can hold them.”
“All right. Everybody suit up, nobody goes anywhere without vests. Roarke, give Peabody the map so she can get it on-screen, and I can figure out how to use this bunch of—Sir.” She broke off, changed gears when Whitney walked in.
Not in a commander’s suit and tie, but in operation black and carrying a protective vest.
“You remain in charge, Lieutenant. Consider me one of the team.”
She had to rearrange her thoughts, and her strategy. She now had a small army of cops to—if they actually found the bastard—take down one man.
But she understood the sentiment, and the need. You came for one, you came for all.
“Feeney, van one, with the commander, the inspector, his aide, Roarke and McNab, myself, Baxter, Trueheart. Callendar, van two with the rest. Santiago, you’ve got a half-ass talent for e-work, so you can assist Callendar should she require assistance. Officer Carmichael, van two for the rest of your uniforms.”
She turned to the screen. “I ran priority on these locations, and we’ll work them by top order. Location one,” she began, and ran them through the op.
19
On the way through the garage to the vans, Abernathy touched Eve’s arm.
“Lieutenant, if I may say, that was an inspiring display of loyalty and dedication. Those who serve under you are—”
“Cops,” she said. “Damn good cops.”
“They are indeed.”
She climbed in the van, made room for the rest.
Feeney got behind the wheel, waited for Whitney to strap into the passenger seat. “You know if anything happens to you, your wife is going to kill me until I’m dead, then kill me again.”
Whitney nodded, face somber. “Only after she kicks my lifeless body into a boneless husk.”
“I’ll have to take satisfaction in that.” He offered Whitney his bag of candied almonds, started the engine.
Whitney crunched down, grinned. “Feels like old times, Ryan.”
“And we still have asses to kick.” Feeney drove out of the garage. “Van two, fall in line.”
“Falling in,” Jenkinson told him. “Who’s in for breakfast beers after we sniff this guy out and lock him up?”
He didn’t get a dissent as they made their way on darkened streets, passed a few bright bars and sex clubs, then moved into an artier atmosphere with coffee bars and wine bars, trendy lofts and flats.
The converted warehouse sat quietly with a few lights glowing low against the privacy screens.
Eve ordered van two to wait half a block back.
“Scan it,” she told McNab.
“Starting scan for heat signals, ground level. No filters or blocks in place, so we’re … Whoa!”
“Whoa what?”
“We got a lot of movement, a lot of bodies—bodies in motion. Trying to separate for count, but that’s gotta be at least eighteen or nineteen ground level. Ah, sitting, standing, lying down. They’re … oh, okay.”
Beside him, Roarke pinched the bridge of his nose and laughed. “I suspect you’ll find more of the same on the other levels.”
“The same of what?” Eve edged closer to the screen. Definitely got the picture. “Well, hell, it’s a goddamn orgy.”
“Sexcapades,” McNab said with a grin.
“A bunch of people rented this place for a month to have sex?”
Roarke glanced at Eve. “I’d say some enterprising soul or group rented the place for a month to hold sex parties—for a fee. Explorations in Sexuality, or something akin to that.
“Likely,” he added, “they have workshops and seminars. Perhaps door prizes.”
Trueheart looked away from the screen, flushing, while Baxter leaned in.
“There’s a threesome going on in the southwest corner, and that’s a serious puppy pile right in the center of the area. I wonder what they charge.”
“Sit back, horndog,” Eve ordered. “Scan the rest. We need to clear it. And knock off the snickering comments, van two.”
Since the scan indicated more than fifty people on various levels, in various groups, piles, and positions, Eve crossed it firmly off the list.
She grabbed her ’link when it signaled. “Nadine.” After reading the text, she keyed in a response, then copied the data to Abernathy.
“I’ve just sent you Cobbe’s probable hole in Dublin.”
“What?”
“I got a tip shortly ago his mother’s house goes on the market tomorrow—today,” she corrected. “Figures he wants to move her somewhere … quieter after he’s done with his mission. Which means, logically—”
“He’d put his own place up for sale.”
She saw the light in Abernathy’s eyes, recognized it as the gleam when a cop knew a sharp, distant corner had finally been turned.
“You’ve done a property search?”
“He used the Padriac O’Karre Foundation as the shell—that’s Roarke when you unscramble it—and apparently he’s been meticulous with the paperwork on