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She turned into Homicide, started to signal Peabody into her office.

Jenkinson and his atomic tie snarled.

“Some fucking fuck screwing with our LT. We’ve got your back, Dallas. We’re all in.”

She started to shoot Peabody a look, then remembered: Jenkinson. Her detective sergeant heard all, saw all, knew all, almost before it happened.

“I’ve got it, Jenkinson.”

“With respect, Loo, bullshit. Come after one of us, come after all. Especially the boss. Whatever you need, we’re in.”

Apparently, murder had paused long enough so all her detectives and most of her uniforms were in-house. And every one of them looked at her with fire in their eyes.

“I’m not the one who’s dead,” she reminded them. Then relented.

“Giovanni Rossi, lured to New York from Rome, possibly through some connection to the Urbans. Gassed in the limo that picked him up. Phosphine gas.”

“I know what that is.” Detective Carmichael lifted a finger. “I aced chemistry. That’s been on the banned list practically as long as I’ve been alive.”

“That’s what he used. Rossi, possible code name Wasp, seventy-nine, did at least some cyber tech during the Urbans. This may or may not be connected. The man who killed him, either hired to do so or on his own, is as yet unidentified. EDD’s working that. There are, according to the message on the card, another seven targets—also unknown and unnamed. Three others, Fawn, Hawk, Rabbit, are presumed dead. For a total, with the killer or the one who hired him, of twelve.

“Peabody will send you all the data we have. Nobody works it if they have another case. And that includes you, Detective Sergeant.”

He just grunted.

“I’m not a target.” For now, she qualified in her head. “He wants me in pursuit. I’m going to accommodate him. Now, for Christ’s sake, get back to work. I don’t, under the circumstances, want to kick your asses.

“Peabody, send the data, then my office.”

“Sir.”

Trueheart, young, earnest, but not as green as he’d once been, raised his hand.

“Detective.”

“They specify you in pursuit, they get all of us. Sir.”

Baxter, his trainer, his partner, his friend, just beamed with pride. “Kid speaks truth.”

“Fine. That’s fine. But any of you catch a case, you pursue that first. You’re paid to protect and serve the people of New York, not your lieutenant.”

“Can do fucking both,” Jenkinson muttered.

“So say we all.” This from Santiago.

Eve just walked to her office.

She wouldn’t have her bullpen treating her like a victim.

She wasn’t. Once she had been. But now she headed a team of exceptional cops, and was anything but a victim.

And yet, she had to appreciate the one-for-all sentiment.

As long as no investigation got the short straw in the meantime.

She programmed coffee, then sat to scan her incoming.

And sitting, she studied the photo of the gas canister.

It looked old, she realized. Like something she’d see in a museum. But, as Spooner had said, very clean. No dents, no rust, no dust, with the skull and crossbones carefully added. And with a more contemporary style remote trigger attached.

An Urbans-era canister of toxic gas with a remote from now.

The killer, or his accomplices, had the skill or training to weaponize the canister, to remove and replace the ceiling of the limo and install it. To fix it so the gas would discharge into the back of the limo.

And only into the back.

Seal the doors, seal the privacy window. Install the ears and eyes to watch the kill. A lot of time, a lot of trouble taken, with the flourish of the drawing.

Personal, she determined.

Peabody clumped down the hall.

“I didn’t spill it to the bullpen,” she began.

“You don’t have to spill anything. Jenkinson has some sort of radar. Which makes him a damn good cop.”

“Everybody just wants to look out for you, Dallas.”

It only took a look.

“Yeah, you can look out for you, but that’s who we are. And who we are comes down from the top. From you. I don’t think you should leave them out of this.”

Eve spoke with just a touch of frost. “Don’t you?”

Peabody’s jaw jutted—just a touch. “No, I don’t. And I’m hungry. Can I hit the AutoChef? We’ll split a pizza. A pepperoni pizza. I’m just saving time,” Peabody claimed as Eve’s stare could have burned holes in flesh. “You’d have said yes, but it would take time. Plus, I grabbed just a mini breakfast burrito in the subway, hours and hours ago.”

It had been hours ago, Eve realized. “Fine.”

“If one of us got a message like this,” Peabody continued as she programmed, “you’d be all over it.”

She couldn’t deny it.

“We’re cops. We’re a family of cops. Oh, and I think you should contact Nadine, in case it’s the book/vid thing driving this.”

“Which I intended to do before you’re pulling pizza out of the AC.”

“You can have a slice first. Has Roarke gotten back to you?”

“No, and if he’d found Rossi in his vast herd of employees, present or former, he would have.”

“Yeah, he would.” Peabody handed Eve a plate, a tube of Pepsi, then sat on the floor with her own. “So that’s probably not it.”

“Probably not.” The pizza, Eve had to admit, smelled amazing. And tasted the same. “The canister’s from the Urbans, and the remote’s from now. The camera’s going to be from now. Code names like Wasp were, according to Whitney, fairly common during the Urbans era. Just a thing—like Baxter’s sometimes Horndog—not always an official spy deal.”

“It’s a spy deal,” Peabody insisted, and bit into her slice. “Oh God, this is so good. Anyway, digging into Rossi, there are gaps. They don’t look like gaps until you stop and look at them as gaps.”

“Which means?”

“Well, I’ve tracked some travel, back in the thirties, the forties, that doesn’t make a lot of sense. Not for a family man. It’s listed as business travel for the company, but why is he going to Dubai and Budapest and Dublin and Paris and Prague, like that, when he’s basically a cog in the wheel? It’s a lot of travel, Dallas.”

“Nothing recent?”

“Nothing since he retired. I mean nothing like before. Travel to Florence, to Provence, to his wife’s sister’s farm in Tuscany a few times—all travel with his wife, or the whole family. But he hardly left home in the last five years. And this is the first solo trip anywhere I found. And the first trip to the U.S. in like twenty-plus years.”

“Let’s contact his boss or supervisor.”

“I’ve got a call in. Got the runaround, but I’ve got a call in. I used the translator, but still.”

Eve kicked back, looked at her board.

She wanted some quiet time, some thinking time, but for now, she’d bounce off her partner.

“Someone contacts Rossi. Someone he considers a friend or colleague. He’s taken an oath.”

She thought of her bullpen.

“There’s a unity, a bond, so he doesn’t hesitate. Come to New York. He makes arrangements. Quickly, according to his wife. He’s going to stay with said friend—no hotel. He’s happy to reconnect with this friend.

“Someone from the Urbans—that’s speculation, but it rings. Someone he served with. That’s a tight connection. Whitney… He mentioned some things about him and Feeney and the Urbans, and you could feel it. That connection. They were partners on the job, but after that. That’s another bond, the partnership.”

“But they’d been through a war together. I don’t know what that’s like, but it feels like it’s big. It’s like, forever. ‘We few, we happy few.’”

“What?”

“It’s Shakespeare. I can’t remember from what. But about war. ‘We band of brothers.’”

“What about sisters?”

With a shrug, Peabody drank some of her diet version of Pepsi. “Well, Shakespeare, so I don’t think women did much soldiering. Anyway, yeah, a tight connection.”

“Why do you kill your brother? And Fawn? That sounds female. Why do you murder your fellow soldier?”

“Somebody from the other side?”

“Who’s still pissed they lost. Yeah, that’s an angle. Somebody who lost, and did some considerable time? That, at least, would explain the gap of decades. The old-school kill, the old canister. The Wasp. Or all that’s the smoke screen. Set up to throw us off.”

Eve ate more pizza. “Too soon to tell. We need to talk to the widow again. How do you live with someone for four decades and not know?”

“I’ve got a great-uncle—my dad’s side. He was in the Urbans. I’ve never, ever heard him talk about it.”

“I thought Free-Agers were pacifists.”

“True, but he wasn’t, at least not then. I think it turned him into one though.”

Peabody frowned as she nibbled a second slice.

“Summerset worked as a medic back then, didn’t he?”

“Yeah.” She’d mine there if necessary. “And his friend, Ivanna, did some Underground back then. I’ll push there if I need to. I don’t see how—”

She broke off when her desk ’link signaled.

“Antonio Rossi. That’s one of the vic’s sons.”

She picked up the ’link. “Dallas.”

“Lieutenant Dallas. I am Antonio Rossi. My father is—was—Giovanni Rossi. My mother and I are now in New York.”

“Mr. Rossi. Should I engage the translator?”

“That won’t be necessary, thank you. I speak English. My mother does as well, but not as fluently. Please tell me, Lieutenant, you are sure this is my father?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. We’re very sure.”

He looked to be early fifties, with dignified gray at his temples, deep brown eyes that radiated grief.

“We would ask if you’d tell us when and where we can see my father.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll send you all that information, and notify the medical examiner. Mr. Rossi, I’d like to speak to you and your mother at your earliest convenience.”

“This will help you find who took my father’s life?”

“I believe so.”

“Then we’ll come to you. I think this is easier for my mother. To come to you after seeing my father, and beginning the arrangements for him.”

“All right. You’ll ask for Dr. Morris,” she began.

Though his grief pumped through the ’link, he remained polite, restrained, throughout her instructions.

When she’d finished, ended the call, she looked at Peabody.

“Let’s hope they know something they don’t think they know. Seven more, Peabody. He’s an arrogant bastard and a crazy fucker, but he’s got a plan. A plan and a kill list.”

Peabody looked at her signaling ’link. “It’s Rossi’s workplace. I’m going to take this at my desk.” She scrambled up and out.

So Eve took her thinking time with the rest of her slice.

The method of murder with Rossi. Time-consuming, complicated. Overly complicated, she thought. So a purpose to the method or why bother?

She swiveled around to deal with the stolen limo.

Peabody hustled back in, then dropped to the floor to finish her pizza.

“That was Rossi’s direct supervisor. Shocked, upset—genuinely upset when I told her Rossi’s dead. She pressed for details.”

“Which you didn’t give her.”

“Which I didn’t give her. And she wasn’t big on giving me many, either. A lovely man, a good family man, excellent at his work.”

“And that work, exactly?”

“Providing cybersecurity for companies and individuals throughout Europe. She said Rossi handled clients remotely or on-site, though in the last few years of employment had requested less travel. And that jibes with the data. She said he was a valued employee, respected, always willing to assist if a team member had an issue, and kept current with tech.”

“If he was so good, why wasn’t he a supervisor after nearly four decades?”

“I asked, and she told me he preferred working in the field, being part of a team rather than leading one. She asked about his family, and that seemed genuine, too, the concern. She didn’t know, or said she didn’t know, of anyone who had a problem with him, anyone who’d wish him harm. And said she didn’t know anything about a friend in New York.

“I don’t think that was genuine. Just a feeling because she never hesitated, looked me straight in the eye. But…”

“But?” Eve prompted.

“I felt like there was something under it. I expected the block when I asked about clients, about details of his work. Privacy, confidentiality. And the fact he’d retired several years ago. But it just felt… rote. Oh, and she had perfect English. Not just good, perfect. I complimented her on it, and asked if they had clients in the States. She said they just served Europe.”

“Okay. Go ahead and do a good, solid run on her. The more we know, the more we know. How old is she?”

“Early fifties.”

“So he’d have had other supervisors before this one. She’d have been a kid during the Urbans.” Thinking, Eve looked back at the board. “Do that run anyway. If we circle back to her, or any previous supervisors, I’ll take it. Boss to boss.”

“I’ll get started on that.” Peabody got up, and like Eve, looked at the board. “I’ve been trying to find out where he got that scar—the one Morris said was a knife wound. And where the breaks Morris mentioned were treated. I’ve got nothing.”

“Medicals can be tricky, especially from way back.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got some of the usual. Vaccines, standard physicals, a sprained ankle a couple years ago. But nothing on a knife wound, nothing on broken bones.”

Eve considered. “Morris can give us a ballpark, but… I’ll ask him to consult with DeWinter. She’s bones, so she’d likely be able to do better than ballpark.

“I don’t see how it applies to murder, but—”

“The more we know,” Peabody echoed.

“Yeah,” she murmured when Peabody left.

She read the ME’s report again.

Broken clavicle, two broken fingers, three broken ribs, broken left arm.

A lot of breaks, she decided, for an e-man.

And, so far, no medical report on the treatments.

Assuming Morris was with Rossi’s family, she sent him a text.

When you’re done with Rossi’s family, can you request Dr. DeWinter examine the body and the scans—the breaks? I’d like to date them as accurately as possible. Just crossing t’s.

Dallas

Probably chasing the wild goose, she thought.

“And that’s another stupid saying. Why would anyone chase a wild goose?”

Then it hit her.

“Okay, you wouldn’t. So that actually makes sense. Except.” When she caught herself trying to wind it around, she pressed her fingers to her eyes. “Never mind. I’m chasing the damn wild goose.”

She started a search on the Italian company, Sicurezza Informatica.

From the dates, it looked as if Rossi had gotten in on the ground floor there.

A good-sized company, she discovered, with its base in Rome, satellite offices in Madrid, Naples, Palermo. They offered their security services throughout Europe. Remote or on-site.

The full range, blah blah, for businesses, individuals, corporations, educational facilities.

They maintained a five-star rating.

It looked solid and standard to her eye.

With what was left of her Pepsi, she sat back, put her feet on the desk, and studied her board.

She studied Rossi’s ID shot. A nice, ordinary face, the face of a man who looked as if he enjoyed life, and should’ve had a few more decades of it.

And the crime scene still, of Rossi slumped on the leather seat, mouth agape, eyes red-streaked and bulging. Then the closed fist, the raw knuckles. And the card wedged between the index and middle fingers.

Frowning, she swung her legs to the floor and looked at the ME report again. Was it a coincidence he’d broken those same fingers at some point in his life?

“No, because coincidence is bollocks. You knew him, goddamn it. You knew about those broken fingers, and that means something. Personal, something personal. Using them? Just another little flourish.

“This is hate,” she concluded. “It’s hate. Not rage, not a kill for gain. It’s hate. What did a devoted family man, loyal employee, retired, enjoying his life do to generate hate?”

She put her feet up again. “Wasps sting. Who did you sting, Rossi?”

She closed her eyes a moment.

Hawk—they fly, they hunt. A predator. People say eyes like a hawk, so good vision.

Rabbit? What the hell did a rabbit do? Hop around, eat carrots? But they’re fast, she remembered. A suspect rabbits when they take off.

Fawn? Nothing scary about a fawn. A little deer. Pretty if you went for wildlife. Quiet maybe, looked harmless. Was that it—looked harmless?

People ended up with code names, even nicknames for a reason. Three animals and an insect.

And eight more, including the killer.

Twelve. A team of some sort. It had to be, and most likely with its roots in the Urbans. And, also likely, they’d all be over sixty.

Opening her eyes, she studied the photo of the canister.

2024. Thirty-seven years death had waited. Had the killer kept it all that time? Hidden away somewhere until he carefully drew the skull and crossbones, rigged the trigger?

Phosphine = fumigation. Kill rats, pests. Wasps = pests.

“Saved it for you. Specifically you? Like crimes isn’t going to hit.”

She’d run them anyway, but it wouldn’t hit.

Peabody came down the hall.

“The Rossis are here.”

“Faster than I figured.” She started to get up.

“I thought we’d do the lounge, but she’s really hurting, Dallas. So I booked a conference room instead. More private. Maybe I could transfer some of your coffee, the tea you stock for Mira into the AC there.”

“That’s fine. How do you kill a rabbit?”

“Aw.”

“He might’ve killed the other three he named. A method designed for them. Kill the Wasp—poison gas. Kill the rabbit?”

Peabody worked on the AC transfer. “We used stinky repellents—harmless, but really foul—to discourage rabbit and deer from the gardens.”

“He’s no Free-Ager, Peabody.”

“Maybe poison—bait a trap. Maybe shoot—gun or arrow—like they used to. If he had that canister, he could have illegal weapons.”

“Yes, he could. Poisoned bait, a trap, seems more his style than a bullet. Nothing time-consuming or complicated about a bullet.”

She’d play with that, but for now, she walked out with Peabody. She recognized the mother and son who sat on the bench outside her bullpen. The mother had her magnificent hair carefully rolled into a bun at the back of her head and wore a stark black dress. The son wore a suit, also black.

As if they were already attending a funeral.

They sat close, hands linked together.

Though Antonio Rossi resembled his father more than his mother, they wore twin expressions of shocked misery.

When Antonio saw Eve, he squeezed his mother’s hand, murmured something to her, then rose.

“Lieutenant Dallas.”

“Mr. Rossi.” She shook his hand. “Ms. Rossi, if you’d both come with us, we have a quiet place we can talk.”

“He was very kind.” Anna Maria got to her feet. Her English carried a heavier accent than her son’s, but there would be no need for the translator. “The Dr. Morris. Very gentle and kind. My Gio was very gentle and kind.”

“Come, Mamma.” Antonio put an arm around her, led her down the hall with Eve and Peabody. “The medical examiner said we can’t take Papà home yet.”

“No, I’m sorry. Not yet.”

“How long must he stay in that place?” The widow’s voice thickened with tears. “The doctor was kind, but that place, it’s cold. Gio likes the warm.”

“I promise, we’ll clear it for you to take him home as soon as possible.”

“His mother. I had to tell his mother he was gone. She lost her youngest son in the Urbans, and her husband, Gio’s papà, he died young from wounds that had never healed from that time. And now another son, lost. I promised her I’d bring him home.”

“She’s a hundred and two,” Antonio added. “And more frail than we’d like.”

“I understand. I hope we can let you take him home soon.” Eve gestured them into the conference room.

“We have coffee,” Peabody began. “Tea, water, of course, and soft drinks. It’s a very nice tea, Signora Rossi. It’s soothing.”

“Yes, Mamma, you’ll have some tea. I would have coffee, if it’s no trouble. Black will do.”

“He thinks to take care of me.” Anna Maria looked up at her son as he led her to a chair at the conference table. “He forgets he’s my bambino .” She clung to his hand a moment longer, and sat.

Then she straightened her shoulders, turned fierce eyes on Eve. “The doctor said you would tell us what happened to my husband, to the father of my children.”

“We will. We have questions.”

“We will answer your questions. But first, we will know why Gio is gone.”

“You said he left quickly for New York.”

“Hours after he told me his friend needed him. Have you found this friend?”

“No. Mr. Rossi had nothing on his person, or in his luggage to indicate who asked him to come. An old friend, you told me.”

“He says an old friend, an oath taken. He says he will explain it all when he comes home. My Gio would never break a promise. He left to keep one.”

Tears swirled in her eyes again, but didn’t fall.

“He can’t keep the one he made to me, but he would have. I understand who you are, and what you do here. Did this friend kill Gio?”

“We don’t know.” Eve waited while Peabody set out the tea, the coffee. “We do know whoever killed him knew of his plans, and the quickness of his travel, the actions of the killer indicate his killer knew of his travel details.”

Until she got this part over with, Eve knew, she’d get no answers.

“His killer posed as a driver. He had a sign with your husband’s name on it at the shuttle terminal. We’ve seen the security feed and there’s no indication your husband recognized this man. He drove a limo, stolen a week ago.”

“This is all deliberate. Very deliberate.”

Eve looked at Antonio. “Yes. Your father was the target. He was escorted to the limo. And there, trapped inside. The locks were engaged so he couldn’t open the doors, the windows. The privacy window between the driver’s area and the back seat, also secured, and sealed. The driver released a toxic gas into the passenger area.”

“Oh.” Shaking her head, shocked eyes spilling tears now, Anna Maria pressed both hands to her mouth. “ Madre di Dio! ”

“He fought. He fought to get out, but it wasn’t possible. He succumbed within minutes.”

“ Assassino! Murderer!”

She collapsed against her son, and he wrapped his arms around her, wept with her.

“Alone. Alone. This man who harmed no one dies alone, away from his family, through such wickedness.”

“It was wickedness,” Peabody said softly. “We’re doing, and will keep doing, everything possible to find this wicked person. We need your help.”

“Help? What help can we give? He was away from us. No one at home would hurt Giovanni Rossi! He was loved! His family, his friends, neighbors. Oh, the children would flock around him when he went for a walk. He always had a joke, sweets in his pocket for the children. Who does this to such a man?”

“Someone he knew.” Eve said it flatly to stop the rise of hysteria.

“No. How?”

“Mamma.” Antonio gripped her hand. “How else?” Then he kissed her hand before using an already damp handkerchief to dry her tears. “We’ll be strong for Papà now. And help however we can help.”

Now he kissed her cheeks, and whatever he said to her in Italian sounded so loving to Eve’s ears she felt her heart crack a little.

“Sì, Sì.” She picked up the tea, drank. “ Un attimo. Ah, one moment, please.”

“Take all the time you need.”

“You are kind. You offered to arrange my travel. Your doctor was kind. This girl who gives me tea is kind. So much kindness. So much wickedness.”

She took another sip, and once again squared her shoulders.

“Ask your questions. What we can answer, we will. Then you will find this killer, this wicked devil of a man, and I will look him in the eye. I will look him in the eye and spit in it.”

She nudged the tea aside.

“Ask your questions.”