Page 102 of Devoted in Death

“Ready when you are, Lieutenant.”

“Meet you downstairs. I’m going to go by the comp lab first.”

She found her three favorite geeks in a huddle, with one screen running face recognition, another working on enhancing the loading-dock feed.

Roarke turned to her first. “The feed’s complete rubbish. We can push at it for hours, but we’re just not going to do much better. You can’t enhance what isn’t there.”

“I’ll take what you’ve got. McNab, send it to Banner, to Baxter. Might as well make the sweep and send it to all parties. Hanks is the link, and we’ll pull the data out of him one way or the other. I’m going in.”

“You want my take?” Feeney asked her.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Your guy here?” He gestured to the screen and the grainy shadow of an image. “He hasn’t seen thirty yet, or if he has, he’s barely had a glimpse. We figure he’s about six feet, maybe six-one, lean with it. Coat adds some bulk, but not much. He wanted to be able to move fast. He’s white. Low probability on mixed race from what we can figure.”

“That’s more for Baxter and Banner. How about her?”

“She’s clearer as she was the bait for the boy,” Roarke said, rocking on his heels now as he studied what they had of the female. “We’ve calculated her height at five-five, her weight between one-twenty and one-thirty. She’s got a good set of legs there. We get the hair—though it may be a wig—long and blond. Again we’d play odds on white for race, and her age? Given the body, as we don’t have a clear view of the face, the analysis of her voice from what we had, most likely between twenty-five and thirty.

“I did run her voice on a dialect program as well,” he added. “It pegs her as northwestern Oklahoma.”

“Okay, it’s all more than we had, and we’ll get more.” For a moment longer she stared at the image as if she could bring it clear through sheer force of will. “Crack’s widening. Feeney, do you need a lift to Central?”

“I’ve got my ride. Do you want the boy?”

“I’ll take him if you can spare him.”

“Take him. Tag me if you need more.” He flicked a finger salute at Roarke. “Nice working with you.”

“And you. I’ll run with this for another thirty, then I’ll leave it open if you want to send more data by remote.”

“Appreciate that.” Just how much would he juggle today? she wondered—then set the idea aside as it was more than she could imagine. “Head down, McNab. Peabody and Banner are doing the same.”

“On the way. Fun toys,” he said to Roarke, and walked out with Feeney.

Eve stuck her hands in her pockets. “As soon as this one closes, I’ll be the only cop in the house for a while.”

Roarke stepped to her, laid his hands on her shoulders. “I like your cops.” Kissed her lightly. “I believe I like Banner now that I’ve had a bit of a chance to know him. Speaking of cops, Feeney’s coat’s done. Summerset has it downstairs. Knowing the both of you, I assumed you wouldn’t want to give it to him in company.”

“No.” Gifts were sticky enough, in her opinion. “Anyway, you should give it to him.”

Understanding her well, Roarke gave her shoulders a squeeze. “It was your idea, and a fine one. And he was your cop first. The two of you will survive a gift. Go on now, and mind your step out there. I definitely want a cop in my bed tonight.”

“I bet that’s something you never thought you’d say.” This time she kissed him. “Thanks for the assist. I’ll keep you in the loop if you want.”

“I want.”

“Done,” she said and strode out.

He watched her go and, fingering the gray button he carried always in his pocket, turned back to the screens to do what he could in the time he had.

She jogged down, found all her cops still in a gaggle. As she grabbed her coat off the newel post, Summerset slid into view—like smoke—with a box wrapped in plain brown paper. Before she could evade, he pushed it into her hands.

“As requested.”

Not now, she wanted to say, but the box had already caught Peabody’s interest.

“Whatcha got?”

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