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"This is the best way to keep a scan from showing up." McNab spared her a look that clearly told her she was in the way. "We can search, and nobody—especially our mystery caller—will know we're looking."
Intrigued now, Eve moved closer. "So he stays confident. That's good. What does this do?"
"Don't touch anything." McNab nearly smacked her hand before he remembered she outranked him. "Sir."
"I wasn't going to touch anything." Annoyed, Eve jammed her hands into her pockets. "Why'd you take my 'link apart?"
"Because," McNab began with sighing patience, "that's where the transmissions come thr
ough, isn't it?"
"Yeah, but—"
"Eve. Darling." Roarke paused in his work long enough to pat her cheek. "Go away."
"Fine. I'll just go do some real cop work." She maintained dignity until she slammed the office door.
"Whoa, she's going to make you pay for that one."
"You don't know the half of it," Roarke murmured. "Let's run this, Ian, first level. See what we find."
• • •
On her own, Eve struggled with the wording and tone of her official report. If she used the Marlena connection so that she could give Whitney the names of the men who'd killed her—justify the investigation of their families—she'd lock Roarke into it.
All the men had been murdered, all their cases remained open. So far even the International Center for Criminal Activity hadn't connected those murders. Could she use them now, and sell Whitney and the chief of police, the media, on one of those murders being the motive for her current investigation?
Maybe, if she was good enough, if she could lie with conviction and logic.
Step one: Build the facts and evidence that Summerset was being used. She needed Mira's findings to polish that up.
Step two: Build a logical theory that the setup was motivated by revenge—mistakenly targeted revenge. To do that she had to build a reasonable case that the six men who died had died by separate hands, for separate causes.
They had all been part of the crime community, had all associated with undesirables. Their deaths had been spread out over three years and had all been caused by different means.
Roarke was far from stupid, she mused. He'd taken his time, covered his tracks. All she had to do now was to see that they stayed covered.
If she had one break first, one solid, tangible piece of evidence to indicate a conspiracy. Anything she could put in Whitney's hand to help convince him to buy the rest.
She heard a shout from the next room and scowled, annoyed that she'd neglected to engage the sound control. But as she rose to do so, the excited voices on the other side of the door drew her through it.
"Okay, what's the big fucking deal? Did you find a new way to play Space Marauders?"
"I found an echo." McNab was nearly dancing as he continually slapped Roarke on the back. "I found a goddamn beautiful echo."
"Take it to the Alps, pal, and you can have lots of echoes."
"An electronic echo. The bastard's good, but I'm better. He bounced the transmission from the core system right here in the house, but he didn't send it from here. No indeed he didn't, because I have a fucking-A echo."
"Good job, Ian. Here's another. See it?" Roarke pointed to a small needle gauge jury-rigged to the 'link. Eve saw nothing, but McNab hooted.
"Yeah, baby, that's the way. I can work with this, you bet your ass I can."
"Wait a minute." Eve muscled between them before they could slap backs again. "Explain this in terms normal people can understand. No e-jabber."
"Okay, try this." McNab inched a hip onto her desk. He was wearing hearts in his ears today. A dozen tiny red hearts Eve tried not to focus on. "The last incoming from mystery boy you received. I tracked it all over the damn place, and into here. Every indication showed the transmission originated from this building."
"I got that."
