How the hell was she going to get back? How could she get back, if she didn't get started? She turned, ready to tell him to stop. And he stood, watching her, his eyes calm and blue, with the door open at his back.
"In or out, Lieutenant?"
"Fuck it." She strode past him and went inside.
He locked up behind them, turned on the narrow beam of a penlight. "Where's the office?"
"Through the back. This door works on a release from inside."
"Hold this." He passed her the light, gestured for her to aim it at the lock. Crouching, he gave it a quick scan. "I haven't seen one of these in years. Your friend Louise was very optimistic with her half million bid."
He took out what appeared to be a pen, unscrewed it, then flicked a finger over the tip of the long, thin wire he exposed.
She'd known him nearly a year, had been as intimate with him as one person could be with another, and he still managed to surprise her. "You carry burglary tools around with you all the time?"
"Well." Eyes narrowed, he slid the wire into the slot. "You just never know, do you? There she is, hang on." He finessed, turning his head to hear the seductive click of tumblers. There was a quiet buzz as locks disengaged. "After you, Lieutenant."
"You're slick." She breezed through, leading with the light. "There's no window," she continued. "We can use the room lights. It's a manual." She switched it on, blinked to adjust.
A quick scan showed her the sweepers had done their work, left behind their usual mess. The crime scene team's touch was evident in the sticky layer coating every surface.
&
nbsp; "They've already lifted prints, swept for fibers, hair, blood, and fluids. Won't help much. God knows how many of the staff are in and out of this room in any given day. They've got their evidence bagged and tagged, but I don't want to touch or disturb anything that doesn't need to be."
"What you want's on the computer."
"Yeah, or on a disc, if Louise had already found it. You start on the machine. I'll do the discs."
When Roarke sat, making quick work of the pass-lock feature, Eve went through the discs filed on the shelf, flipping through them by the corners. Each was labeled with a patient's name. Spindler's was missing.
Frowning, she moved to the next file, scanning through. These appeared to be records of diseases, conditions, injuries. Straight medical shit, she thought, then stopped, eyes narrowing as she read.
The label said simply The Dallas Syndrome.
"I knew she was a smart-ass." Eve plucked out the disc. "Damn smart. Got it."
"I haven't finished playing."
"Just run this," she began, then stopped to yank Roarke's porta-link out of her pocket. "Block video. Dallas."
"Lieutenant, Peabody. Louise is awake; she asked for you. We're going to get you in, but it's got to be fast."
"I'm there."
"Come up the east-side stairs. I'll get you through. Step on it."
"Close it up." Eve jammed the 'link back in her pocket. "We've got to move."
"Already done. This time, I drive."
It was just as well, Eve thought as she bared her teeth and hung on. She had a rep for being nerveless and occasionally reckless behind the wheel, but compared with Roarke, she was a suburban matron manning a car pool.
She did no more than hiss when he screamed into a parking slot in the center's garage. Saving her breath, she shoved out and pounded up the east-side stairs.
Faithful as a spaniel, Peabody yanked the door open. "Waverly's going to be back with her in a few minutes. Just give me time to bump the uniform off the door and take over for him. Feeney's already inside, but she won't talk to anyone but you."
"What's her prognosis?"