In Death 28 - Promises in Death

fake names, more passcodes, which I’m reading as bank accounts. Unregistered ’link and PPC, not yet activated. And the money shot, Dallas: Coltraine’s ring.”
    “Bag it, log it, bring it. You earned your doughnuts today, Baxter.”
    “Fry her ass, Dallas.”
    “You can depend on it.”
    She clicked off Baxter to tag Feeney. “Did she bite?”
    “Not a nibble on the ’links.”
    “How about her unit?”
    “Through the passcode and fail-safe—she has some skills, but I’ve got more. I’m just starting on the data.”
    “Plan B, then. Roarke?”
    “Ask him yourself. Hey, hotshot, your wife wants you.”
    Eve winced at “your wife,” then shrugged it off as Roarke came on. “Hello, darling.”
    “Don’t do that. I’m clocking time. Did you hook it up?”
    “Ready when you are. And let me just say this is a brilliant idea on so many levels. I’m pleased to have a hand in it.”
    “Thought you would be. I’ll beep you twice when I’m ready.”
    “I like ‘darling,’ ” Peabody commented. “It’s old-fashioned and romantic. Especially with the accent.”
    “Peabody.”
    “Just thinking out loud. So can we fry her now?”
    “Right now.”
    When she reached the conference room, she stopped to give the uniforms new orders. “She won’t get past me, but on the off chance she does, take her down.”
    She walked into the conference room. Grady sat at the conference table, drinking coffee, studying the screen. Looking, Eve thought, very pleased with herself.
    “I was just about to hunt for you. I think I might have something.”
    “Funny, I have something, too. You helped me get to it.”
    “Yeah?” Genuine pleasure lit Cleo’s face. “Can I be there when you arrest the fucker?”
    “Front and center. Do you think it comes down in the blood?” Eve asked conversationally. “You know, bad blood begets bad blood? I think that’s a cop-out myself. You’re in the job long enough, you see it’s not that simple. You see people who come from shit and crawl out of it to make a decent life. Others who come from decent and crawl into the shit. Because they like it. Then again, Ricker’s blood’s partially foul.”
    “Alex Ricker doesn’t have his father’s brains. He’s just been coattailing. No offense, but somebody was going to nail him sooner or later.”
    “Maybe. His problem was getting stuck on the woman. Not enough to make him change his ways, but enough to mess him up. Guy’s got a soft streak in there, sentimental, I guess. Men.” She shook her head. “They think they’re stronger, tougher than women. We know better. The coldest killers I’ve known have been female.
    “But back to blood. I’m curious. Were you a cold, murderous bitch before you knew you had Ricker’s blood, or did you turn into one after? Don’t answer yet,” Eve continued as Grady rose slowly. “Let’s deal with the formalities. Cleo Grady, you’re under arrest for the murder of Amaryllis Coltraine, the murder of Rod Sandy. Other charges include—”
    Even as Cleo reached for her weapon, Eve reached for hers. They drew together.
    “I’d love to do it,” Eve said. “I’d feel joy in my heart watching you drop. But maybe you’ll drop me. Maybe. Then my partner, who’s got her weapon at your back will drop you. You’re not walking out of this room, Grady. Lower your weapon, or you’ll get a taste of what you gave Coltraine.”
    “Mine’s on full. You go down, you won’t get up.”
    “Maybe. My partner’s still going to drop you. Put down your weapon.”
    “The fuck I will. You move away from—”
    Eve fired. Her weapon was on its lowest setting and did no more than jolt Cleo, sent her stumbling back as her own weapon clattered to the floor. “That felt good. Small of me, but damn, that felt good. Got her weapon secured, Peabody?”
    “Yes, sir, I do. And it felt good over here, too.”
    “Hands behind your back, Cleo.” Eve secured her own weapon, took out her restraints. “Oh, and please make a try for the door,” she invited, “so I have an excuse to kick your ass.”
    “Easy to say when you and your partner have weapons on me.”
    “Yeah, it is.” Eve grinned. “Want me to say it again?”
    “You can’t make this stick. None of it’s going to stick.”
    “Bet?” She shoved Cleo into the chair, looped the restraints through the back rungs and chained her to it as she completed the Revised Miranda.
    No blood on my hands, Eve thought. “I guess Mira was