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“Ummmm.”
“Jesus. Get the transpo. I want a vehicle ready to go, and an officer at the elevator door of the garage, this sector, ground level, by the time I get there. If it’s not—who are you?”
“Um, Detective Letterman.”
“If it’s not, Detective Letterman, I’m coming back up here and peeling you like the banana you resemble. Clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then do it!” Eve took several deep breaths, like a diver preparing to go under, then holding it, went into the red zone. She grabbed Feeney’s coat, his hat, his scarf. “Come on, get these on.”
“Wanna die at my desk,” he whimpered, “not in bed like an old man.”
“Jesus, stop being a baby. You’re not going to die. Get your coat on. Don’t breathe on me. Wear the hat. What the hell’s wrong with you coming in today?”
His glassy eyes rolled up to hers. “You’re turning into a woman on me, fussing and nagging.”
Insulted, she yanked the hat down over his ears herself. “Watch it, pal, or I’ll deck you and have a couple of your fruit baskets out there cart you out.”
“That’s better.” He braced a hand on the desk. “You know, Dallas, I think I’m pretty fucking sick.”
“That’s the smartest thing you’ve said since I got here. Let’s go.” She put an arm around his waist, led him out. In the squad room, one glare cut off any questions or comments. “Call Maintenance,” she ordered as she hauled Feeney out. “Have them disinfect that office.”
“Sanders,” Feeney wheezed.
“Anders,” she corrected and called for the elevator.
“Remote was a slick one. Custom.”
“Okay.” When the elevator doors opened, occupants took one look at Feeney. The protests rang out immediately. “Make room or get the hell off.” People scattered, deserted the ship as she pulled Feeney on. “Garage,” she ordered, “ground level.”
“Shut it down, booted it up the same way,” Feeney continued. “No tampering with the locks. Knew the code or had a clone. Can’t find any indication of cloning. Have to be slick, too.”
“Okay.” How long did it take to get to the damn garage? How soon after breeding did germs give birth to new ones?
“Nothing on the house ’links looks hinky. Got a list of ’em in the report.”
“Yeah.”
“Pocket ’link either. Office ’links. Going back another week on the lot, but nothing popping.”
“I got it, Feeney.”
“Nothing popping on his comps either.” He slumped against Eve like a drunk. “Guy had a million of ’em, so it’s taking a while. Personals don’t show anything off.”
“You get to the wife’s yet?”
“Whose wife?”
“Never mind.” When the doors opened, a burly, hard-eyed uniform stepped forward. Letterman, she thought, could live.
“Captain Feeney?”
“Right here. Where’s your ride?”
He gestured to a black-and-white. “Let me give you a hand. Poor bastard looks pretty sick.”
“What’s the closest health center?” she asked as between them they maneuvered Feeney into the backseat where he simply sprawled out facedown.
