not tonight. It’s past midnight.”
“Crap. Crap. Okay, Peabody, get her address. We’re going to take her first thing in the morning.”
“She’s on Beach—528 Beach, apartment 302.”
“Meet me there, eight hundred hours. Nobody filed a missing persons, nobody looked and saw her data wiped? Why?”
Absently, she drank beer. “They dyed her hair, took away her personality, but they didn’t get her. Not all the way.”
“We have to get her out, Dallas.” Peabody leaned into McNab and looked a little teary again.
Tired, Eve decided. They were all tired, and burnout could follow if she didn’t call it.
“That’s the plan. It’s not going to be tonight, probably not tomorrow, but we’ll get her out. I need those financials, Roarke.”
“You’ll have them. I’ve accumulated quite a bit already.”
“All right. Peabody and I will talk to Po first thing in the morning. I need to meet with Whitney, and coordinate with the feds. I have to give them what we’ve got. We hit Po, and we hit Foxx’s last place of employment. See what we see.
“We’ll brief by noon tomorrow, that’ll include the financials. Whatever you have, send them in.”
“So, I’m not invited?”
She’d expected that. “You want to brief and be briefed, be there. Noon, unless I need to reschedule. This was good work, everyone. Damn fucking good cop work. Now get out. Go home.”
“I’ll get you transpo,” Roarke told them.
“Got my own ride.” Feeney handed Eve his empty bottle. “You take care of the kids.” Then he lifted his chin at Ella’s photo. “Reminds me of you.”
Eve’s jaw dropped. “What? I never looked like that in my life.”
“It’s in the eyes, kid. In the eyes that say I’ll kick your ass if I need to.”
He gave her a little shoulder punch and headed out. “See you at noon.”
She frowned at the screen while Roarke arranged for a car and driver.
And when the rest of the cops herded themselves out, she turned to Roarke.
“I don’t see it.”
“I do.” He kissed her temple. “And it will give me great pleasure to help get her away from there. Now come to bed, Lieutenant, you’re as tired as the rest of your cops.”
She let him lead her out, but couldn’t let go. “Just give me some highlights on the financials so far.”
“He spends lavishly on himself. I think many of his faithful will be disillusioned when that comes out. Fine wines, art, furnishings, the jets, the homes, and so on. And, of course, he’s tucked more than a bit away in offshore accounts, under assumed names. And, as I told you before, the order itself is heavily invested in property. They do make profits—the medical centers, the membership fees, merchandizing.”
“Merchandizing?”
“His oratories, his books, meditative music, that sort of thing.”
“What’s he really worth?”
“I’ll have that for you tomorrow, but I can safely say not as much as he’d have people believe.”
He turned her deliberately toward the bed where the cat opened one wary eye, then nudged her down to sit.
When he bent to take off her boots, the gesture, combined with fatigue and that late-night beer, made her smile.
“It’s been a hell of a day.”
“That it has.”
“You were right about calling it. My brain’s going to mush.”
“Turn it off for a bit then.” He tugged her to her feet.
Easier said, she thought, but unhooked her weapon harness.
By the time she’d undressed, he’d turned down the bed. When she slid into it, she felt her body go: Ah.
“You’ll be up before dawn anyway.” Another ah as she curled into him. “Organizing world domination and cop consultant duties. Wake me up.”
“All right. Sleep now.”
And she did, curled between him and the cat at the small of her back, until her communicator signaled. Blown fully awake, she snatched it from the bedside table.
“Block video. Dallas.”
Rather than the flat-voiced Dispatch she’d expected, the voice was hesitant.
“Lieutenant Dallas, this is nine-one-one operator Harris. I realize this is irregular, but there’s a woman on the line who insists on speaking only to you.”
“Who is it?”
“She won’t give her name, sir, and her number’s blocked. She sounds desperate. I can attempt to trace her location if you can keep her on the line.”
“Put her on.”
Roarke called for lights at ten percent before he got out of bed.
“Ma’am, I have Lieutenant Dallas for you. Lieutenant?”
“This is Dallas. Who’s this?”
“Oh God, thank God.” This voice wasn’t hesitant. Desperate, yes, but Eve recognized terror with it. “Will you help me? Something terrible’s happened. I know something terrible happened.”
“What happened?”
“I need to get away. I have a little boy, and