Kindred in Death (28 page)

She took another bite, sneered a little. “You got that.”

“That they allowed the intruder access to their facilities, into a memorial for a murdered minor where several people, including police officers were injured. I believe those in charge now understand the ramifications, and the possible consequences—and publicity—of a countersuit.”

“That’s why you wheel the deals.”

“It is, yes. How’s my favorite face?”

She turned to study him. “You look okay.”

“And as fond as I am of what I see in the mirror, I like your face even more.”

“It hurts.” She allowed herself a momentary sulk. “I’m glad it hurts because it reminds me I fucked up.”

“Oh well, it’s pity party time. Go on then, you’re among friends.”

“I should’ve anticipated him infiltrating the staff.”

“Why?” Roarke glanced at her, tried not to smile when he watched her scowl over the next bite of candy. “From where I’m sitting it’s more trouble than it was worth—or should’ve been.”

“Because he’s careful. It gave him better cover. Who looks at all those black suits and sees anything but another black suit? It gave him more access, let him choose his time, which was at peak.”

“And added to the risk of being tapped by the senior staff members and managers who know the people assigned to each suite or memorial. I’ll tell you why he went that way—took an unnecessary risk—if you want my view on it.”

“I’ll take your view on it.”

“He could get a look at his work, close-up, another pat on the back from himself to himself.” Adjusting his speed, Roarke snuck through a light on the yellow. “He delivers some flowers, gives her a study. And I’ll wager hoped to take himself some photos that he’d look back on fondly.”

“Goddamn it. Goddamn it, that’s exactly what he’d do.” She dragged a hand through her hair, pulled. “I missed it.”

“Easy to see it from this side, analyzing the whys after the fact. His youth is part of it—caution and impulse—and it’s most likely she’s his first kill. This is his mission, and he’d be careful not to risk it. Now, he’s got the makings for a nice scrapbook.”

“Let’s keep this between us, for now. I let MacMasters on the team. He doesn’t need to hear this.”

“Is that wise, letting him on?”

“I’m going to find out.”

She took her time getting to the conference room. She wanted everyone assembled when she arrived. She moved in briskly, walking to the front of the room, waiting while Roarke took his seat.

“Captain MacMasters is joining this team, as of now. I’ll be taking individual reports and analyses. Before I do, I want the individual who shared the sketch of the suspect with Detective Cunningham, and possibly others, to identify himself.”

She didn’t need a raised hand, a confession, not when she saw Officer Flang’s eyes cut away.

“Flang, explain yourself.”

“Lieutenant, I was just trying to help. It was getting really crowded in there, and the more eyes we had—”

“Did I or did I not give a direct order regarding this, Officer, when you brought up the issue in the pre-op briefing?”

“Yes, sir, but—”

“I have to assume, Officer, that you considered yourself more capable of leading today’s operation than me, that you believe your judgment superior to mine.”

“No, sir, I just thought—”

“You thought it was acceptable to disobey a direct order from a superior officer. You’re mistaken. You’re on report, Officer Flang, and you are dismissed.”

“Lieutenant—”

“Don’t speak.” Her order chilled the room as Flang visibly withered under her stare. “Further, if one more drop—a single drop—of this leak slides out of the pipe, I will see to it that you’re charged with obstruction of justice. I want a list of every name with whom you shared this information on my desk inside fifteen minutes. Now, I repeat, Officer, you are dismissed.”

The room was silent as a tomb as Flang left.

“If anyone else believes their judgment is better than mine, or that following orders is optional, there’s the door.” She waited two beats, let the silence hum. “Now, we’re going to go over every step of this clusterfuck from every angle, then we’ll outline, streamline, refine and re-refine the op for tomorrow.

“Feeney. Security.”

21

WELL INTO THE EVENING, WITH EVERY POSSIBLE contingency addressed, dissected, and readdressed, Eve walked through the doors of home with Roarke.

Summerset, looming as usual, cocked an eyebrow. “I see you’ve had your monthly facial, Lieutenant.”

“Trina will be here tomorrow. Maybe she can decorpse yours.”

Eve scowled her way up the steps. “Damn it, that was weak. His was better. His was good. Just one more thing to be pissed about.”

“I’m surprised you have the energy to bicker. I want an hour in the whirlpool.”

She rolled her tense shoulders, and winced as the movement sent something new throbbing. “That sounds good. I’ve got aches making themselves known all over.”

“Start the tub, why don’t you, and we’ll both have a whirl. I’m getting us both a very big glass of wine.”

“We covered it all.” She went into the bathroom to order on the water, the temperature. As the wide scoop of tub began to fill, she went over the steps and stages of tomorrow’s operation.

“I can’t think of anything we left out. It’s a smaller space, more controlled. No excess civilians. As long as Mrs. Mimoto holds her own, just long enough to get him inside . . . Better, better for the case if he drops the mickey, but we can take him before that if she looks shaky. We have enough.”

Today’s botch, he thought, had shaken her confidence, had her second-guessing. “Put it aside for a bit. You’ll overthink it.” He came in with two glasses of wine—very large.

“The contingency op was always the better scenario. I wanted to take him today, shut him down, but . . .” Her mouth dropped open when Roarke shed his shirt. “Holy shit. I didn’t know you got hit.”

“Mmm.” He glanced at the mirror, and the symphony of bruises along his ribs. “My second favorite face avoided any violent contact, but a good deal of the rest of me feels like it’s been ten rounds with the champ, and the worse for it. It was a bloody madhouse in there.”

“We’re lucky nobody had to make use of the facilities.” She stripped off her own shirt, and Roarke traced his fingertips over her bruises.

“Ouch.”

“That’s exactly right.” After peeling off the rest of her clothes, she sank into the hot water. “Oh God. Thank you, Jesus.”

“When we’re done with this, we’ll play doctor.” He stepped in, cursed. “Bloody hell, Eve, it’s hot enough to flay the skin.”

She opened one eye to peer up at him. “It’ll feel good when you’re all the way in. Jets on. Oh, mama!”

He had to laugh as he slid in the wide tub beside her. Maybe losing a few layers of skin—especially the bruised and battered layers—wasn’t such a bad idea. In any case, sharing a tub of hot (next to bloody boiling) churning water with his wife at the end of the day made up for quite a bit.

He picked up his wine, took a long sip. “I might feel next to human once I finish this.”

“Come on, tough guy. Dublin street rat. You’ve had your ribs pounded before.”

“Older now, aren’t I?” He closed his eyes, let the hot water beat and froth over the aches.

“But not softer.” To prove it, she trailed her hand down his chest, found him, stroked him. “Nope, not softer.”

His lips curved. “So, you’re wanting to stir up more than some hot water.”

“Figure I owe you.” She shifted positions until she straddled him, watched amusement and lust light in his eyes. “How many times do you figure I’ve gotten you bruised or bloody since we met?”

“I stopped counting long ago.” His hands stroked down her back as she opened, took him in. “Ah, there now. Better than the wine for making me forget my troubles.”

She took the wine from him, sipping even as she rose and fell, rose and fell. “It’s all for medicinal purposes.”

“I’m an excellent patient.”

She brought the glass to his lips, tipped before setting it aside, before laying her lips to his. “It’s good,” she murmured against his mouth. “It’s good.”

Slow and fluid, with the water swirling and lapping, the steam from the heat rising, they moved together. Here, with as much comfort as passion, she laid her head on his shoulder, let her body rock them both to pleasure.

The crest, a long, liquid shimmer, brought a quiet sigh.

“It’s good to be home,” she told him.

“Always.”

“Now that we’re feeling human, let’s just stay in here and wallow.”

He wrapped his arms around her, closed his eyes again, and wallowed.

Easy sex and a long soak soothed the aches. Still, he wouldn’t let her dress until he’d run a wand over the bruises to help them heal, and gotten another cold wrap for her face.

“Give me the wand,” she ordered. “Your bruises are worse than mine.”

He gave her the wand, but turned her so she could see herself in the mirror.

“Oh crap.” She poked at her purpling eye. “Crap. Even with the wand and the cold pack, that’s not going to be gone by Saturday.”

“It won’t be your first wedding with a shiner. You had one for ours. Trina will cover the worst of it.”

“Don’t remind me. Damn it, do I have to call Louise, say anything about tomorrow?”

“Summerset’s taken care of it. It’s all managed.”

“There was a rehearsal thing.”

Roarke kissed her lightly. “Managed.”

“Well, hell, now he has something else to sniff at me about. I want to check in with Baxter and Trueheart, just make sure everything’s in place at the Mimotos.”

“Do that if it helps you relax. I have a couple things to check on myself. Then I want a meal.”

They retreated to opposite ends of the bedroom with pocket ’links. When he’d finished, Eve was sitting down, frowning into space.

“Problem?”

“No, they’re in, the house is secured. They’ll take shifts through the night, just in case. Baxter said Mrs. Mimoto, and her husband, are okay about it. More than okay. They want to do it. They’re revved to do it.”

“You spoke with them both yourself just a few hours ago.”

“I know, and they agreed. They’re solid. It’s just I expected some nerves, more questions from them, a need for more assurances. Instead, they cooked dinner. Like with ingredients, right there in the kitchen. Baxter said they went out and bought stuff especially after I talked to them so they could make this big home-cooked meal for him and Trueheart.”

Appreciation lit Roarke’s face. “What did they have?”

“Roast chicken—a real clucker—mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans. The real deal, too. It must’ve cost them. And they had lemon meringue pie for dessert. They did all that for a couple of cops. Baxter’s in love with her, by the way. She’s going to open the door of her house tomorrow to a man she knows wants to kill her, intends to rape her, brutalize her, and kill her. And she baked a pie for a couple of cops.”

“It’s more surprising for you to be treated with courtesy and kindness.”

“They made up a guest room so the one off shift can catch some sleep. Yeah, it’s more surprising. He wants to snuff that out. He wants to end the kind of person who would do that, would think of those things. And that doesn’t surprise me. I was sitting here asking myself if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

“It makes you a good cop, and the fact that you’d ask yourself the question makes you a better one.” He leaned down to kiss her bruised eye. “Why don’t we see if there’s any roast chicken to be had around here?”

Deke and Charity Mimoto lived in a pleasant single-family home in White Plains. The old, established neighborhood had weathered the years well, and benefited from the updates and influxes of wealthy young suburbanites. Big, leafy trees and pretty gardens dotted a landscape where the lawns were trimmed, the sidewalks even, and the paint was fresh.

“We’ve been here fifty-three years,” Charity told Eve. “We wanted to put down roots when we started our family, and in a neighborhood where kids had yards to play in. My Deke’s handy, so he’s done a lot of fixing up over the years. A man who can fix a leaky toilet’s as good as a billionaire from where I sit. Is your man handy around the house?” she asked, wagging a finger at Eve’s wedding ring.

She decided it was probably the first time, and the last, she’d actively wonder if Roarke had ever fixed a toilet. “In his way.”

“Deke built the sunroom with his own two hands, and finished off the downstairs so we have a nice, big family room. I’ve lost track of the times he remodeled the kitchen, or one of the baths. We like to keep up.”

“It’s a very nice house, Mrs. Mimoto.” But Eve was more interested in the layout than new countertops.

“A good place to raise children, and a good place when the grands came along, and the greats. We haven’t said anything about all this to the family. Usually most of us know what’s going on with the rest of us, so this isn’t our way.”

“I appreciate your cooperation, Mrs. Mimoto. Our concerns are to keep you safe, and to apprehend this man. We’re going to do both today, then get out of your way.”

“Oh now, you haven’t been in our way.” Charity made waving gestures with her hands. “We enjoyed having David and Troy,” she added, obviously pleased to be on a first-name basis with Baxter and Trueheart. “Such nice young men. Have a muffin,” she invited, holding out a cloth-lined bowl to Eve. “I baked them fresh this morning.”

“I—”

“Go on, go on. You could use some meat on your bones.”

“Thank you. Mrs. Mimoto, I’d like to go over with you what we need you to do, and say, where officers will be posted. Your safety is the first priority.”

“You sit right down here. I’ll get us some coffee, and we’ll talk.”

Eve ate the muffin—truly exceptional—drank the coffee—not half bad, considering how spoiled she was—and carefully went over every step of the plan.

With the talk of leaky toilets and baked goods, Eve had concerns the woman didn’t fully understand the risk, the seriousness. The tabletop discussion served the dual purpose of fully informing her bait, and relieving Eve’s mind.

The woman asked the right questions, gave the right answers. However homey she appeared in her shiny kitchen with its display board crammed with children’s drawings, she owned a shrewd mind and a steel spine.

“Do you have any other questions? Is there anything you’re uncomfortable with or uneasy about?”

“You need to stop worrying.” Charity patted Eve’s hand. “You’re a worrier like my Serenity. I can see it. Worrying gives you tension headaches and bad digestion.”

“Mrs. Mimoto, I have to ask you. Aren’t you afraid?”

“Why should I be afraid when I’ve got the police all through the house?” Those soothing and exotic eyes peered out of the old face. “Are you going to let him hurt me?”

“No, ma’am, I promise you he won’t hurt you. But we are asking you to open your door to a murderer. And I also have to tell you, again, we could take him outside. We have enough for an arrest.”

“But it’s going to help slam-dunk your case down the road if you take him inside, and after he tries to drug me. I’ve got a judge for a daughter, and plenty of lawyers in the family. Cops, too. I know what’s what.” She leaned forward. “Do you know what I want, honey? I want you to take that little fucker down, and take him hard, and I want a piece of it.”

Eve’s lips twitched at the sound of the expletive in the pretty suburban kitchen.

“That’s what we’ll do.”

“Good. How about another muffin?”

“No, really.” Eve pushed back from the table just as MacMasters came in.

“Sorry to interrupt. Mrs. Mimoto, your husband wondered if you could give him a hand with something when you had a minute.”

“Can’t find his lucky socks.” She shook her head as she got to her feet. “Seventy years, and he can never put his hand on them. You help yourself to that coffee.” As she walked by MacMasters, she patted a hand on his arm. “We’ll get him today, and your girl can rest easy.”

MacMasters’s face tightened as he stared at the floor.

“That’s part of it,” Eve said as she crossed to him. “It’s what we do. The best we can do. I need to ask you something, Jonah, and I need to hear the truth. Is getting him going to be enough?”

MacMasters brought his gaze back to Eve’s. “You need to know if you can trust me.”

“I need to know if I can trust you. I’m not in your position, but that doesn’t mean I don’t understand the conflict.”

“I’ve thought about killing him, how easy it would be. You know I’ve thought of it.”

“If you said you hadn’t I wouldn’t believe you.” She couldn’t read his face, his eyes. He was too good a cop to show what was in his mind. “I like to think you’d have weighed the satisfaction of it against the consequences. Leaving your wife alone when she needs you most. There are plenty of other consequences, but they’re not going to weigh real heavy for you right now.”

“I want to kill him. I want him to suffer. I wish I could say the badge, what it stands for, what it is to me would stop me from killing him. I wish I could say knowing you’d take me down for it, and I’d leave Carol alone would stop me.”

“What will?”

“I want him to suffer. I think I’ll wake up every morning of my life, and my first thought will be my girl’s gone.” He took a breath, slow in, slow out. “I want to wake up every morning for the rest of my life with the second thought of knowing he’s still paying for it. Every day, every hour for the rest of my life I’ll know that. So will my wife. I need to be here when that suffering begins. You can trust me. And if that’s not enough—”

He reached for the weapon on his hip, offered it.

“You gave me the answer,” she told him.

Nodding, he holstered his weapon.

Eve went upstairs as the Mimoto men loaded up a pair of ATs for their camping trip. She, along with Feeney, watched the outside activity from the EDD setup in Deke Mimoto’s den. Photographs and sports paraphernalia crowded the room. An enormous recliner faced an entertainment screen flanked by shelves jammed with more photographs and countless trophies.

“The old man played baseball back in high school, through college and into Double A. Got picked up by the Yankees, played a season—hit three-fifty-two.”

Intrigued, Eve gave the memorabilia a closer study. “What position?”

“Catcher. Then he bunged up his knee, and that was that. Went into teaching, and coached high school ball. Moved up to principal, then to county administrator, some politicking. Worked construction most summers. Hell of a guy,” Feeney added with obvious admiration. “He was up here quizzing me on the equipment. Hope I’m half as sharp at his age.”