Page 143 of Bonded in Death

“He may, likely did, stash some solid cash with the weapons. But that’s running money, not millions. So he had an account somewhere. Somewhere they don’t blink if you stuff in those millions. Somewhere they don’t look too hard at where it comes from.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he repeated. “We are talking three decades, and as he was in prison, that account would have remained open, and likely untouched for the majority of that time. But…”

“Yeah, he found a way to access it.”

“Them,” Roarke corrected. “Not only foolish to put all in one account, but it wouldn’t fit his profile, would it? At least two—depending on how much he had. I’d assume three, in various locations.”

“He had enough e-skills, enough time, to work a way. Get access to a comp. Pierce could’ve been helpful there. And if Abernathy would tag me back, I’d know.”

“So a transfer of considerable roughly five years back. That’s a thread to pull.”

“I should’ve asked you to pull it before.”

“Been a bit busy the last few days, haven’t we? Don’t diminish what you’ve accomplished.” He put another slice on her plate.

“Why do people say going down a rabbit hole?”

“Well now, there’s a segue. A reference toAlice in Wonderland. The White Rabbit. She went down after him.”

“Right. Right. That sort of makes sense. Maybe I went down the rabbit hole.”

“And if you hadn’t, you wouldn’t know Potter is alive, and the seven downstairs wouldn’t be enjoying what translates to chicken Kiev. You’re talking about his puzzles, Eve, and putting them back together again your way.”

“He’s still ahead of me.”

“I’d wager heavily not for long.”

“How long’s the problem. He’s planning something, or he’s already got it in the works.”

Potter had taken the next step in his plan even while Eve debriefed her team at Central.

Once he’d calmed himself, he understood he could use the rain. He changed out of his wet suit and into more casual clothes, added a black mac, and as a precaution, a gray wig.

He disliked the gray, but for this mission, he wanted to look old, and harmless. Thinking just that, he added a few lines to his face, softened his jawline.

Harmless, he decided as he studied the result. Just someone’s harmless grandfather out in the rain.

He’d planned to do this—his crescendo—at night. A streetwalker, a woman alone. But this would be so much more invigorating, so much more effective.

He took what he needed to the garage, to the car, then drove out once again in the rain.

Driving carefully, he hummed to himself. He’d scouted the area before when selecting the best dump spot for Rossi. It hadn’t suited that need, but would suit his current purpose very well.

And it was nearly as far away from his HQ as he could get and remain on the island of Manhattan.

It took time, but he ordered himself not to lose patience. His gaze ticked right and left. He’d been smart to use the rain! Fewer pedestrians, and all of them rushing along, paying no attention to what happened around them.

Busy, busy.

And so would he be busy, very soon.

The little park he’d cased before with all the sticky-fingered, shrieking children was deserted now. No watchful nannies or parents. There, the empty building, and no workers replacing windows, no workers’ trucks parked today.

He made use of the short alleyway beside it, checked the time.

Yes, yes, perfect. School’s out and most of the little buggers on their way home. He needed a young one, but not so young a parent or nanny walked with them.

He needed one who trailed behind, a bad little boy or girl who’d had to stay after school. Or a good one who’d had some ridiculous activity.

---