Page 70 of Bonded in Death

“No, you’re not wrong. So go get him. Dismissed.”

She walked out feeling as if she’d just passed one of those pop quizzes they tortured you with in school.

Then she pushed that aside and detoured to EDD.

Two trips to the circus within about twenty-four hours was almost more than the average system could bear. To keep hers from shorting out, she turned straight into the dull normal of Feeney’s office.

He sat at his desk, his brown tie askew—and the small stain on it, Eve suspected, came from the coffee he swigged.

He wore an expression she’d seen on Roarke. Irritated work mode. Pissed-off e-geek.

“Fucking fucker,” he muttered, then spotted her.

“Sorry, bad timing. I’ll come back.”

He lifted his hand, made a sharp—yes, irritated—come-in gesture. “I’m taking five anyway. Fucking fucker.”

“I know I dumped a lot on you, so—”

“How the fuck does some prison sawbones know how to poof, and poof clean as fuck?”

So, Eve realized, he’d taken Pierce himself. A matter of pride.

“He had help. I think help from someone with serious skills, and financial backing.”

“I tagged that asshole warden. Merry old England, my ass. Guy’s a lazy, stuffed shirt prick.”

“Yeah, he is.”

“But after a couple rounds I got Pierce’s HR file, and his prison ID shot. And still can’t find the slippery son of a bitch. But I will,” he added, then popped a candied almond.

“I dumped a lot on you,” she began again, and he shot a finger at her.

“If I need Roarke, I’ll pull on him myself. Got that?”

And she knew prickly geek pride when he snarled at her.

“Got it. I want to fill you in on why I dumped this on you. I need to close the door.”

She did so, then crossed over to his desk.

“The victim, Giovanni Rossi, was part of an elite team of covert agents attached to the Underground, with their HQ in London during the Urbans. Though I believe he continued his covert work, in Italy, his murder’s tied to the first. Back to the Urbans.”

“So you figured, and I agree. The gas canister, the method, and all that.”

“Right. I learned last night Summerset was part of that team of covert agents. And why don’t you look surprised?”

“A little surprised, maybe. But his background’s real smooth.” Feeney slid the flat of his hand in the air. “Smooth, with just the right amount of little bumps so nobody’d look twice. No fingerprints to show it’s been messed with. Roarke’s good. So you gotta figure something’s there.”

“You did a run on Summerset?”

Shrugging, looking mildly uncomfortable, Feeney picked out anotheralmond. “You’re moving in with some rich-ass guy—he was pretty much just some rich-ass guy when you did—who’s got this other guy doing like a butler thing? Yeah, I’m going to do some checking.”

He jabbed a finger at her. “Didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but—”

“I’m figuring, since Roarke’s not just some rich-ass guy, he told you about it.”

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