Loyalty In Death Part 47

"She matters to me, too." The words were out before he could yank out his tongue and bite it off. "Not that she gives a d.a.m.n about that. She brushed me off this morning, so you've got nothing to worry about." He kicked her chair, sent it skidding across the room. "G.o.dd.a.m.n it."

"Oh h.e.l.l, McNab." The anger she'd worked up so nicely dipped toward nerves.

"What are you doing here? You're not getting sticky on her?" His only answer was one long, miserable stare. "I knew it. I knew it. I just knew it."

"It's probably just a blip," he muttered. "I'll get over it."

"Do that. Just do that, will you? This isn't the time -- it's never the time, but this is really not the time. So forget it, okay?" Eve didn't wait for his reply -- she wanted him to understand. "Her brother's on the hot seat, we've got bombs all over the d.a.m.n city. I've got one body in the morgue and another in the river. I can't afford to have two members of my team tripping over heartstrings."

He surprised himself by laughing, and meaning it. "Christ, that's cold."

"Yeah, I know." She remembered the way Roarke had looked at her that morning. "I suck at this, McNab. But I need you on your toes." "I'm on them."

"Stay on them," she told him and walked out.

Since she calculated she couldn't do worse on her record of offending, insulting, and injuring people who mattered to her that morning, Eve put a call through to Roarke as she headed to the garage.

Summerset answered, and her instinctive reaction of clenching her teeth felt a lot better than guilt. "Roarke," was all she said. "He's engaged on another call at the moment."

"This is police business, you cross-eyed putz. Put me through."

His nostrils flared in annoyance, and her mood lightened just a little more. "I will see if he's available to take your call."

The screen went blank. Though she didn't doubt he'd have the nerve to cut her off, she counted to ten. And ten again. She was heading toward thirty when Roarke came on.

"Lieutenant." His voice was clipped, the Irish in it frigid temper rather than music.

"The department needs one hundred million in fake bearer bonds -- good fakes, but not good enough to pa.s.s a bank check. Sheets of ten thousand."

"When's your deadline?"

"I could use them by fourteen hundred."

"You'll have them." He waited a beat. "Anything else?"

Yes, I'm sorry. I'm an idiot. What do you want from me? "That's it. The department -- " "Appreciates it. Yes, I know. I'm on an interplanetary conference call, so if that's all..." "Yeah, that's all. If you'd let me know when they're ready, I'll arrange transport." "You'll hear from me."

He cut her off without another word and made her wince. "Okay," she mumbled. "That hurt. Bull's-eye." She jammed the link back in her bag.

She remembered her advice to McNab. Just forget it. She did her best to follow it, but some of her feelings must have shown on her face. Peabody kept her mouth shut as Eve stepped up to the car. And they drove to the morgue in silence.

The dead house was packed like a lobby bar at a Shriners' convention.

The corridors were full of techs, a.s.sistant MEs, and the medical staff drafted from local health centers to wade in during the current crisis. The stench of humanity, alive and deceased, smeared the air.

Eve managed to snag one of the morgue staff she knew. "Chambers, where's Morris?" She'd hoped for a five-minute consult with the chief medical examiner.

"Up to his eyebrows. The hotel bombing brought in a lot of customers. A lot of them in pieces. It's like putting a jigsaw puzzle together." "Well, I need to see one of your guests who checked in early this morning. Lamont. Paul Lamont."

"Jeez, Dallas, we're working on priority here. We gotta get these stiffs ID'd."

"It's connected." "All right, all right." Obviously miffed, Chambers scurried to a computer, ran the log. "We got him on ice in area D, drawer twelve. We're racking, packing, and stacking them for now."

"I need a look at him, his personal effects and the incoming report."

"Let's make it quick." His shoes slapped down the hall. He swung into area D, slid his key card in the slot, and led them inside. "Drawer twelve," he reminded her. "Just use your master, and I'll pull up the rest."

Eve uncoded the drawer and out came a puff of icy smoke and Lamont. Or what was left of him. ' They did a job on him," she muttered, scanning his mangled, broken body.

"Sure did. Says here the vehicle, a black Airstream van, jumped the curve and ran right over him where he stood on the sidewalk. We haven't done anything on him yet, just stored him. He's not priority."

"No, he'll keep." Eve slid the drawer back in place. "What did he have on him?"

"Fifty couple in credits, wrist unit, IDs and key cards, pack of breath mints, palm-link, date book. Oooh, and a sticker." He examined the long, slim blade.

"Over the legal limit, I'd say."

"Only by a mile or two. I need the 'link and date book."

"Fine by me. Sign for them and they're yours. Look, I have to get back. Hate to keep the customers waiting." She signed the checkout log. "Have these effects been dusted?"

"h.e.l.l if I know. Enjoy."

Eve turned to Peabody as the area doors swung shut. "We'll dust and clean first. Let's go on record." Peabody s.h.i.+fted her field kit on her shoulder.

"Here? Don't you want to do this somewhere else?" "Why?"

"Well, the place is full of dead people." "And you want to be a murder cop?"

"I'd rather deal with one at a time." But she opened her kit and went to work.

"Good clean prints on here." "We'll run them after we check out his 'link and log. Probably Lamont's prints."

Eve took the 'link, turned it over in her hand. It was a top-of-the-line model, sleek and complex. She remembered his expensive shoes. "Wonder what Roarke pays these guys? She turned the control to replay all incoming and outgoing transmissions for the last twenty-four hours. "Note any numbers we hit. We'll need to run them, too."

She watched the numbers zip by on the display, then pursed her lips. Video was blocked. But the voices came through loud and clear. Yes.

They're looking at me. Lamont, Eve decided, with the faintly French accent and the squeak of nerves in his voice. The cops were here. They're looking at me. They know something. Calm down. You're s.h.i.+elded. This isn't something to discuss over 'links. Where are you?

It's all right. I'm secured. I slipped out to the grill down from work. They called me up, Roarke was there, too. And what did you tell them?

Nothing. They got nothing out of me. But I'm telling you, I'm not taking the fall for this. I want out. I need more money. Your father would be disappointed.

I'm not my father, and I know when it's time to cut loose. I got you everything you needed. I'm finished here. I want my share now, tonight, and I'm gone. I did my part. You don't need me anymore.

No, you're right. It would be best if you finished out the day as normal. You'll be contacted later as to where to pick up your share. We still have to be careful. Your work is done, but ours isn't.

Just get me what I've got coming, and I'm gone by morning. It'll be arranged.

"Idiot," Eve muttered. "Signed his own execution papers." She shook her head. "Greed or stupidity."

There was another call, Lamont booking a private compartment on the off- planet transport to Vegas II. He used a false name and identification number.

"Have a unit go by his place, Peabody. I bet our boy was all packed and ready to go." The next was an incoming, a recorded voice giving brief instructions.

The corner of Sixth and Forty-third, one hundred hours.

Lamont made two more outgoings, received no answer from either.

"Run the numbers, Peabody," Eve instructed as she picked up the day book.

"Already running the first. It's a private code."

"Use my authorization number and get it. Whoever he was talking to didn't realize Lamont was on his own 'link. Had to figure he was on a public job, or he'd never have left this on the body. Even if he'd wanted it, the tails on Lamont were right on scene."

"The code's s.h.i.+elded," Peabody told her. "They won't release it."

"Oh yeah, they will." Eve whipped out her communicator. Within thirty seconds she had Chief Tibble on the line, and barely two minutes later, the governor's personal authorization.

"Man, you are good." Peabody looked on with admiration. "You snarled at the governor."

"Gives me that s.h.i.+t about privacy acts. Politicians." She set her teeth, flexed and unflexed her fingers as she waited for the last line of bureaucracy to tumble. "Well, son of a b.i.t.c.h."

"What is it? Who is it?" Peabody craned her neck to see the data on Eve's display. "B. Donald Branson's private line."

"Branson." The blood drained out of Peabody's face. "But, Zeke. Last night..."