“Roarke, with me. You can take the block off the fiftieth floor, Rhoda,” Eve told her when they reached the elevators. “Just this car for now.”

“Good luck,” Rhoda called out as the doors shut.

“This one shouldn’t give us too much trouble. But, you never know.”

“It’s Silverman you’re worried about, and I agree. By the way, you weren’t wrong about Markin.”

“Markin? He’s in this?”

“Not this, no. It’s embezzlement he’s in—from his wife’s personal account, and her business. I poked around a bit since we started our day so early.”

“Huh.”

“She hasn’t noticed yet, but she will. Or her accountants will. I wonder if her parents might be a bit more understanding about her divorcing him under the circumstances.”

“It might be kind of fun to take him down myself instead of passing it along. Like a—that thing—palate cleanser.”

They walked down to Iler’s apartment. Eve buzzed.

No comp inquiry this time, she noted. He’d shut it down.

“Check it, open it,” Eve said.

Roarke took out a device, ran it over the door, the locks. “It’s clean. No explosives.”

In less time than it took to talk about it, he melted through the locks. They stepped in as Iler swung a leg over the terrace wall.

As Eve charged forward he grinned, then began a rapid descent on his climbing cable. He kept that grin aimed up at her, riding down with a large backpack, a second hefty bag strapped cross-body.

Dropped down to the sidewalk. Surrounded by cops.

“Another good call, Lieutenant.”

“He had to be ready to go. Once he told his partner how I pushed about the weekend even a pair of morons could figure out we’d linked Banks’s murder to the two explosions. And Iler had the crappiest of crap alibies for the time in question.”

She rolled her shoulders. “One down, one to go.”

21

Roarke drove so she could keep current with the team.

“Getting you eyes and ears now. Place looks locked down tight—privacy screens engaged,” Feeney told her. “And, lookee here, he thinks he’s going to block us out with some filters. Give him hell, Callendar.”

“Giving him all kinds, Cap. Burning through.”

“Sniffers?” Eve demanded.

“Starting to sniff now. Okay, through the filters, going eyes first. Got a basement level, starting there and working up. Callendar, make me proud. I’m going to talk to the sniffers.”

“Basement’s clear, Dallas. Going up. Hey, did you know McNab can do cartwheels?”

“What?”

“He did a triple heading out the door—first level, nobody there—for Hollywood. I scored it an eight-point-five out of ten because, a little wobbly on the third. Second floor, clear. Bunch of us are having a viewing party at the Blue Line on Sunday so—Target is clear. No heat source. No humans. No bad guys. Sorry.

“Not only that,” Feeney said as he climbed back in the EDD van, “he’s got the place wired.”

“Are you clear?” Eve demanded.

Tags: J.D. Robb In Death Mystery
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