"I figure it doesn't work that way. It finds you, and it grabs you by the throat and you can't do a damn thing about it." She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, then sighed. "But I stepped over the line with you, and I'm sorry."

"Jesus, you must have a big bruise on the brain if you're apologizing to me."

"Since there's nobody else here, and I think you're feeling sorry for me, I'll tell you I feel like I've been run over by a fleet of airbuses."

"Go back to bed, Dallas."

"Can't." She scrubbed her hands over her face, hard, rolled her aching shoulders. "He's still a step or two ahead, and I'm going to fix that." When the thought occurred, she turned her head and studied Nadine. "But if some hotshot on-air reporter were to broadcast that Lieutenant Dallas's injuries are serious, that she is recuperating at home and is expected to be laid up for a couple days…"

"You want me to lie to the public?" Nadine arched a brow.

"My injuries are pretty serious. Everybody's been saying so until I want to deck them. And I am recuperating at home, aren't I? You can see that for yourself."

"And you will be laid up, as you put it, for a couple of days."

"It already feels like a couple of days. It might buy me time, Nadine. He'll want to wait until I'm on my feet again before he tries to take the next one out. He isn't playing solo. He wants an opponent." She shook her head. "No, he wants me. Particularly. I can't play if I'm flat on my back and tranq'd."

"I'll do it." She rose, looked down at Eve. "And let me tell you, Dallas, I wouldn't be surprised if Roarke sees to it that you are flat on your back and tranq'd for the next few days." Hitching her bag on her arm, Nadine smiled. "Anyway, I am glad you're not dead."

"Me, too."

When Nadine left her, Eve managed to rise and make her way slowly into the shower. Bracing both hands against the tile, she ordered water, full force at one hundred degrees. Ten minutes later, she felt steadier, and by the time she was dressed, nearly normal.

But when she walked into her office, it took only one long stare from Roarke to have her inching back.

"I figured I'd just stretch out in the sleep chair. I feel pretty straight," she hurried on when he said nothing. "I guess that stop at the hospital last night was a good move. I appreciate it."

"Do you think you'll get around me that way?"

"It was worth a shot." She tried a smile, then let it go. "Look, I'm okay. And I need to do this."

"Then you'll do it, won't you? I have some things to see to myself." He moved to his office door, then flicked a glance over his shoulder. "Let me know when you have a free moment, Lieutenant. For more personal matters."

"Well, shit," Eve sighed when his door shut.

"Never seen anybody steam that cold," McNab commented. "He even gave me the shakes."

"Do you ever shut up, McNab? I want to see the disc, garage security." Skirting the sleep chair, Eve sat behind her desk. "Cue it up, Peabody, start at sixteen hundred. That's about the time I logged in to Central."

Struggling not to sulk over more personal matters, Eve kept her eyes glued to the monitor as the image flicked on. "Keep it on the access doors. He had to come from somewhere."

They watched cars and vans pull in and out. Each time, the scanner eye above the access doors blinked green for cleared.

"That wouldn't be a problem for him, would it, McNab? Anybody who can pull the electronic magic he's been pulling could skim by the security eye for garage level."

"Security's tight there. With the bombs in public buildings plague during the Urban Wars, all government and state facilities had new security installed at all access areas." He nodded, kept watching. "Even with budget cuts, they get maintained and upgraded twice a year. That's federal law. A specialized droid unit does spot inspections on a regular basis."

"Could he do it?"

"He could, but it wouldn't be a round of Rocket Racers. And it's a hell of a lot riskier than a vid-game. If the alarm trips, all access and exit areas are automatically sealed. He'd be in a box."

"He was pissed, and he's cocky." Eve leaned back. "He'd have risked it – and since he didn't trip any alarm, he pulled it off. He got into Cop Central garage, planted the boomer, and got out. That's the only place he could have gotten to my car during the time frame. Computer, split screen, second image section AB, level two. There's my vehicle, safe and sound."

"You don't want to see it now," Peabody commented and managed to suppress the shudder. "They hauled it in to vehicle analysis. I shot through the automatic requisition for a new unit."

"They'll probably stick a couple of bolts in it and expect me to make do." However foolish and sentimental it was, she almost hoped they did. "Idiot bureaucrats are always… wait, wait, what's this?"

Turbo-van, the computer told her helpfully. Model Jet-stream, manufactured 2056 -

"Stop, freeze image. Look at this." Eve gestured Peabody closer. "The windows are privacy tinted. Surveillance vans aren't allowed to have that tint on the driver's area. And those plates, see the plates? That's not a van ID. It's a cab plate, for God's sake. Our boy's in there, Peabody."

"Good catch, Dallas." Impressed, McNab tapped some keys and had the frozen image printing out in hard copy. "I'll run the plates for you."

"Let's see what he does," Eve murmured. "Continue, computer." They watched the van circle the first level, climb slowly to the next. And stop directly behind Eve's car. "We've got him. I knew he'd get sloppy."

The van door opened. The man who stepped out was concealed in a long coat, and his hat was pulled low. "Police issue. That's a beat cop's overcoat. It's a uniform's hat… But he got the shoes wrong. He's wearing air treads. Damn it, you can't see his face. He's wearing sunshades."

Then he turned, looked directly into the camera. Eve got a glimpse of white, white skin, just a hint of the curve of a cheek. Then he lifted a slim wand, pointed it, and the picture swam with color.

"Fucking hell, he jammed it. What the hell was that he had in his hand? Play back."

"I've never seen a jammer like it." McNab shook his head both in bafflement and admiration as the image replayed and froze. "It's no more than six inches long, barely thicker than a ski pole. You ought to have Roarke look at it."

"Later." Eve waved that away. "We've got coloring, we've got height and build. And we've got the make of a van. Let's see what we can do with it."

She continued to stare at the screen as if she could somehow see through the concealing shades and hat to his face. To his eyes. "Peabody, run the make and model of the van. I want a list of everyone who owns one. McNab, find out when that cabbie lost his tag. And figure this: He's driving into the garage at six twenty-three – that's less than one hour after Nadine's broadcast. Maybe he already had the boomer made up, but he had to have time to rig it for transport, to decide on a plan, to find my location. And you bet your ass he needed time to have a temper fit. How much time did he spend in transpo?"

She sat back again and smiled. "I'm betting he's located downtown, within a ten-block radius of Cop Central. So we're going to start working our own backyard."

Smiling, she ordered her computer to continue. She wanted to see just how long it took the son of a bitch to rig her car.