"Theoretically," he repeated. "And this faction is reputed to have some particularly brilliant minds on board this project. The intel indicates the worm is near completion, and could work."
"How do you know about this?"
"I have connections." He gave an easy shrug. "And it happens Roarke Industries is under government contract, a Code Red contract, to develop and create an exterminator program and shield against this potential threat."
She sat on the side of the bed. "You're working for the government. Ours?"
"Well, if by that you mean the U.S., yes. Actually, it's also a conglomeration sort of thing. The U.S., the Euro Community, Russia, a few other concerned areas. Roarke Industries Securecomp arm has the contract, and R and D is working on it."
"And Reva Ewing works in R and D, for Roarke Industries Securecomp arm."
"She does. Eve, I said Code Red, that's highest clearance. This isn't something she'd have chatted about with her husband over dinner, I can promise you."
"Because you didn't chat with me about it over dinner?"
Irritation sparked, then was controlled. "Because she's a pro, Eve. She wouldn't hold the position she does if there was any doubt of that. She doesn't leak data."
"Maybe not." Coincidence, to her mind, was just a link between points. "But it's certainly possible someone else doesn't have the same confidence in her that you do. It sure adds an interesting angle."
She pushed off the bed, circled the room. "Check this out, will you?" she said absently with a gesture toward the mini data center. "Techno-terrorists. What does a philandering metal sculptor have in common with techno-terrorists besides his wife's position? Why, if they found some use for him, do they kill him, his mistress, and frame his wife? Of course, with the wife in a cage on two counts in the first, this could put a crimp into the research and development of the extermination program and shields."
She looked toward Roarke for confirmation.
"Somewhat. But not an insurmountable crimp. She's heading this, and a couple of other sensitive projects, but there's a very competent team as well. All data on the project would remain locked in-house. None of it is taken outside."
"Are you sure of that? Dead sure?"
"I would have been. This is fried as well, same method." Because he had the same cynical take on coincidence as Eve, anger began to rise through his concern. "Do you speculate that Bissel somehow got his hands on data pertaining to the programs, and was killed for it?"
"It's a good place to start. Did he, or Felicity, ever visit Reva at work?"
"Not that I'm aware of, but I'll find out. They'd never have been admitted into the lab-not this lab-but there are visitors' areas, so I'll see about that. I'll also have a look, personally, at the security of the project, and the personnel assigned."
She knew that icy, controlled tone of voice. "No point in getting pissed off until you know you've got a leak."
"Just getting a jump on it. You'll want to talk to Reva again, and press her on how her husband might have known something of this project."
"Like I said, it's a place to start."
"She might talk to me more freely."
"Her boss? The man who hired her, pays her, and trusted her with the responsibility of a Code Red? Why should she?"
"Because I've known her since she was in bloody university," he said with some impatience. "And if she lies to me, I'll know it."
"You're on EDD duty on this," she reminded him. "You wanted the gig, and you've got it. It looks to me as if we're going to make some use of you in that area. I've got to call for a pickup here of all electronics. And I want the gallery and the studio swept. So that's going to take a little time. I'll give you ten minutes with her, then she's mine."
"I appreciate it."
"No, you don't. You're still pissed off."
"At least I'm polite about it."
"If she leaked it-" She held up a hand to stop his automatic denial. "If she leaked it, how much of the fallout lands on you?"
He wanted a cigarette, and denied himself that small weakness out of principle. "She's mine, so it's my responsibility. We'll take a hit, a hard one. There are a number of other contracts pending. If this blows up in my face, I'd estimate seventy percent of them-and that's optimistic-will cancel."
She couldn't estimate the real value of seventy percent of pending contracts. Millions? Billions? But more, she knew, would be the damage to his pride, and his rep. So she kept her face sober. "Does that mean we won't be able to afford live-in help?"
Appreciating her, he angled his head, then gave her a quick poke with his finger in the belly. "We'll muddle through somehow. I've a bit put by for a rainy day."
"Yeah, a couple of continents, I imagine. Just like I imagine your rep will stand the hit, if it comes. It will," she repeated when he said nothing. "And I'd make book you'll fast talk your way into keeping the bulk of those pendings."
The first gush of anger cooled. "That's considerable faith in me, Lieutenant."
"Considerable faith in that Irish guile of yours, ace."
She pulled out her communicator and called for an EDD pickup. She stepped into the studio from the bedroom area as Peabody stepped in from the gallery.
"Got the interview-the really long, rambling, theatrical interview with McCoy. Due to which, I just took a departmentally approved blocker for the amazing headache."
"Where is she?"
"I let her go. She's planning to lay prostrate in bed in her apartment, and permit herself to be swept away by the rising tide of her grief. That's a direct quote. I did a standard run on her while she was babbling," she added, and brightened considerably when Roarke stepped out. "She's twenty-one, as advertised. Still working on her art and theater degrees, big surprise there. Employed here for the last eight months. No criminal. Born in Topeka." She tried and failed to stifle a yawn. "Sorry. Was Farm Queen her senior year of high school, another shocker. Moved here at eighteen to attend Columbia, partial scholarship. She comes up as clean and green as a Kansas wheat field."
"Do a second-level run on her anyway."
"On her?"
"I'll fill you in on the way. You come in your own transpo?" she asked Roarke.
"I did. I'll follow you over."
"Good enough. Since you're civilian consultant for EDD, contact Feeney and bring him up to date."
"Yes, sir." He winked at Peabody as they stepped into the elevator. "You look tired, Detective."
"I'm whipped. It's what... fourteen hundred. Twelve hours on the clock, on no sleep to speak of. I don't know how she does it."
"Just focus," Eve ordered. "I'll give you an hour's personal in the crib at Central after this."
"A whole hour." Peabody gave up and yawned again. "Boy, that ought to set me up."
***
By the time they were double-parked in front of Caro's building, Peabody's droopy eyes were back on alert.
"Techno-terrorists, Code Reds, government alliances. Jeez, Dallas, it sort of rocks. It's like spy stuff."
"It's like murder stuff, seeing as there are two bodies in the morgue."
Even as she got out of the car, the doorman, spiffy in hunter green with gold braid, marched over. "Ma'am, I'm sorry, but you can't leave your vehicle there. Public parking is available two blocks west, on..."
He trailed off, snapped to attention like a new army recruit faced with a five-star general when Roarke strolled up to join them. "Sir! I wasn't told you were expected. I was just informing this woman that her vehicle is in violation of the parking code."
"This is my wife, Jerry."
"Oh, I beg your pardon, Mrs.-"
"Lieutenant." She ground it out between her teeth. "Dallas, and that makes this a police vehicle. That means it stays where I put it."
"Of course, Lieutenant. I'll make certain it's not disturbed."
He hustled to the door, opened it with some flourish. "Just call down if you need anything," he said. "I'm on the door until four."
"We're fine. Nice to see you again, Jerry."
"Always a pleasure, sir."
Roarke walked directly to the automated security panel that was flanked by two tall urns filled with burnished gold fall flowers. "Why don't I do it, and save time?" Without waiting for the go-ahead, he placed his palm on the plate, and was immediately cleared.
Good afternoon, sir! the computer said with the same delighted enthusiasm as Jerry the doorman. Welcome back. What can I do for you?
"Inform Ms. Ewing that I'm here, along with Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody. And clear the elevator."
Yes, sir. Enjoy your visit.
"Now, wasn't that better than having a pissing match with a machine?" Roarke asked as he led the way to a trio of silver elevator doors.
"No. I like having pissing matches with machines. It gets my blood moving."
He patted her on the shoulder, nudged her into the car ahead of him. "Well, next time, then. Eighteenth floor," he requested.
"I guess this is one of your buildings."
He smiled over at Peabody. "It is, yes."
"Sweet. So, if I ever have any money to invest, would you maybe give me some pointers?"
"I'd be delighted to."
"Yeah, like cops have investment funds." Eve shook her head.
"You just start out saving a little bit of each payday check," Peabody explained. "Then you find the right place to put it, so you can increase the pot. Right?"
"Exactly so," Roarke agreed. "Just let me know when you're ready, and I'll find you a rainbow to bury that pot under."
He gestured when the doors opened on eighteen. "Ladies."
"We're on duty. That makes us cops, not ladies." But Eve stalked out, and to the door of the east corner apartment.
It opened before she could bother with the buzzer.
"Is there some news? Has there been a development?" Caro caught herself, drew a breath. "I'm so sorry. Please come in. Why don't we sit in the living area?"
She stepped back to welcome them into the spacious apartment with a river view. Twin sofas done in strong blue were grouped into a conversation area accented with pretty lamps with jeweled shades and glossy tables.
In what Eve considered a female trait, she'd arranged plump and colorful pillows on the sofas.
There were fresh flowers in vases, attractive little dust catchers, and books-the sort with pages-grouped on shelves.
She'd changed, Eve noted, into what she imagined Caro considered around-the-house attire. Both the shirt and pants were bronze; both were meticulously tailored.
"What can I get you?"
"Coffee would be lovely," Roarke said before Eve could reject the offer. "If it's not too much trouble."
"Of course not. I'll just be a minute. Please, sit down. Be comfortable."
Eve waited until Caro had walked through a doorway. "This isn't a social call, Roarke."
"She needs something to do, something normal. She needs a moment to settle."
"This is really beautiful," Peabody said into the silence. "This place. Simple, classy elegance. Just right, you know. Like her."
"Caro is a woman of quiet and unquestionable taste. She's built a life that reflects her own style and desires, and she's done it on her own. Something you'd respect," he said to Eve.
"I do respect her. I like her." Am intimidated by her, she thought. "And you know I can't let that get in the way of the job."
"No. But you might add it into the equation."
"If you get overprotective and defensive, this isn't going to work."
"I'm only asking for you to go gently with her."
"And here I was planning on smacking her around."
"Eve-"
"Please, don't quarrel over me." Caro stepped back in, carrying a tray. "This is a very difficult situation we find ourselves in. I don't need or expect special handling."
"Let me take that." Roarke took the tray from her. "You should sit down, Caro. You look worn out."
"Not very flattering, but certainly true. I'm a little worn at the edges." She made herself smile as she sat. "But I'm perfectly capable of handling the tough stuff, Lieutenant. I'm not fragile."
"No, I've never thought of you as fragile. Formidable."
"Formidable." Now her smile warmed. "I'm not sure that's flattering either. You take yours black, as Roarke does. And you, Detective?"