Page 14 of Bonded in Death

In about a sec and a half, Barry had the driver entering the terminal at twenty-three-fifty-six. After a brief scan of the terminal, he walked to the waiting area. He sat, then took a card out of his breast pocket.

He looked directly at the camera, held the face of the card up. Smiled.

No, Eve corrected. Smirked.

“Son of a bitch.”

“Want I should zoom in on what it says?”

“I know what it says.”

“Got balls,” Peabody commented when they left the terminal. “He knew we’d check, and wanted you to see.”

“Arrogant fucker” was Eve’s opinion. “We’ll run our own face rec when we get to Central. Pro or not, he’s an arrogant fucker. Arrogant fuckers make mistakes.”

“He pissed you off. That’s a mistake.”

“Yeah, it damn well is.”

She sat behind the wheel a moment to let the pissed off fade some.

“Heading to Central. Go ahead and take the ’link and tablet to EDD when we get there. Rossi should have his hotel confirmation on there. If not, next of kin might know. And if not, we start contacting hotels. Or you do. I’m going to dig into the limo. Did Rossi order it? Did the person he came to meet—if he came to meet someone—send it?

“He didn’t recognize the driver,” Eve continued. “So maybe a pro hit. But I’d bet your ass and mine, if a pro, Rossi would’ve known who hired the hit. It’s personal, and expensive.”

“You’re thinking whoever got him to come to New York hired the hit.”

“It plays. Someone he knew. Someone he trusted.”

“And shouldn’t have.”

“He came alone,” Eve pointed out. “That says something, too. Why not bring his spouse? Spend a few days in New York, catch a play, whatever. But he came alone. He looked excited when he got off the shuttle. Business, sure, maybe. But he was happy. Going to see an old friend?”

“Maybe a female-type old friend?”

Eve shook her head. “He had a framed photo of his wife in his luggage. No sex toys, no sex meds. He didn’t travel a few thousand miles to bang another woman.”

She pulled into the garage at Central, then into her slot.

“Old friend,” she repeated. “Or old colleague.”

They walked to the elevator. “We’re going to do a deep run on the victim. Whoever wanted him dead went to a lot of trouble. Got him over here from Italy to do it.”

“You’re not in Italy.”

“And Italy has cops,” Eve said as they stepped into the elevator. “So it’s specifically me. That smirk on his face on the feed? Yeah, that was aimed at me. So they had to get Rossi here instead of just sticking a knife in his gut in Rome. Instead, they steal a limo, know enough about mechanics to make the adjustments, or again hire someone who does. Pick him up, have the wine all ready for him. Drive to the Upper East.”

The elevator stopped, let a couple of uniforms on.

“It didn’t have a scent. The wine, the glass, the spill, the bottle. Smelled like wine. Fast-acting, no scent. Vic’s eyes were bloodshot—and they weren’t on the security feed. He had a faint, just faint tinge of blue on his lips.”

She checked the time as the elevator stopped again. The uniforms got off. More got on.

“He doesn’t care we’ll find COD. And I bet it won’t be usual. Some weird-ass, exotic poison like… tarantula venom.”

Peabody’s opinion was “Eeww.”

“‘Yeah, I personally squeezed the poison out of this big, nasty spider. Aren’t I a clever bastard?’ Take the electronics up to EDD.”

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