Page 117 of Thankless in Death

“His parents never hurt him, never abused him. There’s not only no evidence of that, but plenty to the contrary.”

“But, as you say, it’s a mind-set.”

“Yeah.” She looked back at the board. “Boyd or the model. They’re the shiniest. The other teacher, Garber—not as hard to get to, but he’s just done a teacher. I think another, back-to-back would... bore him. There’s former employers, supervisors, even coworkers, so they’re on the watch list.”

“And you’ve dozens on that list,” Roarke said.

“Yeah. I’m going to hope you’re right about the shine. They’re both well covered. If he tries for either Boyd or Wizlet, we’ll take him down. The trouble with that? There’s bound to be more who aren’t among those dozens. People no one thought of or knew about.”

Impossible to know, he thought, and hardly a wonder she continued to circle the same ground. “So finding him before he settles or moves on a target is the only way to be sure.”

“New ID, new place. If he had the smarts, he’d hole up for a few days, heal up, put a real plan together.”

“But he’s not smart.”

Eve shook her head. “Not smart enough.”

“Then I’ll go back to finding the money. I’ll work here for now,” he added as he turned her to him. “And likely go in at some point to mesh up with Feeney. But I’m damned if I’ll set foot in Central today if I don’t have your word you’ll not be leaving me hanging on the damn medal business.”

“If I’m in the field—”

“Ah.” His eyes glinted a warning that had her rolling her own.

“I’ll stay in contact. And if I hit something hot enough to get out of the ceremony, I’ll let you know. You’re slick enough to slither out of it.”

“That’s a deal then.” He kissed her, surprised and touched by her quick, hard embrace.

“I’ll see you when I do,” she told him. “One way or the other.”

“If we go through with this thing today, you’ll be wearing your uniform, won’t you?”

“Yeah. That’s how it goes.”

His smile lit up. “At least that’s something. Mind my cop till I see her next.”

When he walked away she told herself being grateful for Summerset, right down to her core, was a secret she could take to the grave.

•••

She sent Peabody an alert to meet her at Joe’s apartment. She’d just get that out of the way first, she decided as she headed downstairs.

She found her coat over the newel post. She knew Summerset hung it up at night, then laid it back out in the morning. She’d never understand why he didn’t just leave it there. Same with her vehicle, she thought as she walked out, swinging on the coat.

She left it in front of the house, he remoted it to the garage, then remoted it back in the morning.

Routine, she thought. Everybody had one.

She glanced up at the sky as she crossed to her car, and felt a little bubble of hope. If those heavily overcast skies opened up—and timed it right—they’d at least be spared the medal ceremony on the very, very public steps of Cop Central.

Something else to—maybe—be grateful for.

She drove away and through the gates. In less than two minutes she found herself caught in a thick knot of traffic, punctuated with a wild orchestra of clashing horns.

Since the car came outfitted, she used the camera to see how bad it was, and zoomed in on a broken-down maxibus effectively blocking two lanes.

Though she suspected Traffic had already been notified, she called it in before punching vertical. She skimmed over roofs, cut east. A longer route, she thought, but at least she wouldn’t be sitting, stewing.

Besides, a different, even longer route equaled a break in routine. Different buildings, different patterns, different glide-carts and street vendors—and who did they sell NYC souvenirs, scarves, hats, gray-market handbags to this early in the morning?

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