Cobbe, he thought, and felt a heat spread inside him. One he recognized as anticipation.
“Is that so?”
“It is, and knowing what’s going on, I initiated a trace on the last.”
He expected no less from her. “And?”
“The last contact, at thirteen-oh-six, originated from Hudson Street, moving uptown from Christopher to West Tenth. The caller, who identified himself as Grafton, was either walking or driving—very slowly if driving—on Hudson.”
“All right. If another comes through, start the trace, then pass him on to me. Well done, Caro.”
“Roarke.” With the affection of long standing, she laid a hand over his. “You will be very careful.”
“Depend on it.” He squeezed her hand before he rose, then went into his office.
And contacted Eve.
“Cobbe was walking on Hudson Street fifteen minutes ago.”
“What? You saw him?”
“He’s been trying to contact me here at my office, which proves him a rare git. Caro started a trace.”
“Stay put, let me know if he contacts you again. I’m on this.”
She clicked off without another word.
He turned in his desk chair, stared at the wall of glass to the towers of New York. Downtown then, and so—high probability—would his safe house be.
That would put a solid dozen possibles uptown low on the list.
Yes, a rare git, as Eve would conclude the same and focus the search downtown.
If not a rare git, he considered, a ploy to shift attention away? But doubtful there, as he had no reason to think they were focusing on safe houses.
Ring me back, you shagging bastard, and we’ll have ourselves a little chat.
He forced himself to put it aside—for now—opted to read through the bullshit counteroffer first.
And on what planet, he thought as he scored through line after line, was the sky quite such a shade of rosy pink they’d think he’d give the lazy, inept, greedy execs—who’d mismanaged into the ground what had been a solid little company—golden parachutes to land so soft?
They’d take his offer—more than fair enough—as is, or end up mired in the muck.
He wrote a memo to that effect, copying his own legal team and Caro, then shot it off.
It lightened his mood, as work tended to do, so he read over Fitzwalter’s detailed and sharp report, sent off another memo to those connected to the project.
He settled in with the specs, found himself largely satisfied. A few changes here and there, which he detailed with another memo to the chief engineer on that project.
Even as he sent it, Caro buzzed him.
“I’ve got him on hold, told him you were just finishing another call. Trace is going now.”
“That’s fine then. Keep it going, I’ll bring the trace and the call up here.”
He used his personal ’link to contact Eve again. “He’s rung back. We’re tracing. I’m looping you in on the call and the trace.”
“Hold it a minute, hold it.”
“If I do that, he’ll click off. I’m muting you,” he said, and shifting to his desk ’link, blocked video.
“This is Roarke.”
“Ah, the man at last. I’ve been wanting a word with you.”
“Grafton for the street then. If a word’s what you’re wanting, come and see me. I’ll put the kettle on the hob.”
“There in your big black tower with all that security to protect you? Your life’s behind walls and gates. Why don’t you come out in the world, meet me man-to-man?”
“When and where?”
“As easy as that?”
On his screen insert, Roarke watched Eve obviously shouting orders, then all but flying down glides at Central.
“And why not? I’m not some unarmed woman walking in the park of an evening, or some poor cat for you to gut.”
“How do you gut the gutless? You think your piles and pots of money keep you safe from me? You think your skinny slut of a cop wife can protect you?”
“I say again, when and where?”
“I’ll let you know, you fecking wanker, and the when and where will be your last. You’ve no right to the name you use that’s mine. When you’re done I’ll take it all, then slice that bitch who married you from crotch to throat.”
When Cobbe ended the transmission, Roarke was already at the door, rushing out.
“Sir, he’s on Perry between—”
“I’ve got it.”
“Should I alert Jenson?”
“I’ve got it,” he repeated, and leaped into the elevator.
He didn’t want a driver. He kept a vehicle in the garage for when he wanted to drive himself.
And now he surely did.
He leaped into the two-seater, peeled out of the slot. And with a roar of the engine, bulleted out into the street.
He hit vertical, cut the corner, and headed downtown airborne over uptown traffic.
Another corner with a speed that had pedestrians gawking overhead, and a glide-cart operator shaking both fists skyward in appreciation.
He touched down to gun it when he had enough clear, and wove at a screaming speed for a block and a half before he went up again.
He watched the street for openings, dived down, soared up. Then whooshed over the downtown clogs of cars and people.
When he spotted Eve’s car, the EDD van, two black-and-whites, he decided his best option was the flat roof of a triple-decker on Perry, set the car down between an old lounge chair and the wall.
In seconds he was through the door, thundering down the stairs.
When he burst out onto the street, Eve was only steps away and barking orders.
She stopped. “Jesus, how did you get here? Never mind. Get on the door-to-doors now! Carmichael, Shelby, sweep pedestrians, hit those sidewalk stalls. Somebody saw the son of a bitch.”
She yanked out her comm, ordered more cops and cars for a perimeter.
“I’ll get to you,” she said to Roarke and jogged over to the van. “Subway.”
Feeney nodded. “McNab, Callendar, take it. Stay together. I don’t want either of you coming back with holes in you. What do you want from me?”
“What’ve we got within a five-block radius on the holes?”
Feeney consulted his map. “Got one and another right over the edge of that. We haven’t scanned those yet.”
“Do that. Do you need another e-man?”
“Be quicker with one.”
She looked back at Roarke. “Since you’re here, you go with Feeney. If you get a likely, let me know, and we’re there. Don’t let the civilian get out of the van,” she told Feeney.
“What? You expect me to stun him?”
“Whatever it takes.” She turned to Roarke, grabbed him by the lapels. “Stay in the van, or I swear to Christ, I’ll stun you myself.”
“And you would, no doubt.” He grabbed her right back. “I’ll give you your shot at him, Lieutenant. One shot, then it’s for me.”
He got into the back of the van, shut the doors in her face.
“She’s worried about you,” Feeney said as he eased into traffic. “She don’t worry all that easy, so you gotta give her a break here.”