In the predawn dark, she rose, showered, dressed. While Roarke dealt with his rescheduled ’link conference, she checked the overnight results. In the hours she’d slept, the computer had spat out a few more names.
She studied the faces, the data, asked herself if any of them sparked a memory. Someone she’d seen, in passing. Someone who crossed her path, performed some function.
She disagreed with the computer on one or two. Complexion too dark, too light, a hair too young. But she couldn’t risk tossing any of them out of the mix, not yet.
Laboriously, frustratingly, she programmed the two alternate searches, ordering one without the sector factored in, ordering another after she’d clipped two blocks off the grid.
Though she worried it pressed her technological luck, she added another task, and started probability runs on the current results.
Too early to check in with anyone, she decided, as the cat bumped his head against her ankle.
“Okay, okay, I get it. Time for breakfast.”
She started to go into the office kitchen, changed her mind.
Some routines were worth preserving, she decided, and with the cat jogging at her heel, went back to the bedroom.
She couldn’t know how long Prague would take, but considering the soother, the rescheduling, she’d bet her ass Roarke figured to top off his personal brand of care and nurturing with oatmeal.
“Pig meat,” she murmured, frowning at the bedroom AutoChef. “Definitely pig meat. Not one of his full Irish deals. One of those omelet things. What’s it…” She scrolled through the omelet choices. “Yeah, yeah, Spanish omelet. Why is it Spanish? Why isn’t it French or Italian? Who knows, who cares? Okay!”
With a half laugh as Galahad bumped and meowed – the sound like a curse – she got his kibble first. Since she’d made him wait, she boosted it with a saucer of milk.
She programmed breakfast for two – and just in time as Roarke came in before she’d quite finished.
“All good in Prague?”
“All very good in Prague. And here you are, the dutiful wife, making breakfast.”
“Here I am, the hungry cop, making breakfast. Why is it a Spanish omelet?”
“Is that what we’re having?”
“Yeah, but why? It could be an Irish omelet because it’s got potatoes.”
“I have no idea why, but it looks good.” He tugged her down with him. “Thanks.”
“I wasn’t sure how long you’d be in – where is Prague? Czech Republic?”
“You get an A in Geography this morning.”
“Geography’s part of the deal.” She picked up a slice of bacon. “It’s just a hunch about the UNSUB living in my old area.”
“A logical hunch.”
“Yeah, maybe. I’m going to go by that bar and grill when it opens, take the images in. But I’m running alternate searches now, tossing out the geography on one, closing it in a few blocks on another.”
“That explains the cursing.”
“I’m pretty tired of programming.” And in fact she’d already earned a low-grade headache from the morning session. “I don’t know how you geeks deal with it.”
“Hence the term ‘geek,’ a club you don’t belong to.”
“Fine by me. I’ve been looking over the pictures of potentials. I feel like a wit going through mug shots, and that’s a club I’d like to resign from really soon. Nobody pops for me, particularly.”
“Clearly it’s no one you know well or work with on a regular basis.”
“Agreed. But I had another thought. She showed some hair when she went for Nadine, so I’d say wig’s most likely because why show her own?”
Roarke nodded as he ate. “That would be careless, and she hasn’t been.”
“What we see of her shows her complexion is darker than Hastings said – and I don’t think he was wrong. He’s too tuned in to features, faces. So she could have lightened it for that, or darkened it for Nadine.”
“Or it’s neither because she could have worn subtle disguises throughout.”
“Yeah, exactly. So no matter what we’ve got, even when you work some magic and clean up the better look we got last night, it may not end up giving up a solid match.”
“As a charter member of the club of geek, I have to tell you the searches are set very broadly. It’s why you’ve got so many matches in the relatively small geographic area we put in, and why there’s so many variables in those matches.”
“At least you say it in English,” she replied. “I think, going with the odds and my gut, she went heavier on the disguise last night. She felt like she had to set the delivery ploy aside, the box she could rest on her shoulder to block her face from cams, and people. Why be that careful if you’d altered your look – the face part – that much? Some, I’m betting some because I think it’s more than careful. Obsessive again, anal about it.”
She went back to her coffee as the theory rolled through her head. “But last night, the face is going to be partially exposed. The cameras, the possibility – and that happened – of witnesses. She’d want to look less like herself. If she’s law enforcement, she knows we’re running these searches. Even if she’s not – but she is – she’s smart enough to know the basic process.”
“More than blending,” Roarke agreed. “More than going unnoticed by passersby.”
“Yeah, but we can extrapolate. Easier to darken skin than lighten it, so I’m going with her natural tone on the first two hits, or lighter. She went with dark brown hair last night, so I eliminate that hair color. Not going to use her own. She went with my eye color. Brown. So —”
“It’s more than brown eyes,” Roarke interrupted. “It’s your eyes, Eve. And there, it’s deliberate. Your eyes. She wants to see through them. And wants others to see you in her.”
“That’s Mira’s area.” Eve stopped, poked at the omelet. “But I don’t think you’re wrong, and it’s straight-out creepy, I admit it. I get through the creepy, I have to figure out how to use it. Because I will use it when I get her in the box. To get her there, I have to find her. Do you have time to play with the image from last night?”
“I began that.”
“Yeah, but can you tweak what you’ve got? Merge it, morph it, whatever it is, Hastings’s description? He’s going to be the most on target, from my take of it. Go with the shorter height, because that’s going to be closer, and the slimmer build, same deal.”
“I’ll give it some time.”
’Link conference with Prague, she thought, solar systems to buy. He’d already given her more time – and always did – than she could ever expect.
“When you run out of time, can you pass it to Feeney? I want his eye, his experience. He can let McNab and Yancy play some more if he thinks that’s the way to go. But I want his take first.”
“Of course.”
“One more thing.”
“Should I start taking notes?”
“I think you’ll remember. Do me a solid, Roarke, and be extra careful today. Don’t drive yourself anywhere today. Please,” she added, before he could say anything. “Last night had to make her crazy – crazier. And pissed. If she wants to hit at me where it hurts most, it would be you. Strap on one of the weapons you’re not supposed to carry.”
“Darling Eve.” He leaned over, kissed her. “I always have one of the weapons I’m not supposed to carry. You’re not to worry about me.”
“That’s the same bullshit as me telling you not to worry about me.”
“Fair enough. So you’ll take care of my cop, and I’ll take care of your criminal. Reformed.”
“Semi-reformed. Since you break the law every time you go out packing.” She hissed out a breath. “Take a clutch piece, too.”
He patted her hand, went back to his eggs.
He always had a clutch piece.