Loyalty In Death Part 24

"Mira's preliminary profile," Eve began, "and the computer a.n.a.lysis of data and supposition indicates these are the most likely targets. All are entertainment complexes, either landmarks or constructed on the site of destroyed landmarks. All have performances scheduled this afternoon."

"That's a good angle." Anne tucked her hands in her back pockets as she read the screen. "I'll send out teams for a search and scan." "How much time will you need?" Eve asked her.

"Every d.a.m.n bit of it." She whipped out her communicator.

"No uniforms and unmarked vehicles," Eve said quickly. "They may have the buildings under surveillance. Let's not tip them off." With a nod, Anne began to bark orders into her communicator. "We got through the fail-safe." Feeney picked up with EDD's progress. "The old b.a.s.t.a.r.d coded his data. I'm running a code breaker, but he used a good one. It's going to take more time."

"Let's hope it's something worth looking at."

"McNab tracked down a couple of names from Fixer's old unit. Men still in the area. I've got interviews set up for noon today." "Good." "Teams are moving." Anne tucked her communicator away. "I'll be in the field.

You'll know when I know. Oh, Dallas," she added as she headed for the door. "That address we discussed earlier? It's clean."

"Thanks."

Anne sent her a grin. "Any time."

"I'll be on the code until we have something to move on." Feeney rattled his bag of candied nuts. "This kind of s.h.i.t went on all the d.a.m.n time during the Urban Wars. Mostly we suppressed and subdued, but there's bigger and better s.h.i.t out there now."

"Yeah, but we're bigger and better, too."

It made him smile a little. "G.o.dd.a.m.n right."

Eve rubbed her eyes when she was alone with Peabody. The scant three hours' sleep she'd managed was threatening to fog her brain. "Man the computer in here. As Malloy's teams report in, adjust the list. I'll report in to Whitney, then I'll be in the field. Keep me updated."

"You could use me in the field, Dallas."

Eve thought of how close she'd come to getting her aide blown to pieces once already and shook her head. "I need you here," was all she said, and headed out.

An hour later, Peabody swung between being miserably bored and outrageously edgy. Four buildings had been tagged clean, but there were another dozen to go with just under two hours until noon.

She wandered the room, drank too much coffee. She tried to think like a political terrorist. Eve could do that, she knew. Her lieutenant could slide into the mind of a criminal, walk around in it, visualize a scene from the eyes of a killer.

Peabody envied that skill, though it had occurred to her more than once it couldn't be a comfortable one. "If I were a political terrorist, what building in New York would I want to take out to make a statement?"

Tourist traps and lures, she thought. The problem was she'd always avoided that kind of thing. She'd come to New York to be a cop and had deliberately -- as a matter of pride, she supposed -- avoided all the usual tourist havens.

The fact was, she'd never been inside the Empire State or the Met until Zeke...

Her head came up, her eyes brightened. She'd call Zeke. She knew he'd studied his guide disc front and back and sideways. So where would he, as an eager tourist from Arizona, most like to attend a weekday matinee?

She turned from the window to start toward the 'link, then scowled when McNab strolled in. "Hey, She-Body, they dump you on desk duty, too?"

"I'm busy, McNab."

"Yeah, I can see that." He wandered to the Auto-Chef, poked. "This thing's out of coffee."

"Then go drink somewhere else. This isn't a d.a.m.n cafe." She wanted him out and gone on general principles, and because she didn't want him smirking when she called her little brother.

"I like it here." Partially because he wanted to know, and partially to annoy her, he leaned over her monitor. "How many have been eliminated?" "Get away from there. I'm manning this unit. I'm working here, McNab."

"What are you so touchy about? You and Charlie have a spat?"

"My personal life is none of your business." She tried for dignity, but something about him always put her back up. She marched over, elbowed him aside. "Why don't you go play with your motherboard?"

"I happen to be part of this team." To irritate her, he plopped his b.u.t.t on the table. "And I outrank you, sweetheart."

"Only through some obvious glitch in the system." She jabbed her finger in his chest. "And don't call me sweetheart. The name is Peabody, Officer Peabody, and I don't need some half-wit, skinny-a.s.sed e-man breathing down my neck when I'm on a.s.signment."

He glanced down at the finger that had jabbed twice more into his chest.

When he lifted his gaze, she was mildly surprised to see his usually cheerful green eyes had gone to p.r.i.c.ks of ice. "You want to be careful."

The chilly steel of his voice surprised her, too, but she was too far in to back off. "About what?" she said and gleefully jabbed him again. "About physically a.s.saulting a superior officer. I'll only tolerate so much of your abuse before I start dishing it back out."

"My abuse. You come sniffing around every time I blink with your lame comments and innuendoes. You try to horn in on my cases -- " "Your cases. Now she's got delusions of grandeur."

"Dallas's cases are my cases. And we don't need you poking into them. We don't need you strolling in for comic relief with your stupid jokes. And I don't need you asking questions about my relationship with Charles, which is completely private and none of your d.a.m.n business."

"You know what you do need, Peabody?"

Since she'd raised her voice to a shout, he did the same. And he was up, toe to toe, nearly nose to nose. "No, McNab, just what do you think I need?"

He hadn't intended to do it. He didn't think. Well, maybe he had. Either way, it was done. He'd grabbed her arms, he'd yanked her hard, and his mouth was currently doing a d.a.m.n fine job of devouring hers.

She made a sound, something that was reminiscent of a swimmer inhaling water by mistake. Somewhere under his bubbling temper was the knowledge that she was likely to kick his a.s.s the minute she recovered from the shock. So, what the h.e.l.l, he gave the moment all he had.

He trapped her between the table and his body, and took as much of her in as a man could in one, long, greedy gulp.

She was paralyzed. It was the only rational explanation as to why the man still had his mouth on her instead of lying broken and bleeding on the floor.

She'd had some sort of a stroke or... Oh my G.o.d, who'd known an annoying little twit could kiss like this?

The blood simply drained out of her head and left it buzzing. And she discovered she wasn't paralyzed after all, when her arms locked around him, and her mouth began to meet his a.s.sault with one of her own.

They grappled, groping and biting. Somebody moaned. Somebody swore. Then they were staring at each other, panting. "What the -- what the h.e.l.l was that?" Her voice came out in a squeak.

"I don't know." He managed to suck in air, release it. "But let's do it again."

"Jesus Christ, McNab!" Feeney exploded from the doorway and watched the pair of them jump apart like rabbits. "What the sweet h.e.l.l are you doing?"

"Nothing. Nothing." He wheezed, coughed, tried to blink his vision clear.

"Nothing," he said for a third time. "At all. Captain."

"Holy Mary McGuire." Feeney rubbed his hands over his face, kept them there.

"We'll all just pretend I didn't see that. I didn't see a G.o.dd.a.m.n thing. I've just now this second walked into this room. Is that understood?"

"Sir," Peabody said snappily, and prayed the blush she could feel burning her face would fade sometime before the end of the decade. "Yes, sir." McNab took a long sideways step away from Peabody.

Feeney lowered his hands, studied the two of them. He'd locked less guilty- looking pairs in cages, he thought with an inner sigh. "Target's been located. It's Radio City."

CHAPTER TEN

They had time. They still had time, was all Eve allowed herself to think. She wore riot gear: the full anti-flak jacket, the a.s.sault helmet, and face visor. All of which, she knew, would prove as useless as fresh, pink skin if they didn't have time.

So they did. That was the only choice for her, for the E and B team, and for the civilians they were working feverishly to evacuate.

The Great Stage at Radio City had pulled in a full house: tourists, locals, preschoolers with parents or caretakers, cla.s.sroom groups with teachers and chaperons. The noise level was huge, and the natives weren't just restless, they were p.i.s.sed.

"Seats run between one hundred and two hundred and fifty." The six-foot blonde, who'd identified herself as the theater manager, galloped beside Eve like a Viking warhorse. Outrage and distress had gone to battle in her voice. "Do you have any idea how complicated it's going to be to arrange alternate dates or refunds? We're sold out through the run of the show."