"Get a grip. A good strong grip," she advised and strapped on her weapon harness. "I'm going to hit Central first, file my report, feed Whitney the data that's not going into it. Officially, Jamie's name isn't going to be linked with this. I'm sure, if necessary, the two of you can work out a plausible story for his mother."

"Child's play," Roarke said with tongue in cheek.

"Hmm. From my prelim, Lobar was killed at oh three thirty. That would be about an hour after we left the club. Hard to tell how long he'd been propped outside the gate, but at a guess, no more than fifteen minutes or so before Jamie happened on him. It's not likely that whoever left Lobar hanging, let's say, stuck around. But if they did, and spotted Jamie, he could be a target. I want the kid under surveillance, and until Whitney uncuffs me, I can't use a cop."

"Would you like me to put one of my trusted employees on him?"

"No, but that's what I'm going to ask you to do." She turned to the mirror, raked fingers through her hair in lieu of a comb. "I'm bringing this home, too many angles of it. I'm sorry."

He walked to her, turned her around, caught her face in his hands. "You can't separate what you do from who you are. I don't expect or want you to. What touches you, touches me. That's what I expect and what I want."

"The last case that touched me almost killed you." She wrapped her hands around his wrist, squeezed. "I need you too much. It's your own fault."

"Exactly." He bent down, kissed her. "That's what I want as well. Go to work, Lieutenant."

"I'm going." She strode to the door, paused, glanced back. "I don't want to hear from Traffic that my husband was hotdogging the skyways in his minichopper."

"You won't. I bribe too well."

It made her laugh as she headed back down to fetch Peabody and face the first media onslaught.

She'd no more than strapped into her vehicle when she heard the throaty purr of an expensive engine. Wincing only a little, she glanced east and saw the sleek little copter with its tinted one-way glass cabin and whirling silver blades rise, circle playfully – and illegally – before bulleting off.

"Wow! What a machine. Is that Roarke's? Have you been up?" Peabody craned her head to try to get a last look. "That is one rapid mother."

"Shut up, Peabody."

"I've never been up in a personal." With a wistful sigh, Peabody settled. "Makes the units Traffic use look like dog meat."

"You used to be intimidated when I told you to shut up."

"Those were the good old days." Grinning, Peabody crossed her ankles. "You handled the kid really well, Lieutenant."

Eve rolled her eyes. "I know how to interview a cooperative witness, Peabody."

"Not everybody can handle a teenager. They're brutal, and fragile. That one's seen more than anyone should."

"I know." So had she by that age, Eve remembered. Perhaps that's why she'd understood. "Prepare yourself, Peabody. The sharks are circling."

Peabody grimaced at the pack of reporters crowded outside the gate. There were minicams, recorders, and hungry looks. "Gee, I hope they get my best side."

"Tough when you're sitting on it."

"Thanks. I've been working out." Automatically, Peabody wiped off the grin and assumed a blank, professional expression. "I don't see Nadine," she murmured.

"She's around." Eve hit the remote for the gates. "Furst wouldn't miss this one." She timed it, opening the gates seconds before the nose of the car would have brushed iron. Reporters streamed forward, engulfing the car, aiming their cameras, shouting their questions. One or two were ballsy or stupid enough to step onto private property. Eve took note, switched the volume on her outside speakers to blast.

"The investigation is ongoing," she announced. "There will be an official statement at noon. Any media representative who trespasses on this property will not only be prosecuted but will be blocked from all data."

She all but slammed the gates on scrambling feet. "Where the hell are the uniforms I left on duty?"

"Probably eaten alive by now." Peabody stared through the reporter who plastered himself against her side of the windshield. "This one's kind of cute, Lieutenant. Try not to damage his face."

"His choice." She kept driving. Someone bounced off her fender and cursed. There was a slight bump, and a very loud scream.

"That's ten points for the foot," Peabody commented, secretly thrilled. "See if you can swipe that one there. The woman with the yard of legs in the green suit. That'll get you five more."

The reporter clinging to the windshield slid off as Eve juggled the wheel. "Missed her. Well, can't win them all."

"Peabody." Eve shook her head, hit the accelerator, and headed downtown. "Sometimes I worry about you."

She wanted to see Whitney first, but wasn't surprised to find Nadine waiting in ambush at the first-level interior glide at Central.

"Busy night, Dallas."

"That's right, and I'm still busy. There'll be a press release by noon."

"You can give me something now." Nadine elbowed her way onto the glide. She wasn't a big woman, but she was a sneaky one. You didn't get to be one of the top on-air reporters in the city without some quick moves. "Just a nibble, Dallas. Something I can take to the public for my ten o'clock bumper."

"Dead guy," Eve said shortly, "identification withheld until next of kin are notified."

"So you know who he was. Got any leads on who opened his throat?"

"My professional opinion would be someone with a sharp implement," Eve said dryly.

"Um-hmm." Nadine's eyes narrowed. "There's a rumor rolling around that there was a message left at the scene. And that it was a ritual killing."

Goddamn leaks. "I can't comment on that."

"Wait a minute." At the top of the glide, Nadine took Eve's arm. "You want me to hold something, you know I'll hold it. Give me something, and let me work."

Trusting the media was a dicey business, but she'd trusted Nadine before. To their mutual benefit. As a research tool, Eve knew Nadine was a finely honed instrument. "If it was a ritual killing, which is not substantiated and not for broadcast, my next step would be to gather all pertinent data on established cults and their members – registered and otherwise – in the city."

"There are all kinds of cults, Dallas."

"Then you'd better get busy." She shook her arm free before dropping one more crumb. "Funny, cult must be the root word for occult. Or maybe it's just a coincidence."

"Maybe it is." Nadine swung to the downward glide. "I'll let you know."

"That was tidy," Peabody decided.

"Let's hope it stays that way. I'm for Whitney. I want you to find out the names of every uniform that was on scene this morning. I want to have a talk about internal security with every one of them."

"Ouch."

"Damn right," Eve muttered and stalked to the elevator.

– =O=-***-=O=-

Whitney didn't make her wait. She noted as she took her seat in his office that he didn't appear to have slept any more than she the night before.

"Internal Affairs is beefing on the Wojinski matter. They're pushing for an official investigation."

"You can't hold them off."

"Not past end of shift today."

"My report should help." She took a disc out of her bag. "There is absolutely no evidence that DS Wojinsky was using illegals. There's every indication that he was running his own sting on Selina Cross. His reasons were personal, Commander, but even IAD should understand them. I have Alice's statement, recorded, and fully transcribed in the report. In my opinion, she had been drugged, and her… naivete exploited. She was used sexually. She became involved with the cult established by Selina Cross and Alban. And when she broke with them, she was threatened, and she was frightened. Eventually, she went to Frank."