of the low probability percentage on the computer scans, she believes Roarke is also a potential target."
"Fucking A."
Though it arrowed straight to her heart, she ignored McNab's outburst. "While he doesn't fit her standard profile, and the accumulated data, which gives this target a negligible computer probability, he suits her needs to war with me. Being aware of the identity of a potential target will help us close in. I have Roarke's schedule for the next five days, and there are copies of that as well in your packets. He's refused direct police protection, but has agreed to basic precautions."
Her mind flashed back to Mouton's body, sprawled on his office floor. Before Roarke's face could superimpose over the image, she shut it down. "His security is superior, but as primary ..."
She let out an oath, short, vicious, pushed her fisted hands in her pockets. "Feeney, I'd like you to go over security at his offices, at home, in his vehicles."
"He tagged me an hour ago. I'm meeting him this afternoon."
"Thanks. Okay. That's all we've got, so let's make it work. I'll be in my office."
"She's shook," McNab whispered to Peabody when Eve headed out. "And she doesn't shake easy."
"I'm going to go talk to her." She bolted out of the room, scanned the corridor, and just caught sight of Eve moving down on a glide. She had to run, then elbow a few people aside, but she caught up just as Eve stepped off.
"Dallas. Hold on just a minute."