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"Extortion," Eve murmured. "It's the money. It's the money, not those psycho jokers on the list. A public statement over national screen. A ten-year-old could figure we'd be able to rig that."
She rose to pace and think. "That's smoke. It's the money. And they'll blow the target whether they get it or not. Because they want to."
"Either way," Feeney pointed out, "it puts you in the crosshairs and some unknown target on countdown."
"Can you fix me up with a tracker they can't make?"
"I don't know what the hell they can make."
"Do your best." She turned to Anne. "You've got a team who can work these high-end scanners?"
"One of Roarke's geniuses is giving us a briefing on it in twenty minutes. Then we're in the field."
"Find the target. I'll deal with the drop."
"You're not going in alone." This time Feeney rose. "Whitney won't clear it."
"I didn't say I was going in alone, but we'd better work out how it'll look that way," she said again. "We're going to need a hundred million in fake bearer bonds." Her smile was thin, humorless. "I think I know someone who can deliver those in time for the deadline."
"Give Roarke my best," Feeney said with a smirk.
She sent him a bland look. "I need you to report to Whitney and rig me a tracker."
"McNab and I will get on that."
"I need McNab—for a bit."
Feeney looked at her, at his detective, nodded. "I'll get another man on it until I've finished with the commander." He took the hard copy. "We'll want a good hour to test it out on you beforehand."
"I'll be available. Peabody, you're with me. I'll meet you at my vehicle in five minutes. McNab." She signaled him out with the flick of a finger.
"I want you to check in with Mira," she began as they walked toward her office. "Get a line on Zeke's testing. Then I want you to put the squeeze on Dickhead in the lab. I'd do it myself, but I don't want to involve Peabody at this point."
"I've got it."
"Threaten him, and if that doesn't work, bribe him. Arena ball tickets should work. I can scope two VIP box seats for next weekend."
"Yeah?" His eyes went bright. "Gee, Dallas, how come you never share with pals? The Huds are squaring off against the Rockets next weekend. If I threaten him into shagging his ass, can I have the tickets?"
"Are you asking for a bribe, Detective?"
Because she'd stopped, because her eyes were flat and her mouth set, he sobered quickly. "Why are you pissed off at me?"
"Why did you have sex with my aide during a sensitive investigation?"
His eyes glistened. "Does she need your permission to date, Lieutenant?"
"This wasn't pizza and a video, McNab." She strode into her office, yanked her jacket off the hook.
"Oh, so she only has to clear who she goes to bed with."
Eve spun back. "You're insubordinate, Detective."
"You're out of line, Lieutenant."
It surprised her, she had to admit. It threw her off rhythm to see him standing there, eyes cold and fierce, body braced, teeth showing. She thought of him—when she thought of him—as a good cop with a sharp mind for details, a good hand with electronics. And as a man, a little foolish, vain, and glib, who talked too much and took nothing beyond his work seriously.
"Don't you tell me I'm out of line." Working on control, she put her jacket on slowly. "Peabody got kicked by a cop with a pretty face before. I'm not watching it happen again. She matters."
