Page 122 of Calculated in Death

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Within the hour, Eve sat in the back of an EDD van a full two blocks from the target’s building.

“We can’t know he’s inside.” And she hated the uncertainty. “If he doesn’t fall for the She-Body gambit, we move in, take down the door, clear the building.”

“We’ll need that ninety seconds to two minutes,” Roarke reminded her, “to scan for booby traps, explosives. He’s very likely built in some traps and self-destructs in the event of a forced entry.”

“You’ll get the time, but we go through the door.”

“My money’s on Peabody.” McNab adjusted his screen. “She looks whoa.”

“For all we know, he may go for your type,” she told McNab. “Or yours,” she said to Roarke. “For now, we go with the classic. The second the door opens, we move in. Roarke and McNab complete the scan. Peabody, you copy?”

“Affirmative.”

“Baxter?”

“Right here.”

“Roll it.”

“Whee!” Peabody called out, and Eve heard the car engine rev. “Baxter’s got totally mag wheels.”

“Stop looking happy.”

“I’m working up some tears, because my boyfriend’s so mean to me.”

With a laugh in his voice, Baxter responded. “We’re rounding onto the block. Target’s in sight.”

“Give her room, everybody,” Eve ordered. “Give her time. McNab, let’s ease closer.”

When he signaled the driver, the van pulled out, joined the traffic flow.

Directly in front of Milo Easton’s building, Baxter peeled over to the curb. He sat, snarling in case Milo monitored the street. “At a stop,” he said while Peabody snarled and pouted back at him.

“Give him a show,” Eve directed.

“Sorry, Peabody.”

He grabbed her; she struggled. For a few minutes they wrestled in the front seat. She slapped him, pulling the contact at the last second.

“Sorry, Baxter.”

Face furious, eyes sheened with tears, Peabody shoved out of the car. She wrapped her arms protectively around her torso, and stood shivering—no coat, no bag. “You’re a big prick with a little dick,” she shouted.

Baxter shot a hand out of the window, speared up his middle finger, and sped off.

As instructed, Peabody chased the car for a few feet, teetering on high heels. “Come back here, you fucker! You’ve got my bag. You’ve got my ’link!”

She feigned a turned ankle, then began to limp back the way she came.

“That’s the way,” Eve guided when they picked her up on screen. “Pissed, but a little desperate. What do I do? Poor me. That’s good, spot the house, don’t even think about it. You need somebody to help you.”

Her heart hammered with excitement and a little panic. Don’t blow it, Peabody ordered herself. Don’t blow it.

She pressed a buzzer, pretended to search for the intercom. “Hello!” she shouted, trying for a raspy, sexy voice. “Is anybody home? Hello? I’m in trouble. Can you help me?” She angled herself toward the cam, leading with her chest and willed a couple of tears down her cheeks. “Hello? Can I use your ’link? Please.”

She shivered again, no need to feign that. She felt her nipples standing at attention, but maybe he wasn’t even in there. Maybe her girls were on display for nothing.