Page 127 of Bonded in Death

They’d be at the table now. He was sorry he’d missed seeing them arrive, but he’d had to pretend interest in closets and double sinks and a ridiculous laundry machine.

But he could imagine, oh so well.

And up here, alone, he could cheer, right out loud (good soundproofing) when the bomb blew those bitches to bits and pieces.

For fun, he sent Iris a quick text from her cousin’s ’link.

Darling! So sorry, running late! This rain. I’ll be rushing in, wet and frazzled, in five minutes! Kiss, kiss.

The response came moments later.

No worries. We’re having a glass of wine and catching up without you.

Smiling, he slipped the ’link back into his pocket. “Enjoy your glass of wine. It’s your last.”

In the van, Eve checked her own ’link. “He contacted Iris, said he’s running late. Or her cousin is. Goddamn it, no sign of him.”

No light in 3-C, painters still moving around in 5-A.

“He’s here, I know he’s here.”

She looked at the view of 186.

“Lights on in 5-A. Painters in there. Shit, what if he’s posing as a worker up there? I’m going in. I’m going to check.”

“He knows your face,” Roarke reminded her.

“Right.” She plucked the bucket rain cap off Callendar’s head. “This’llwork. Peabody, give me two minutes inside, then follow. I’m checking 5-A, then we’ll hit 3-C on the way out if it’s a bust.”

“You got three minutes, forty-eight seconds till it doesn’t blow.”

“Got it. All teams, Peabody and I are doing a check of 186. Give me two minutes inside,” she repeated.

She went out the back, and hunching over as if bothered by the rain, walked the quarter block to 186.

“Want company, LT?” Jenkinson said in her ear as she passed.

“Peabody’s behind me in two.”

She mastered in, scanned the small lobby, then took the elevator to five.

On five, she scanned the hall, then walked straight to 5-A.

One hand resting on her weapon, she mastered in.

And into blasting music and the thick smell of paint.

Two figures in white hooded coveralls and breathing masks manned sprayers on either side of the living area.

One, obviously female by the way the coveralls fit, spotted her, turned off her sprayer.

“Jeez, Denny, we got another one. Do for you?”

Eve held up her badge, and since she couldn’t see the second painter’s face, kept the other hand on her weapon. “Turn off the music. Take off the masks.”

“What the what?” The female slapped a pocket, and whatever device blasted music. The second pushed up his mask.

Since he couldn’t have been more than thirty, Eve relaxed slightly.

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