She checked the time, argued with herself. Then contacted Roarke.

  When he came on-screen, she led with, “I’m sorry, but I’ve got a question.”

  “It’s not a problem at the moment. I’m between meetings.”

  “Yeah, me, too. Okay, so you’re going to steal the Royal Suite.”

  When he smiled, she all but heard him think: Been there, done that.

  “How long between finding the location, in the current circumstances, and the grab?”

  “That would entirely depend on a multitude of factors. You might say anywhere from straightaway—which is risky and reckless. But there are many in a cage or the grave who try that route. And up to a year.”

  “A year? I don’t get it.”

  “Which is why you’re not and never have been a successful and high-level thief, Lieutenant. You’d want authentication. Why take the trouble if they’re fake? You’d need time to assess the security and so on—the rhythm of the house and occupants in this case. Unless you plan to work solo, you’d need the broker, the thief, the client. If it’s an auction you’re after, that takes time to set up carefully. The accounts you’d need, the location that serves, the invitation list. If you don’t have the ready yourself or financial backing, you’d need to find it.”

  “Because it all costs.”

  “An investment of seventy-five, a hundred million wouldn’t be out of bounds here. Unless, again, you’re the risky and reckless sort. Then you might make the grab well enough, you might have the Suite in hand. But now what the bloody hell do you do with it?”

  “So the smart way is to set it all up first.”

  “And go over every tiny, minute detail, with contingencies, alternates. This is no quick snatch of a handful of baubles. Six months to that year, though I’d consider the year on the long side.”

  “How about eight, nine months?”

  “It fits right in there, doesn’t it now? Would this relate to your unknown blonde with the smirk?”

  “Yeah. Confirmed she visited Henry, stayed at Barrister House last December. She’s stayed there before, shared the bedroom with the man old enough to be her great-grandfather on those stops. Yancy’s going to work with the staff on a picture later today.”

  “I’d say this one knows how to play the long game, and would take the smart and careful route. For the time, the investment, she could walk away with up to four hundred million in profit. And more.”

  “There’s more?”

  “A reputation that would afford her an exceptional life and lifestyle. That’s my time, darling. I’ll be giving Feeney a hand later, but from the home lab so I can juggle in my own work.”

  “Appreciated. I’m talking to the lawyer later, and may work at home after that. I’ll see you.”

  “Good luck with the media.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  She gave herself thirty seconds to sulk over that, and might have taken thirty more, but she heard the click of high-fashioned heels coming toward her office.

  It didn’t surprise her when Nadine walked in on those heels.

  “I brought you a brownie, and potentially some information.”

  She could smell the damn chocolate, and chocolate would equal a boost either before or after the media. Even so, the potential information gave Nadine more of an entry.

  “Give it.”

  Nadine set the little bakery box on Eve’s desk, and her sharp reporter’s eyes arrowed toward the board. “Fancy Blonde?”

  “You’re here to give info, not get it. I’m talking to your type in a little while.”

  “And I’ll be there. What fancy blonde?”

  “What info?”

  “Fine. Can I get you coffee?”

  Eve leaned back in her chair. “Fine.”

  In her fashionable pumpkin-colored heels that matched the fashionable pumpkin-colored dress under a short suede jacket that reminded Eve of the vegetable strangely known as eggplant, Nadine programmed two coffees.

  “I’ve been looking into the Royal Suite—on my own,” she added as she handed Eve her coffee. “That made one hell of a splash when it was stolen from the Tate.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “Every report I’ve dug up attributes it to a well-organized group. An e-man, security expert, someone on the inside, though they never pinned anyone there, the jewel thief, and so on.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Since it’s out there, I pushed on some sources, leaving the emeralds out of it. Clearly, from the list I have from the vault, that was the most valuable item. Well, items.”

  “You have a content list from the vault at Barrister House?”

  Those foxy eyes smiled at Eve as Nadine sipped her coffee. “I’m a very clever woman. One of my sources was part of several of the investigations into the thefts. He strongly believes Henry Barrister worked through a broker. I’m assuming you know about how that works, and have drawn that conclusion as you’re also a very clever woman.”

  “You’re not giving me anything but a brownie so far.”

  “He also strongly believes that this theft—” Nadine held up a hand. “He didn’t mention the emeralds, either, though he likely knows, as he’s still active. Anyway, he strongly believes one of the original thieves targeted Barrister House. Assessing who bought them, where they were kept, and after the original client died, hey, why not take them back, resell them?”

  “And how did this thief access the information? As a very clever woman, you’d have learned how that whole broker deal works.”

  “Henry Barrister was slipping more than a little. The original theft was in, what, 2042? A lot could’ve happened to the broker in that amount of time. Maybe he died, left files, retired, passed his clients to a replacement.”

  She waved that off. “In any case, this has all pumped up the investigative work on the original theft.”

  “Suspects?”

  “He was cagey, but they’re looking hard at a couple of people they believe were part of a team responsible for at least three of the thefts.”

  Her eyes flicked back to the board. “And one of the people they’re looking hard at is a woman. In addition, Inspector Abernathy of Interpol is coordinating with that new investigative task force.”

  “Is that right? He failed to mention it.”

  “I sensed that. Meanwhile, excepting the Tate, for obvious reasons, the museums, private owners, or heirs of same are pretty damn happy about getting their items back. Once they do, that closes it down for them. They’re not particularly interested in spending the time, effort, making the investment to pin down the person or persons responsible for the original thefts.”

  This time Nadine gestured toward the board. “Tell me about Fancy Blonde. It’s under wraps until you give me the go.”

  “Someone who played Henry Barrister for the last fifteen years or so. I don’t have a name or a face, yet. She visited him for several days last December.”

  “And he died in…” A quick flip through a reporter’s mental files. “February. You think she knew or found out about the vault.”

  “I think I want a name, a face, then a conversation. Look, Nadine, I’ve got to prep for this media thing.”

  “You really don’t. You’re good at it. Hating it the way you do makes you really good at it.”

  “So if I liked it, I’d be crap at it?”

  “Yeah, or a lot less good at it.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  Nadine set down her empty cup. “Toss this into the prep you really don’t need. Nathan Barrister’s murder is your priority. It has to be, and it should be. But the story, Dallas? The big shiny object is the vault, what was in it. What, if anything, was taken from it. You won’t get a focus on your victim, except questions about him as a suspect.”

  “Another reason to hate doing this.”

  “I get that because I get you.” She touched a hand briefly to Eve’s shoulder. “My team, and they’re excellent, researched Nathan Barrister thoroughly. He was a good man, a family man with a solid talent for the business his father started. I’ll give that as much weight as I can in my reports.”

  She would, Eve thought as Nadine left. She would do exactly that.

  She sat, ate a little of the brownie while she sat, and stewed. Nadine had given her a hell of a lot more than Abernathy. A task force, pushing on the original thefts. And they’d damn well push hardest at the emeralds.

  She needed to find and return them. It would weaken that push when she did. Meanwhile she had to hope, had to trust, had to believe that Roarke had covered his tracks.

  She ate a little more brownie, and took comfort this fresh push aimed for a group, not an individual.

  EDD: Find the auction and the person or persons holding it.

  She rubbed at the headache climbing up from the back of her neck, and looked at her board. At where she’d written Fancy Blonde.

  Yancy: Get a face, a face that leads to a name.

  Put those together, she’d find the killer, the thief, and the fucking emeralds.

  She needed to bring justice to Nathan Barrister and his family. And goddamn it, she needed to protect the man she loved. Her badge prioritized the first; the ring on her finger symbolized the second.

  She couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t find a way to do both.

  When she heard Peabody’s cowgirl boots, she rose.

  “Sorry, Dallas, nothing on the blonde yet. And it’s time to get down to the media center.”

  “Yeah.”

  When they walked out, she paused in the bullpen.

  “There’s half a brownie on my desk. If it’s not there when I get back, I’m writing up the whole damn bunch of you. Check it.”

  “Nadine brought enough for the whole class,” Peabody told her when they strode to the elevator.

  “Like that would stop them.”

  “Point taken. Did Nadine have anything to get or give?”

  “Abernathy’s coordinating with a task force that’s looking into the original thefts.”

  “Yeah?” Peabody’s voice went flinty. “I guess he didn’t think the NYPSD needed to worry about that.”

  “He’s about to find out otherwise.”

  She tolerated the stops and starts of the elevator, of the people getting on, getting off, even the chatter inside the car that added fresh blooms to her headache.

  She wanted time, just a little more of it, to settle. She needed to talk to Roarke alone, in private. She needed his reassurance no investigation would turn up anything on him.

  Did she know she’d get it? Yes. But she needed it anyway.

  Kyung waited for them. Tall, lean, smooth dark skin, slate-gray suit, perfectly knotted deep blue tie, he looked the part of media liaison.

  “Just this way, Lieutenant, Detective. Chief Tibble and Commander Whitney have just arrived. Inspector Abernathy is on his way. I’d like to be able to tell you we can keep this brief. I understand you have important work to do, but I want to be honest with you.”

  And that, Eve thought, was why in addition to looking the part, Kyung wasn’t an asshole.

  “How long?”

  “I’d judge an hour, minimum. Chief Tibble will give a statement, as will Commander Whitney. The commander will introduce the inspector, who will also give a brief statement on Interpol’s involvement and the coordination with the NYPSD. If you’d also like to give a statement—”

  “No.”

  “I thought not. We will open for questions. You can expect the majority of them to deal with the contents of the vault.”

  “Right.”

  “All investigative parties have agreed that no details on what, if anything, was taken from the vault or the home will be disclosed at this time.”

  “Understood.”

  He opened a door, ushered them into the area where Tibble and Whitney waited.

  Tibble, tall, built, with his air of authority, stepped over. “Lieutenant, Detective.” He shook their hands. “Are there any further details since your last report?”

  “Nothing to disclose to the media, sir. Chief, Commander, I would ask that there’s no mention of the unidentified woman Detective Peabody and I are looking for. Or any mention of Detective Yancy working with the staff at Barrister House on a possible artist’s rendering. I include Inspector Abernathy in that request. I would prefer to update him there personally following the media conference.”

  “Are there reasons for leaving Interpol out of this loop at this time? Reasons,” Whitney continued, “you didn’t copy the inspector on the report with that information?”

  “I intended to inform him, as I will, after this is over. I kept it in my pocket for the simple reason I wasn’t altogether confident the inspector was sharing with the NYPSD. I’ve confirmed that, as a reputable source has informed me Abernathy is coordinating with a task force formed to further investigate the original thefts, most prominently the Royal Suite.

  “It’s possible he, and they, are holding back information that could help in our investigation of Nathan Barrister’s murder.”

  Whitney’s lips thinned as he nodded. “So” was all he said.

  “Handle that as you see fit, Lieutenant,” Tibble told her. “I want a report of the outcome as soon as possible. When I have your report, I’ll have a conversation with the inspector’s superiors.”

  “I’m not looking to jam him up, sir. He’s good at the job, and he’s been helpful and cooperative in the past.”

  “Such as when you handed him an escaped prisoner, a terrorist from the Urbans?”

  “I put him onto the accomplice in that escape, but he did the work. I’m not looking to jam him up with his boss.”

  After a moment, Tibble nodded. “Handle it your way, and get back to me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Moments later, Kyung escorted in Abernathy.

  He’d gone with a black suit, a red tie—there’s the flash.

  When he stepped over to shake hands, she saw clearly he enjoyed all this. It didn’t make him a bad cop; she knew he wasn’t. But it did make him at least a little bit of an asshole.

  She already knew he was.

  “Your EDD and their counterparts at Interpol feel a strong level of confidence they’ll have solid data on an auction within twenty-four hours.”

  He turned to Eve, and the faintest hint of sarcasm came out in that high-toned Brit voice. “I’m informed Roarke will be assisting in his capacity of expert consultant.”

  “That’s Feeney’s call.”

  “Of course.”

  “None of that is information we want to share with the media at this time.” Whitney kept his voice, and his gaze, flat and level. “It could compromise their work.”

  “Oh, absolutely understood. Our priority is the recovery of the Royal Suite. In doing so, we’re laser focused on identifying and apprehending all those responsible for its theft and this resulting auction.”

  He glanced at Eve again. “And, of course, assisting you and the NYPSD in apprehending Nathan Barrister’s killer.”

  “If you’re ready?” Kyung gestured.

  “I want to talk to you after this,” Eve told Abernathy as they started toward the media center. “Some updates.”

  “Excellent. I’m at your disposal.”

  She stood between Abernathy and Peabody, in front of a packed room where cameras and recorders already ran, and the light hit just bright enough to add yet more blooms to her headache.

  Kyung introduced everyone, by rank, explained questions were to be held until after the statements.

  Tibble gave his, brief, concise, emphasizing the NYPSD’s determination to identify and apprehend Nathan Barrister’s killer. He spoke of coordinated efforts between the NYPSD and the international police, assurances that all items found had been securely transferred and authenticated, and the process of returning them was well underway.

  Naturally, any number of reporters shouted out questions when he turned it over to Whitney.

  Whitney merely stood, silent, until the shouting stopped.

  Like Tibble, his statement held brief and concise, focusing first on the victim, the victim’s family before moving to the cooperation and coordination of law enforcement in various jurisdictions and countries.

  That segued smoothly into Abernathy. Not as brief, but Eve had to give him fairly concise. Did he like the attention, like knowing he’d be on screens around the globe, have his statement translated into a dozen languages?

  Oh yeah, but he kept it professional.

  When he stepped back, Kyung stepped up.

  “We’ll take questions now. Please wait until you’re called on,” he said even as the shouting started.

  Like having a couple hundred baseballs pitched at you, Eve thought, and picking the one ball you could hit solidly.

  Tibble hit a couple, and Whitney, Abernathy managed a few singles.

  All about the treasures, she thought. Those shiny objects.

  Then one pitched a fastball about the victim and his potential culpability.

  She stepped up.

  “Nathan Barrister’s family has stated he and they were unaware of the vault and its contents during Henry Barrister’s lifetime. It was discovered several months after his death during some remodeling.”

  Plenty more flew then, and like Whitney, she waited.

  “All evidence gathered by myself, Detective Peabody, and our EDD confirms this. At the time of his murder, Mr. Barrister and his family were in the process of determining the correct way to return all said items.”

  Before she could step back, someone shouted: “Do you have any suspects? Are any of the family or staff under suspicion?”

  “If we had suspects, you look old enough to know I wouldn’t tell you. I can tell you Nathan Barrister’s family, and the staff of Barrister House, are not suspects at this time. Our evidence strongly indicates a planned break-in. Mr. Barrister was attacked from behind during the burglary, at which time his attacker fled.”

  Someone pitched one regarding EDD’s findings, and Eve threw the ball to Peabody.

  “Detective Peabody can answer that more adeptly than I can.”

  Peabody’s eyes shouted “Oh, shit” at Eve, but she stepped up.

  She handled it.