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She couldn’t deny the blocker helped—so she wouldn’t mention it. But it helped get her through the rest of the debrief. It helped keep her mind clear to write up her report, in detail. Then to read and review others that came in.

Then Yancy rapped on her doorjamb.

“Tell me something good and you can have real coffee.”

“For real coffee I’d make something up, but I’ve got something good.”

She jerked a thumb at her AC.

He went straight for it. Peabody would’ve called him a frosty-looker with his pretty face, curling black mop, dreamy eyes. Eve considered him a genius as a police artist, and a damn solid cop.

He set a folder on her desk.

“I’ve got good descriptions from the server, from the Realtor—which correspond with the shop cams on his run. And another—we’re still working on the mask peel, but I’ve worked up another, and I think it’s close.

“And one more,” he said as she opened the folder. “A kind of combination, with a lot of comp input, using the other three.”

She looked at the first two, matching the server’s, the Realtor’s respectively.

“The gray temples don’t work. He’s too vain for gray, especially since he came full gray out of prison. I think the cheekbones are too sharp—that’s enhancement.”

“I’m going to agree.”

“He doesn’t have an overbite like this in the second. And that’s bound to be a wig. Little bit of jowls going here, too. The little scar in the left eyebrow. And no, too vain.”

“Same chapter, same page.”

“This one, the one you and the e-geek are working on.”

“It’s not a hundred percent.”

“But it’s closer. He had his eyes done. He got bags under them, lines around them in prison. Nose work. Rossi busted it good on the capture, and it stayed crooked. Had it straightened, thinned it some. Cheekbones, sharp but not like in sketch one. Not as prominent. Chin’s more square—he’d go for that. Took prison and about a decade off.”

She studied the next. “Yeah, yeah, I see where you’re going here. This is useful. Shows how he can morph with appliances, enhancements, skin and eye color changes. But it’s still the same man. As the driver, with the mask deal, bigger change. Two decades off. But he hasn’t used that again. Maybe he doesn’t have the necessary to create another. Or he has to save it until he really needs it.”

“Worth a cup of the real?”

“Oh yeah.”

“I heard you got shot. You don’t look like you got shot.”

“Because I didn’t. I got shot at. People leave off the at . Number three. This is him.”

“It’s not a hundred percent.”

“I get that, Yancy. I get that, but it’s him.”

“We’re still working it. It’s fascinating. We get more, you get more.”

“You get more, I get more, you get another hit of real.”

“Hold you to it. I’m heading back to EDD.”

“It’s end of shift.”

“Fascinating,” he repeated, and smiled his frosty smile. “Figured you’d want hard copies, and now?” He pulled out his ’link. “You’ve got them on your unit.”

“Appreciate it.”

She added them to her report, sent them with her notes to the bullpen.

Then she added them to her board. And tapped the third sketch.

Dark hair, dark eyes, skin smooth under them, brows thick and dark over them. Slim, straight nose, hard-lined mouth. A nice hint of cheekbones, a square jaw.

“There you are. You had some luck today, but I’m going to make sure your luck changes.”

She went out to the bullpen, and wasn’t surprised to see Roarke sitting at a desk working on his PPC.

“Heads-up. I’ve just sent you Detective Yancy’s images. The third’s the winner, in my opinion, but you have them all to show around. Officer Carmichael, I need you to select uniforms coming on shift to begin circulating these images. On the street. I’m sending out a list of high-end men’s shops, barber shops, bootmakers. Uniforms can start on those tonight.

“Any detectives not on another investigation, pick that up in the morning. Add in high-end licensed companion agencies. If he wants sex, he won’t hire it off the street. I want client lists where we can get them. For the barbers we’re looking for regulars who want the hot towel shave. He can’t use appliances or enhancements for that.

“Peabody, we’re going to start refining those lists to areas and sectors. Roarke, unless you’re applying for a job at Central, with me.”

“Dallas.” Peabody trotted after her. “We didn’t get him, but the op wasn’t a failure.”

“How do you figure?”

“Nobody blew up, nobody died, and we have more than we did going into it. He ran. He had to run, like he had to run during the Urbans. He’s going to remember what happened then. And be afraid. We didn’t get him, but we will.”

Eve considered Peabody’s summary accurate enough.

But.

“He’s going to escalate. He has to. And whatever it is he has in mind to do, it won’t be pretty. We’ll get him, but we have to make sure we get him before he does what comes next.”

Roarke joined her on the glides. “You’re a target now.”

“I always was. You knew that. I may have moved up on the list, but I always was.”

Irritated, unable to say what she needed to say on the glides, she shoved her hands in her pockets.

“Knowing is one thing, even a bit abstract, isn’t it?”

His tone, light and conversational, had the hands in her pockets balling into fists.

“The reality of you bleeding on the corner of First and Third is a different matter.”

“We knew he’d be armed. We knew it would be old-school. He’s freaking old-school. And it’s not the first time I’ve done some bleeding on a corner.”

“And unlikely the last,” he added as they got off the glides, pushed through the door to the garage.

The clang of her boots on the stairs matched the return clang of the headache at the base of her skull.

“Let’s clear this up. I get you were upset that he opened up on me.”

“Do you now?”

“Yeah, now, then, later. I get it. But you can’t step on my authority on an op, especially in front of my team.”

“You’ll have to excuse me for demanding medical attention when my wife’s been shot.”

“At, at, at! Shot at!”

“I believe, technically, when a bullet makes contact with flesh, it’s shot. ‘At’ is a miss.”

“It barely did, and that’s not the point.”

“It’s a very sharp point for me.”

She knew that tone, the icy cool one, that meant there was a burning temper under it. And as her own rose to match it, she stopped at the car.

“I said I get it, and I do, but an op isn’t one of your meetings where you’re in charge. I’d lost the bastard, and I had to redeploy the team to search mode, and not stop to worry about a scratch.”

“A gash,” he corrected in that same frosty tone. “Be accurate. And one you got by jumping in front of civilians.”

“Damn right. That’s the job! What would you have done?”

“I hope I would’ve done the same.”

“Hope, my ass. You’d have done exactly the same because that’s who you are. I know you, goddamn it. I know I don’t have a couple holes in me because you came up with this.”

She opened her jacket to the Thin Shield.

“And you came up with this because somebody put a hole in me a few years back. And I have this.” She slapped her hand on the car. “This vehicle that looks like nothing much but can withstand most anything short of a nuclear blast. And, hell, maybe that. I have this ride because some asshole blew my previous ride up. Those are big fucking deals, but you can’t protect me twenty-four/seven. And you can’t order me around on an op I’m leading!”

He waited a beat. “I have to disagree with that last bit. When my wife is bleeding from a bullet wound—a wound caused by a bullet is a bullet wound,” he said before she could snarl at him, “under those circumstances, I am duly authorized to call for medical attention.”

He waited another beat.

“It’s in the Marriage Rules.”

She opened her mouth, closed it again. Turned a circle, pulled on her hair. Hoisted by her own petard, she thought. Whatever the fucking fuck a petard was.

“You yanked up my shirt in front of Santiago.”

And that statement, her ridiculous and somehow endearing embarrassment, simply evaporated his anger.

“And if I’d been standing at First and Third, bleeding, what might you have done?”

She hissed out a breath. “Shit. Shit. Shit. I’d have done the same damn thing. Okay, okay, but… No, fuck it. Look, I’m—”

He stepped to her, touched a finger to her lips. “You feel obliged to apologize now. Don’t. I don’t want an apology, and none is warranted in any case. Lieutenant Dallas, my darling Eve, I don’t want to change you. I’m madly, wildly, completely in love with the woman who’d use her own body to shield others. With the woman who, even while wounded, is embarrassed Santiago saw a part of her midriff.

“I love who and what you are, every glorious and frustrating bit of it. And I was terrified. Now I want credit for not doing this when I very much needed to, on that corner, in front of Santiago.”

He gathered her in, held on. “There you are,” he murmured.

She held on, too. “I appreciate the restraint.”

When he laughed, she drew back to cup his face in her hands. “What you just said, about loving every glorious, frustrating bit? Same goes. I don’t want to change you, either.”

She pressed her lips to his.

“But I bet, if you got shot at in one of your meetings, and I came pushing in, pulled up your shirt, and demanded medical aid, you’d be a little pissed.”

“Should that ever happen, we’ll test your theory.”

“Okay. You drive. I’ve been shot.”

She tossed him a grin as she got in the car. And shaking his head, he slid behind the wheel.

“So anyway, what’s a petard?”

Laughing again, he glanced over. “I so clearly see where that one comes from. Your Marriage Rules hoisted you, didn’t they now? It’s a small bomb.”

“How the hell do you get hoisted on a bomb? See, these things make no sense.”

“Shakespeare would disagree.”

“What the hell does he know?”

Leaning over, he kissed her.

“I’ve sent you a list,” he told her, “on the machine and materials Potter would need to create the skin mask. Both legitimate and black-market venues. It’s not long, considering.”

“That’s good. Another angle.”

As he drove, she pulled out her PPC. “We’re going to start a search on houses, with garages, purchased or rented within the last year. Gotta start somewhere. We can cross-reference with the barbers, possibly the men’s stores, bootmakers.”

Reaching over, Roarke squeezed her hand. “And yes, there you are.”

She worked, picking through the steps to open her command center’s operations from her PPC, to then coordinate the search between command and her mobile.

“Could be a townhouse, and he rents a garage. Have to factor it. He could have rented or bought it two years ago. Three, four. He could’ve formed a shell company, or manufactured a spouse on the lease, the deed, like he did with the Realtor.”

“You have his face now.”

“Yeah, or close enough. It’s going to help. It may help pin where he got the face-making machine. And if we can pin down where he gets those fancy shaves…”

Frowning, she reached over, rubbed his cheek. “You’re pretty smooth. Do you get those?”

“I don’t, no. I dislike having someone run a naked blade along my throat.”

“Good thinking. But he gets them. Old-school again. Old-school. A lot of tech advances since he went inside. He’d have kept up as much as he could, but… Still, he fabricated that mask. But the gas, the bomb, the gun. His vehicle… Wouldn’t he want something that’s been around? I don’t mean the actual vehicle, but the type. Old, respected brand. Familiar. Something with status. It’ll be loaded—lots of new tech and additions since the Urbans—but a make that speaks to him.

“Did he have a vehicle back then?”

“I’m sure our guests will know.”

“Yeah.” She closed her eyes a moment. “Yeah, yeah. I’m going to have to brief them on all this, aren’t I?”

“Not only because they deserve to know, but because they’re useful.”

“Useful,” she repeated, as the gates of home slid open. “They’re useful.”

But she thought she might need another blocker to get through it.

Despite the guests, when they walked in, Summerset loomed in his black suit. Not unlike, Eve realized, the suit Potter had worn when he’d shot at her.

The cat sat at his feet, then rose, stretched, before walking over to ribbon through her legs, then through Roarke’s.

“Briefing, my office in ten. Everyone.”

“Very well. There was a brief bulletin regarding an unidentified male deploying an illegal weapon in the East Village this afternoon.”

“Ten minutes,” Eve repeated, and went up the stairs.

“She’s a bit out of sorts,” Roarke told him. “She’ll explain.”

“There’s a bit of blood on her trousers.”

“You always had a sharp eye. She’ll explain that as well. Or I will. Where are our guests?”

“Scattered about. I’ll bring them up.”

When Roarke joined Eve, she stood updating her board. The cat stretched out on her sleep chair.

“Why don’t I check on your search? I may be able to filter and refine.”

“It’ll probably need a lot of both if I want to find him this decade.”

“You’re discouraged, and you shouldn’t be.”

“I’ll get over it.”

“You identified him, proved he faked his own death, established his motive, brought his kill list to a safe location. Located a bomb, saw it deactivated. You saved lives. And now you have the face he bought himself.”

She’d pat herself on the back for all that later. Because…

“He’s going to escalate. I don’t know how, when, but the way he aimed at those civilians today?” She stepped back from the board. “I saw his face, the look on it. He wanted to distract and delay me, yeah, but it was more. He enjoyed the idea of it, like he was back in the past. In a street war. It was a tactic, sure, and it worked. But it was more.

“If we don’t find him soon, stop him soon, someone’s going to die. It won’t be one of The Twelve. He can’t get to them as long as they’re here. He’ll pick someone else, someone he can get to. He won’t count the risk. He lives for the risk.”

Hands in pockets, she circled the board. “Someone he can get to. Potentially use to get to them, or me. Or you,” she said, turning to him. “You’re in it, too. You’re Summerset’s, you’re mine, and he knows it. And you’re a big, shiny risk.”

“Is that what’s worrying you? I can promise you, he won’t get to me. Should he try, he’ll not only fail, but you’ll have him.”

“I don’t think he will.” She scrubbed her hands over her face. “It’s too direct, and he’d know how covered you are. For a risk-taker, he’s still a coward. Direct confrontation, not so much. Duplicity, betrayal, that’s his style. But I’m allowed to worry some. Marriage Rules.”

“Of course. I’m refining this here and there, then I’m opening a bottle of wine. Or, considering our guests, two bottles.”

“I’m working.”

“And a glass of wine hasn’t impaired you before. It may relax you enough to open a new channel.”

“I could use a new damn channel.”

When he finished refining, he went into the kitchen, and Eve sat to scan the search results as they trickled in.

He came back with a tray holding a platter of various cheeses, thin crackers, olives. Little plates, little napkins.

“You’re always feeding people.”

“We both went hungry often enough as children. So we know, or should, that hunger can distract, cause the mind to stay unfocused. And food, well, it can open those channels.”

He set the food on the table, opened her terrace doors to air washed clean by the day’s rain.

By the time he’d opened the bottles, Summerset led the others in.

“No one goes hungry around here.” Harry started toward the table, then stopped. He walked closer to the board.

“Why, that’s Potter, isn’t it? Bloody hell, that’s some good work he had done, but I’m damned if that’s not the raving bastard Conrad Potter.”

“Which one?” Eve got up, walked over.

“This one here.” He tapped the third. “It’s the eyes. Barely a line showing, and there should be, but I know those eyes.”

Beside him, Marjorie nodded. “With all four up here this way, I can see him in all of them. But I’d have walked right by one and two. The fourth, maybe I’d’ve felt some tingle. But this one?”

“You’d have looked twice,” Iris finished. “I’m not sure I would have, but that’s my lack. I’ve been out of the game too long. I see him now.”

She turned to Eve. “Have you?”

“Yeah, I got a look, but of this one. The third is the work of EDD, the lab, and a police artist. They’ve been using a program and probabilities to go under the mask he wore when he got Rossi.”

“Well done then.” Ivanna laid a hand on Marjorie’s shoulder as she took a long look. “I agree, not only excellent face work, but his eyes. And, in my opinion, how he’d wish to look. Younger, thinner, straighter nose, a bit more cheekbones, the square line of the jaw. Enough of a change it would elude face recognition programs, and more classically handsome than his own.”

“I see the tricks on the others now,” Marjorie added. “Some of which I taught him myself. Change the bite, which changes the shape of the mouth, cheek line, jaw. Add a little flaw, or the perfect touch of gray. Vary eye color, skin color, hair color, style, and length. Fill in lines or add them.”

“You saw him today.”

Eve looked over at Summerset. “That’s right, and we lost him.”

“Have some wine,” Roarke said, “and the lieutenant will fill you in. Eve.” He handed her a glass already poured.

“Fine. Get what you want, then have a seat.”

She took them through it, reminding herself they did have a right to know. And maybe they’d see some angle she’d missed.

Was still missing.

“Using the Realtor, someone legitimate, as cover.” Ivanna nodded. “Yes, I can see that. He’d have killed her if she’d gotten in the way or if his ruse with her had cracked.”

“He wanted to be alone to watch us die,” Marjorie added. “No reason she couldn’t stay, be shocked with him—and smarter that way. But he wanted to savor in private.”

“He was lucky with the rain. A pity.” Summerset stared down into his wineglass, then lifted his gaze to Eve’s. “You pursued.”

“We pursued. It was necessary to clear 3-C, which Peabody did. And to clear the basement level, which Detective Carmichael did. I had the lead, so I pursued. He did, in fact, exit by the emergency door, then fled west. He drew an old-school handgun and fired.”

Ivan, quiet in a corner, blinked. “He shot at you.”

“I was wearing protection, which I assume he realized. He then aimed at a pair of female civilians.”

“Yes, of course he would.”

Eve narrowed her eyes at Summerset. “Elaborate.”

“He had no issue with collateral damage. The mission, he believed, took priority over lives. Any lives,” he added. “All lives.”

“Enemy blood, allied blood, innocent blood, same color, and to win the war, you’ll have to spill some.” Harry nodded. “He said that to me once over a pint. Seems like I pointed out we were fighting to save lives, and he just said, added a shrug to it, ‘War kills, and the big picture? Win the war. Whatever it takes, whoever it takes.’”

“Were they injured?” Iris asked. “The women?”

“No, but the tactic worked, and I lost him. We canvassed the area—”

“Eve.” Roarke spoke softly. “You shouldn’t censor your report.”

Summerset understood immediately. “You were injured. You shielded them. He shot you.”

“I was wearing protection,” she repeated. “It was, and is, my job to protect civilians. I sustained a minor injury, which has been treated.”

“He knew you would.”

Summerset got to his feet. Eve realized she’d never seen him pace before. It made him almost human.

“He would have studied you, researched you. Know your enemy. Anticipate, act. He knew you’d stop the pursuit long enough to shield the civilians. And he’d use that to get away.”

“I guess I could’ve put the mission first priority, and let him shoot someone.”

“That’s hardly what I meant, and you’re well aware of it,” Summerset snapped right back at her. “You’re sniping because you’re justifiably angry he got away from you. You had no choice, he gave you no choice. He knew it.”

“He was never very good with a handgun.” When the cat jumped into his lap, Harry stroked. “I’d say he hasn’t gotten any better. Otherwise, he’d have gone for you and a head shot. He went for the women—two, so bigger target—hoping you’d get in the way, and knowing if he hit one of them, you’d have to stop, help. He did it because he’s a poor shot and a coward who doesn’t give one ripe shit.”

“I agree with all of that.” Ivanna let out a sigh. “He went into the military, I believe, because he envisioned having power over others. Giving orders more than receiving them. He went into intelligence, as he appreciated the idea of deception, of using the enemy’s weakness and secrets against them. Then into the cops again for the power and authority. He joined us to benefit from both sides, as he had no allegiance.”

“And to profit,” Iris added.

“And to profit. It’s all very clear in hindsight, but in the fog of war, we believed him one of us.”

“You went into that particular building,” Marjorie reminded Eve. “Why?”

“As I said, he might have infiltrated the painting crew.”

“There were other buildings with a view of the restaurant, but you broke off from your team to check that one. Only that one. You had a feeling in the belly.”

Eve started to speak, stopped. She sipped some wine, thought it through. Roarke had it right. No point in censoring the briefing.

“That building afforded the best view, and offered two units, vacant, he could potentially use. And where he could… savor. You said that. I had a feeling about that building, those two units when Peabody and I went through in the morning.”

She drank again.

“I didn’t listen to my gut, not enough. We had to cover the area, and I had to stay off the street because he’d recognize me. If I’d listened to my gut, I’d have stationed myself in 3-C and another officer in 5-A.

“And I’d have him in the box right now.”

“You had to cover the area.” Ivan spoke again. “Because he could have chosen any of those locations. Any of them. And he would certainly be armed, which put civilian lives at risk. You chose the most logical, broad-based strategy.”

“And I missed.”

“Well, bugger, that never happens to anyone, ever,” Harry commented.

With a smile, Marjorie lifted her glass. “What does your gut tell you now?”

“He has a place, a detached house with a garage. On the West Side. The house is bigger than he needs, but he has to have the space, the freedom of space. It’ll be in a good neighborhood, convenient to high-end shops and restaurants, probably near enough to a food shop that carries the candy he likes.”

“Couldn’t get that in prison, could he?” Marjorie nodded. “He’d want his peppermint creams. What else?”

As she spoke, sipped at the wine, Eve circled the board again.

“He uses an old-school but high-end barber. Most likely gets that fancy shave once or twice a week. We’re working that now. He has a tailor, a bootmaker. He’s not as well-funded as he was when he started, but he needs the high-end. He won’t go back.”

Can’t go back, Eve thought.

“He’s stuck in the past, not only because of the mission, which is kill all of you, and me after he’s done that. Before if need be. But because that’s when he had power and control.”

“Too much of both,” Iris murmured. “Hindsight. Is anything more frustrating than hindsight?”

“He has a vehicle,” Eve continued. “A major, long-term brand. A brand that’s been around a long time. Fully loaded, luxury vehicle, but not flashy. Black, dark gray, dark blue. Nothing sporty. Dignified. He has his own fitness equipment. No fitness center, too many people. He keeps to himself, but not so much it has people saying just that. He failed today, so he’ll escalate. He’ll try something complicated, put another life or lives on the line.”

She turned to the board, looked at his face.

“He’s a killer, and the wars fed that need. He didn’t get that rush of satisfaction today, that hunger wasn’t sated. He didn’t get to savor, and instead had to run. Had to run the way he did decades ago. He’s afraid, and the fear makes him angry. He needs to find something, do something so he gets that rush, and blows off the fear with success.”

Eve paused, then added, “He has to teach us all a lesson. Show us he’s better than we are.”

“You know him very well.” Marjorie drank. “How do we find him?”

“Working on it,” Eve muttered. “Working on it.”