Page 146 of Delusion in Death

He made her smile. “Weaver’s just a step for her, a slap. She’s got bigger plans, and central is getting her boy out. She’s got an emotional investment in him, and we can use that. I can use that. I get in, wired, you’ll know what she’s got on her. And I’ve got a better chance of taking her out, close up, without any hazard to civilians. Wire Mira in. She can help me with this.”

“We’ll cover the exits, move in through the kitchen.”

“Yeah, I’m with you there. But somebody’s got to get up close and personal, draw her off Weaver and the man, keep her from releasing the agent.”

“I’m putting my best man—which would be me—on the target. She makes a wrong move, I’m giving myself the green. We got about seventy people in there—unknown number in the kitchen. If necessary, we’ll do a broad range stun, make them all go nighty-night.”

“Let’s see if we can avoid that.”

“She’d know your face.” She turned as Roarke spoke, and saw the hard anger in his eyes. “If she’s got a weapon, as she surely does, what stops her from using it on you while you’re ten feet away?”

“I’m working on that. Peabody, take off those idiot boots.”

“My boots? But—”

“Do you really think a pair of pink cowboy boots disguises you?”

“It’s just the start,” she told Roarke. “Dig out those silly rainbow sunshades,” she told Peabody. “And that scarf.” She tugged on Peabody’s madly striped scarf. “Wrap it around my head or something. Call out the Free-Ager.”

“A moment, Lieutenant.” Without waiting for assent, Roarke took her arm, pulled her aside. “This is foolish.”

“It’s not. I’ve got my magic coat.”

“It doesn’t cover your hard head.”

“Okay, look, we can’t see what she’s got under that damn tablecloth. Maybe she got her hands on a blaster. It’s more likely a knife. She could slice Weaver open anytime, but again, it’s more likely she’ll hurt or disable Weaver enough to keep her in there, use the substance, and get out. I can draw her attention off Weaver, get her talking. She’ll bargain to get Callaway out. He’s her legacy, her hope for the future.”

“The bargaining can be done from out here.”

“Roarke, there are kids in there. If she releases that shit, we don’t know how fast it works on kids, but it’ll be faster. They’re smaller, lighter. I don’t know, and I’m not risking standing out at a safe distance while kids get poisoned and maybe hack up Mommy’s face with a pasta fork before we can control the situation.”

“Bloody fucking hell.”

“We can get some of them out. Her back’s to the kitchen. We can move some of them out, quietly, while she’s focused on me. I’m the game changer. Right now she thinks she’s in charge. I change the balance, it throws her off. She has to rethink.”

“You go in, I go in.”

“Listen—”

He took her face in his hands. “You go, I go. That’s non-negotiable. If we’re to get blasted to hell or poisoned into lunatics, we do it together.”

“Crap. Crap. You have to look less rich and gorgeous.”

God help him, she made him grin. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Wire him up, too,” she told Lowenbaum. “Peabody, give me those stupid boots.”

“They’re not going to fit you.”

“I’ll manage.”

She stood while Lowenbaum’s e-man fit her with mic and earbud. And shoving her feet into the pink boots learned Peabody was right. They were miserably tight from toe to heel, awkwardly wide. She’d manage.

“Just enough to get me to the table,” she told her partner as Peabody began to wrap the scarf.

“You might as well look good. You’re sure about this?”

“I’m sure the weird scarf and the shades will get me across the room.”

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