Page 128 of Bonded in Death

“We’re supposed to be here,” he told her.

“Just the two of you painting this unit?”

“Us and Ned. He’s cutting in the bedrooms.”

“Stay where you are,” she said, and moved in the direction he’d pointed.

In one of the spare bedrooms, the man, with an ebony hand, rock steady, painted a line ruler straight at the top of the ceiling. Since he waseasily six-four in his paint-splattered kicks, he reached his target without a ladder.

She backed out, walked to where the painters stood, both slurping from tubes.

“Counting down from thirty,” Roarke said in her ear.

“5-C’s clear,” she responded. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said, then stopped on her way to the door.

“What other one? You said you had another one?”

“Another one what? Oh right, person coming in. The lady.”

She gestured to what Eve remembered was the main bedroom just as a woman came out.

“Please don’t start the sprayers again until my client arrives and I show him through. It’s already… Hello,” she said to Eve. “Can I help you?”

She recognized the suit, the slice of face she’d seen glance up and laugh. At a man shielded by an umbrella.

Showing the apartment. A client.

“You came in with a man about fifteen minutes ago. Where is he?”

“Excuse me, I have exclusive rights on this unit until it’s advertised. Who are you?”

She yanked out her badge. “Where the hell is he?”

“Well, for heaven’s sakes! Mr. Brockstone should be on his way up to view this apartment.”

“Where is henow?”

“On his way up, didn’t I just say?”

“3-C. Son of a bitch! All teams, all teams. Subject is in the building, 3-C. Cover the exits. I’m heading down.”

She pulled open the door just as Peabody turned to run for the stairs.

As the Realtor stepped out of the bedroom in 5-A, Potter stood by the window. “Five, four, three, two, one!”

For an instant, his heart was full of joy, of triumph. He even pumped a fist in the air.

And nothing happened.

No blast of sound. No one on the street stopped, no cars braked at the sound of an explosion. No one ran screaming out of Chez Robert.

Furious, he jabbed the remote in his pocket.

Nothing.

And in that next instant, as fury turned to fear, he knew.

They’d set him up. Somehow.

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