Page 49 of Framed in Death (In Death #61)

“No. Playing the odds. She wants her baby boy safe. The court tracker needs a heat source and pulse to monitor. One of the other two have to wear it until they’re away. Otherwise, hell, just cut it off and go.”

“Can’t risk that with cops very visibly watching the building.”

“That’s right. She’d never risk that anyway. She’d want time to get him out of the building, into the shuttle, and gone.”

“Even if he got away, we’d have her.” Reo shook her head. “We’d trace all this afterward, and we’d have her.”

“Maybe she’s willing to go to prison for him, maybe she figures she has enough money to beat the charges. Or the desperate mother defense will hold up.”

“I can promise you it wouldn’t. Juries don’t like people who use their billions to escape justice. She’d do time. One way or the other.”

“It’s going to be one way. And that’s our way.”

Thirty minutes crawled by, then five more.

At thirty-eight minutes, Peabody said, “Wait! There was a flicker. Just a flicker. I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t been looking right at it. The dot—the court tracker—just flickered for a few seconds.”

“He got it off.”

“All heat sources standing,” McNab reported.

“Wallet monitor moving.”

“All heat sources moving. Three separating, same direction. One remaining.”

“The court monitor’s remaining, Dallas.”

“And the wallet’s heading down. Elevator.”

“McNab, keep on the penthouse. Switch to Officer Carmichael’s team. Baxter, Trueheart, follow, but keep your distance. We’re monitoring. We’ll direct you. Feeney, you’re the navigator.”

“Copy that. Still heading down. And… just passed street level. Parking garage it is. Out of the elevator now, walking, walking. Holding, holding. Moving, faster. In a vehicle now, heading toward the exit. Pausing… exiting. Coming out on the street.”

“We see him,” Trueheart reported. “Black town car, New York license three-five-six-Kilo-Papa-Echo.”

“Give them a block. I’m moving. McNab?”

“Heat source still in the penthouse. I’m going to guess? He’s having a drink.”

“Car’s moving steady west.”

“Stay invisible. Peabody, coordinate with McNab. Give him the go when I tell you.”

“Turning north on Eighth,” Feeney said.

“North. Eighth.” Eve brought the map back into her head. Then because she didn’t want to risk a mistake, tossed it up on the windshield.

“Closest for private shuttles, long-range. Got it. Baxter, continue to follow. I’m moving ahead.”

She went vertical, punched it. And heard Reo’s “Oh, sweet Baby Jesus.”

As she flew, Eve tagged Roarke.

“Lieutenant.”

“West Side Shuttle Station. I need you to clear me, then Baxter’s vehicle right through the gate for the privates and tag Nadine.”

“Consider it done.”

“We’re kind of busy here, so can you find out what private’s geared up for takeoff to one on the list of locations I gave you this morning?”

“Two minutes on that. Take them down.”

“Can I ask how he can clear you through like that?”

Now she flicked a glance at Reo. “He keeps a couple of privates there.” She muttered the rest. “And he might actually own the station.”

“That would do it.”

“Heat source and monitor still holding at the penthouse location,” Peabody reported.

“We hold there, too. Baxter, when you get through the gate, lock it down, then back us up.”

“They’re a couple blocks behind us now, kid.”

“We want more room than that.”

“How long can this thing stay up here?” Reo wondered.

“As long as I need it to.” Eve hoped.

“You got three blocks now. This is where they’re going, and you’ve got three blocks on them.”

“One more,” Eve murmured, and pushed for it before she dropped down, and answered Roarke’s tag.

“Venezuela, specifically Caracas. The shuttle’s on the tarmac outside hangar 303. It’s a Harper Group shuttle, a JZ 15, tail number Delta-Echo-five-four-nine-one. Would you like me to delay the takeoff?”

“No need, arriving there now. I’ll get back to you.”

She drove into the station, swung toward the private gates, and barely slowed before they opened for her.

“Box them in,” she murmured. “Reo, you keep covered. The driver may, and probably does, serve as a bodyguard. He may be armed.”

“You don’t really think—”

“No chances. There’s the shuttle.”

“Dallas, McNab says the source in the penthouse looks like he’s kicked back and watching some screen. Kicked back anyway.”

“Not for long.”

She drove straight into the hangar, and had the startled pilot running in after them.

The woman wore a formal uniform and moved fast.

“You can’t—” She stopped, frowned at Eve’s badge.

“What’s the problem? I’ve got passengers coming in.”

“Who’s on the shuttle?”

Reo stepped out, held up her ID. “APA Cher Reo, you really want to answer the lieutenant’s question and quickly or be charged with obstruction.”

“Well, Jesus, I just fly the shuttle. Ms. Harper. Phoebe Harper and Marcus Solo. They’re bound for Caracas.”

“They’re bound for prison, and you’ll want to stay out of the way.”

“Listen, I just fly the shuttle.”

Holding up her hands, the woman backed away.

“Feeney, give the portable to Reo. Reo, stay out of the way.”

“I have no problem with that.”

“They’re through the gate,” Feeney said as he handed the portable to Reo.

“Move in, McNab. Block the gate, Baxter. And let’s give mother and son an NYPSD welcome.”

From the hangar, she watched the car pull up beside the shuttle. When the driver got out, opened the rear door, she stepped out, flanked by Peabody and Feeney.

“This is the police. Put your hands where I can see them. Reach under that jacket, pal, and you’re down.”

The driver put his hands up.

“Thinking about running, Jonathan? Nowhere to go, but I’ll be more than happy to stun your ass if you try.”

“Mommy, do something!”

“How dare you threaten my son! Jonathan, get on the shuttle.”

“It’s not going to Caracas, or anywhere else. But try it, and you’re down.”

Phoebe’s jaw hardened. “Get on board, darling. I’ll handle this.”

Instead, he did exactly what Eve expected. He ran.

“Got her, Peabody?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve got the driver. Go, kid.”

As she raced forward, Phoebe rushed to block her path. Eve just knocked her aside.

He ran fairly well, Eve noted. Not well enough, but not bad. She calculated overtaking him in about thirty seconds, then called out one more warning.

“Stop. Or I will deploy my weapon.”

When he didn’t stop, she kept her word.

His body jiggled, danced. From behind her, she heard his mother scream. She glanced back long enough to see Peabody restrain her, Baxter assisting. Trueheart broke off and raced after Eve.

Jonathan dropped, shook, then as she stood over him, lay shuddering.

“Hey, Jonathan.” She pulled him up to sitting, snapped the cuffs on him. “Nice to see you again.”

His nervous system still jolted by the stun caused the word to garble some, but she recognized it. “Mommy.”

“I’m your mommy now, and you’re grounded for the next few lifetimes.”