Leverage in Death (In Death 47)

“I’ll pay him a visit before I go home. Take Roarke with me,” Eve decided. “He’s good for intimidating phony rich bastards.”

She pulled into the garage, checked the time. “Okay, you can take your share home, wait it out for McNab, whichever works. I’m going to write this up, grab Roarke, and take a swing at Banks.”

“I’ll write it up,” Peabody offered. “You can probably grab Roarke quicker than I can McNab.”

“Fine. Anything fresh, tag me. I’m with Banks, then working from home.”

Eve sat where she was when Peabody left, sent Roarke a text.

In the garage if you’re done.

Under a minute later: I can be. Ten minutes.

She sat, started to review her notes, then sighed. She had ten minutes to wait. She might as well get it over with. She contacted Nadine, who’d tried to contact her a half dozen times during the day.

“At last!” Nadine’s camera-ready face filled Eve’s dash screen. “I need a one-on-one about this morning’s bombing.”

“Not going to happen. I’m in the middle of it.”

“I can be fast,” the dogged on-air reporter pres

sed.

“Not fast enough. I’m heading back into the field. I can confirm the NYPSD investigation considers Paul Rogan a victim.”

“Will you confirm or deny terrorism?”

“Paul Rogan was not a terrorist or affiliated with any terrorist organization. I can confirm that he and his family were tortured and held against their will by two unidentified subjects for many hours, and the NYPSD is actively investigating.”

“How was he targeted? What were their demands? How—”

“I’m not going to give you any more at this time, Nadine. It’s a touchy business. I’ve got something unrelated to ask you.”

Nadine’s cat-green eyes sharpened. “So, you get to ask me, but—”

“Yeah, I get to ask you if—and it’s if—I can spring Peabody and McNab for this Hollywood thing, can you fix it for them to go?”

“Absolutely. It’s already fixed. And you and Roarke—”

“Not going to do it, but if I can cut Peabody some time, and Feeney can cut McNab the same, I will and he will.”

“I’ve already got the transpo, and they’re welcome. I have a suite with room for them, so they’re welcome there. They have seats reserved in my section for the awards. They just need the duds.”

“Solid. When do I have to let you know?”

“I’m leaving Friday, I hope by early afternoon.”

“Then I’ll get back to you on it.”

“I wish you’d come. Win or lose, it’s a moment.”

“I’ll watch on-screen. So . . . The Red Horse book. It’s good.”

Eyes narrowed, suspiciously. “You finished it?”

“Nearly, and it’s good. It’s—hell, what do I know—it’s maybe even better than the Icove book.”

Now Nadine’s clever eyes closed a moment. “I wanted it to be. It matters what you think.”