Page 147 of Delusion in Death

“Dallas.”

“I’m sure. I want you in the back, in the kitchen. We’re going to move people out, and I need you to keep it smooth and quiet. And when I tell you, move in. Not before, Peabody. You, Baxter, Trueheart, move in on my go, and when Lowenbaum clears it. Not before.”

“Understood.”

She leaned in just a little, lowered her voice. “Lowenbaum will stun me if he needs to. I’m counting on you to take care of Roarke.”

“Oh, jeez.”

“If it goes south, you take him down, get him out. That’s not just an order, Peabody, it’s a request from a friend. Get him down and out. Promise me.”

“I do. I will. And you, too.”

“Lowenbaum’s men will come for the cop first. I’m not worried about it.”

Much, she thought as she stuck on the rainbow shades. “How stupid do I look?”

“Actually, you look totally chill.” Peabody gave the trailing edge of the scarf a little flip. “Sort of urban-bohemian chic.”

“God. Dr. Mira? Are you there?”

“Yes.” The voice, tight, tense, came through the earbud. “And I feel this is an unnecessary risk.”

“A calculated one. I’m covered. There’s a toddler in a damn booster seat smearing spaghetti sauce on his face ten feet away from the target. Once I get in position, feed me. Pull me back if I head in the wrong direction with her. I want to keep her engaged until we get as many civilians to safety as possible.”

“She’s a soldier first. She’ll sacrifice herself for her mission.”

“I’m counting on that mission priority being Callaway. Lowenbaum, are we set?”

“In position.”

She looked around. They’d worked fast, barricading the area. Already lookie-loos hugged the barricades, ready for some entertainment. Lowenbaum stretched over his shooting stand, weapon aimed. “If you have to stun me, don’t go for the body shot. The coat’s lined with body armor.”

“No shit.”

“None. I’ll show you later.”

“Lots of traffic inside,” he told Eve. “Waitstaff moving by the booth. The table in front of it partially blocks the target. If you can move the interference, I’d appreciate it.”

“On the list.” She turned as Roarke came toward her, had to roll her eyes.

He’d ditched the suit jacket, the top coat for somebody’s bunged-up fake leather jacket. He’d pulled his hair back in a tail, added a red, I NY ski cap.

“How much did you pay for that ridiculous hat?”

“Entirely too much.”

“Well, you don’t look so rich anyway.” She took his hands. “Let’s go bag this bitch. On the move, Lowenbaum.”

“Copy that.”

“I bet the pasta’s good here,” Roarke commented as they crossed the street.

“Maybe we’ll get some to go when we’re done. Clear visual on target from here,” she said when they’d reached the door. “Entering building now.”

“Team Alpha, go.”

Into the kitchen, Eve thought as they entered the happy noise, the engaging scents. She slid her hand in her pocket as the cheerful-eyed maitre d’ approached.

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