"Have some coffee. I need to make a call and change into wardrobe. We'll do the one-on-ones with you and Whitney in studio. One hour."

She got through it, toeing the departmental line throughout the interview. If Nadine wasn't thrilled with the content of the interview, she knew it wasn't the words that would make the segment. It was Lieutenant Eve Dallas herself, looking pale and exhausted and absolutely steady.

To Eve's surprise, Mayor Steven Peachtree arrived just as she was going off-camera. At forty-three, he projected both a youthful and steady image. He was dignified and handsome in a conservative gray suit with a broadcast-ready blue shirt and a tie, perfectly knotted, in tones of both gray and blue.

He came in looking alert and grim with a small entourage of smartly dressed aides he ignored the way you ignore your own shadow.

"Commander." He nodded to Whitney, and was close enough now that Eve noted the faint smudges of lost sleep under his eyes. "I felt this needed to be addressed personally, and swiftly. I'm told you've also been consulting with Chang re official statements."

"That's correct. We need unification on this. A solid line."

"I absolutely agree. The media liaison will have updated statements for all parties by eight hundred. Lieutenant."

"Mayor."

"We need swift and decisive action on this matter. My office is to be kept updated on every action taken." He glanced toward the studio. "We're going to keep this goddamn mess under control. We'll feed Ms. Furst and the others no more than what we determine is good for public consumption."

"We're not the only ones feeding her," Eve pointed out.

"I'm aware of that." His voice managed to be both rich and chilly at the same time. "Whatever they toss out, we'll spin back. We can count on Chang for that. You'll work directly with him and Deputy Mayor Franco on media relations."

He glanced at his wrist unit. Frowned. "Keep me informed," he ordered, then strode off to the prep room.

"He's good at this," Whitney told Eve. "He'll come off strong, controlled, and concerned. We're going to need strong image projection to keep this lid from blowing off and spilling the contents all over New York."

"It seems to me the way to keep the lid on is to identify and stop The Purity Seekers."

"That's your priority, Lieutenant. But the job has more than one channel. The memorial service for Detective Halloway is scheduled for tomorrow, ten. Full honors. I want you there."

"Yes, sir. I'll be there."

"Today's meeting has been bumped up to thirteen hundred. Get some sleep," he added before he walked over to take his turn in the studio. "It's going to be a long one."

At home, she fell facedown on the bed for three and a half hours.

The alarm on her wrist unit woke her with its incessant beeping. She crawled out of bed in the dark, stumbled into the shower, and stayed under hot, crisscrossing jets for twenty full minutes.

When she came back in the bedroom, Roarke was just getting up. "Did I wake you? You could catch another half hour."

"I'm fine." He gave her face a critical study, then nodded. "And you look considerably better than you did at four this morning. Why don't you order us up some breakfast while I get a shower?"

"I was just going to grab a bagel at my desk."

"You've changed your mind," he said as he went into the bath. "Because you've remembered that your body needs proper fuel to maintain energy and health and because you'd prefer I not pour a protein shake down your throat as that just starts your day off on the wrong foot. Scrambled eggs would be good, wouldn't they?"

She bared her teeth, but he was already in the shower.

She ate, she told herself, because she was hungry.

And when Roarke buzzed Summerset on the in-house 'link and asked about McNab, she tried to feel optimistic at the information that the patient had spent a restful night.

Just as she struggled against despair when she watched him ride into her office in an electronic wheelchair.

"Hey!" His face was just a little too cheerful. His voice was just a little too bright. "I'm getting me one of these rides when I'm back on my feet. They rule."

"No racing in the corridors."

He grinned at her. "Too late."

"We'll wait for Feeney before I start the briefing," Eve began.

"We caught the morning report on 75, Lieutenant." Peabody's eyes were shadowed, and more than a little desperate when they met Eve's behind McNab's back. "I'd say we got a good start on the briefing."

"I need coffee." She gestured for Roarke to distract McNab, then jerked a thumb toward the kitchen. "You've got to hold up better than this," she told Peabody the minute they were out of earshot. "He's not stupid."

"I know. I'm okay. It's just, when I see him in that chair, I get a little shaky. There's no change. They said he should start to feel a tingling, like you do when your foot's asleep and starts to wake up. That would signal the nerves are coming back. But he's not, they're not."

"Recovery time varies. I've taken a full body blast and had no appreciable numbness within minutes. And I've had a glancing stream hit my arm and put it down for hours."

"He's scared. He's pretending he's not, but he's really scared."

"If he can pretend he's not, so can you. And if you want to do something about the people who put him in that chair-temporarily-then you need to pull it in and focus."

"I know." Peabody drew a deep breath, straightened her shoulders. "I can handle it."

"Good, then get started by handling the coffee."

She walked back out, stopped cold when she saw Feeney in her office doorway. His face was a picture of misery, sorrow, and fury as he stared at the back of McNab's chair.

Eve started to make a sound, anything that would snap him back, but before she could, he hit some internal switch. His face cleared.

"What's all this?" He came in scowling at McNab. "This looks like malingering to me. Trust you to manage to get a toy out of it all."

"Iced, huh?"

"First time you run over my foot, I'm flattening you. Baxter's on his way in. Got coffee?"

"Yeah." Eve nodded. "We got coffee."

By nine-thirty, she'd given the team the basic details. By nine forty-five she'd filled in the gaps, and by ten she'd added a basic theory.

"At least one of the key people in this group has been personally affected by a crime, most likely a crime against a child. Most probably more than one of them. You need like minds to get something like this off the ground. They have superior and as yet unknown electronic abilities, and must have some sort of medical consultant. It's also likely they have contact of some sort with the police or with the judicial system. Or both.

"They're organized, they're articulate, and they're media savvy."

"When you've got a group like this," Baxter said, "you've got those like minds. But you almost always have one or more who's in it for the thrill, the blood, or because they're just seriously wacko."

"Agreed. You can start a search for serious wackos who fit another of the group's profile. They will contact Nadine again," she continued. "They want public attention, and approval."

"They're going to get it." Feeney slurped at his coffee. "This is just the sort of thing that gets people riled up, arguing in the streets, making up T-shirts, taking sides."

"We can't stop the media train, so we do our best to steer it onto our tracks. Nadine wants to interview both you and McNab. You can blow," she said before Feeney could do just that. "But you won't be saying anything I didn't already say or think. The point is, the department believes this will be helpful."

"You think I'm giving this airtime?" Feeney slammed his cup down. "You think I'm going to go on-screen and yammer about what happened yesterday, talk about that boy?"