Page 88 of Fury In Death

She called for secure transportation into Evidence, then tagged Feeney.

“Yo, where you at, kid?”

“He got another one.”

“Well, shit.” Feeney, in a brown sweatshirt with a frayed neck, shot up to pace. “Shit.”

“Feeney, he killed a man who makes his primary living blowing things up.”

Feeney sat again. “We missed something. We fucking missed it.”

“They had the money, the equipment, the tech, and the expertise to make it look, even to a careful eye, like an accident. Eight million. That’s what he got for it. Carlos Cruz. I’m sending his e’s into EDD. Roarke found records on his jobs on his office comp. Three years only. He owns other properties. He’ll have previous records stored. Clients and jobs are in code.”

“We can break his fucking code.”

“I know it. I’m going to hit Reo for warrants to search his other properties, send in a team.”

“Let me handle that.” Feeney rubbed at the back of his neck, a weary gesture, but his face was hard and lit with purpose. “Let me have this one, Dallas. I can still see what we walked through that morning. I can still smell it.”

“It’s yours. Keep me up on it.”

“Count on that.”

She clicked off, shoved her ’link in her pocket.

“I’m done here.”

“Do you need to go into Central?”

“I can write this up at home. I have to let Whitney and Tibble know, Peabody, Mira. I want another consult with Mira.”

They started downstairs. “Just let me tell the sweepers about the weapons, the rest, so they know we’ve got secure transpo coming.”

When she finally walked outside, she drew in the cool air.

“Record off. I’m going to tie those motherfuckers to Cruz, to that goddamn bombing. I’m going to tie Banner and Wyst and every-fucking-body who had part, who knew, who looked away. Tie them up like the garbage they are.”

He resisted gathering her in. She wouldn’t like it, not on a crime scene. Instead, he laid his hands on her vibrating shoulders.

“They’re not going to walk away from this, Roarke. I don’t care who they have in their pocket, how many palms they grease, how they play it in the media, they’re not walking away from this.

“Goddamn it, Feeney’s going to carry this now, too. And he did his best. You can’t do more than your best.”

“No, you can’t. And you’re doing yours. We’ll go home now.”

“Yeah, let’s go home now.”

Chapter Thirteen

Because she knew she needed to settle, she leaned back as Roarke drove, closed her eyes. She tried the breathing technique she’d learned from the master in the dojo Roarke had built.

Her fury at a dead man who’d taken countless lives indiscriminately and for money wouldn’t help her find and stop the one who’d taken his life.

It wouldn’t help her take down Jacob Wyst and Calvin Banner and, she had no doubt, Jack O’Brian.

Maybe the breathing helped a little, at least enough to clear her head of most of the fury.

She straightened, sent a memo to Mira.