sugar.

It was hardly a wonder the lieutenant was so slim. She had to burn up the calories just looking at him. Considering that, Peabody snatched a couple extra slices of bacon and calculated she might actually lose weight during the briefing.

It was a pretty good deal.

“Updates are in your packs,” Eve began, and Peabody divided her attention between her plate and her partner.

Eve leaned on the corner of her desk, coffee in one hand, laser pointer in the other. “Feeney and our civilian made some progress last night, as did McNab. McNab, give the team your data.”

He had to swallow, fast and hard, a mouthful of Danish. “Sir. My area deals with the ’links and d and c’s from both vics.”

He ran through it, pinpointing transmission locations, with considerable comp-jock code. The jargon, and the questions and comments Feeney tossed him in the same idiom gave Eve time to finish her coffee and contemplate another cup.

“You’ll scout those locations this morning,” Eve put in when there was a short lull. “With these images. Screen One. This is Steven Whittier. Current data leads us to believe he is the son of Alex Crew. On Screen Two you see Trevor Whittier, son of Steven Whittier and likely the grandson of Crew. Given accumulated data and the profile, he fits. Steven Whittier is the founder and current owner of Whittier Construction.”

“That’s a nice little pop,” Baxter commented.

“Bigger and louder one as we’ve determined Whittier Construction is the contractor on a major rehab job, building on Avenue B. The company is licensed for four gasoline storage facilities. None of the other potential matches have as many links as this. Steven Whittier’s official data states his father is deceased. His mother . . . ”

She split the screen and brought up the image of a woman known as Janine Strokes Whittier. “Currently residing at Leisure Gardens, a retirement and care facility on Long Island, where Whittier senior has a second home. She’s in the right age group, has the right racial profile and matches the computer morphs.”

“Will we bring the Whittiers in to interview, Lieutenant?” Peabody asked.

“Not at this time. We’ve got circumstantial and supposition. It’s good circumstantial and supposition, but it’s not enough to push the PA for a warrant. It’s not enough to arrest, much less convict. So we get more.”

“Trueheart and I can take the images, toss in a couple more and show them to the waitress. She picks out one of these guys,” Baxter said, “we’ve got more.”

“Do it. McNab, find me somebody at the transmission sources who remembers seeing one or both of these men. Feeney, I need you to dig back. If Janine and Steven Whittier went by other names previous to this, I want them.”

“You’ll get them,” he told her, and scooped up a mouthful of eggs.

“Peabody and I will head to this job site first, match the trace and do a sweep. If Cobb was killed there, there’ll be blood. I want witnesses, I want physical evidence. We lock it down, then we pull them in. Roarke, I’m counting on your security to keep Samantha Gannon and her family safe under wraps until we nail this.”

“It’s done.”

“Sir.” Like any well-disciplined student, Trueheart raised his hand. “Detective Baxter and I could go by the hotel and show Ms. Gannon the images. She might recognize one or both of these men. If so, it could give us another link.”

“That’s good thinking, Trueheart. Do the legwork. Let’s build this case tight.” She glanced toward the board, and the victims. “Nobody else is going to die over a bunch of fucking rocks.”

When the team began to disperse, Roarke ran a fingertip along Eve’s shoulder. “A moment, Lieutenant?”

“Half a moment.” With her mind on dovetailing points of the investigation, she trailed after him into his office.

He closed the door, then, cupping his hands under her elbows, lifted her to the toes of her boots and took her mouth in a short and heated kiss.

“Jeez!” She dropped back to the flat of her feet with a thud. “What is wrong with you?”

“Had to get that out of my system. Something about watching you take command just gets me started.”

“Watching grass grow gets you started.” She turned toward the door, but he slapped a hand on it. “Do the words ‘obstruction of justice’ ring a bell?”

“Several. And though a quick bout of obstruction might be entertaining, that’s not what I had in mind. I have some things to deal with this morning, but some