“Do what you need to do. I’m having a shower, cool enough to clear my head.”
“Give me that thing.” She snatched the PPC from him. “Go.”
She read the address—he was right. Close enough to Central that a cop with a decent arm could throw a rock through the window.
She started to tag Peabody, remembered she was naked, blocked video.
“Peabody,” came the muffled, slurred answer.
“We’ve got an address. Get to Central. I’ll be there within fifteen. Tag Baxter. I want him and Trueheart. And Uniform Carmichael. Are you getting this?”
“Yeah. I got it. I got it.”
“Bring McNab if he wants in—and Carmichael needs to tap three more uniforms. Move now, Peabody.”
“I’m up. I’m moving. I’ll make the tags.”
Eve clicked off—she’d deal with the rest on the way. But for now, she rushed into the bathroom and, bracing herself, stepped into the shower.
This time the scream she heard was her own. “Oh fucking hell, it’s freezing.”
“It’s set at ninety degrees, precisely.”
Because he sounded like himself, and amused about it, she gave him a snarl. “Get out, because it’s going up to one-oh-one. I’m out in two minutes.”
He left her to it, grabbed a towel, heard her heartfelt groan of relief after she called for jets at 101 degrees.
In just over two minutes, she darted back into the bedroom, dry but still naked, then dived into her closet.
By the time she dived out, dragging on trousers, he was already wearing his own, and a black sweater—and sliding a clutch piece into an ankle holster.
“I don’t want to see that weapon unless somebody’s pointing one at you.”
She dragged on a black sweater—one she’d grabbed at random rather than by plan—shrugged into her weapon harness. She strapped on a clutch piece as well, pulled on her boots.
“I need blueprints, schematics of the building to set up this op. We need to move fast.”
“I can access those or pilot the copter. Which would you like?”
“Shit. Walk me through how to access—the fast way.” She snagged her coat, tossed him his. “Magic coats, pal. They’re going to be armed, and they’re not going to be happy.”
To save time, she turned to the elevator.
“How many are you pulling in?” he asked her.
“Peabody, McNab, Baxter, Trueheart, Uniform Carmichael, and three uniforms he
picks. I can tap more, but I need to see the building, get a sense of it. We’ll get eyes and ears on it—you can help there. I don’t want to drag Feeney in.”
“He’d want you to, and be right pissed you didn’t.”
“Crap.” She pulled out her comm as she ran out the front door. Not the ’link—the comm, more official. If Feeney slept through the signal, that wasn’t her fault.
She made it fast, left the voice communication, ended it as she strapped into the godforsaken jet copter.
“This time of day we could almost drive there this fast.”
“It’s here, it’s ready.”