"One cool mil for twenty seconds of feed."

"I guess he really hit the jackpot. I know you didn't have to do this. I won't forget it."

"So, you owe me one."

"I don't like to owe. Something's going to bust," she said after a moment. "Likely within the next day or two. Don't bother to ask any questions, I won't answer. When it goes down and I'm cleared to talk about it, I'll give you an exclusive."

"Within an hour after it goes down."

"I can't promise that. At the first possible opportunity."

"Good enough. I've got to go. And I was never here."

When the door was closed again, Eve slid in the new disc, ordered a run.

She saw Greene's balcony, saw the door swing open. He came out fast, he came out bloody. The image bobbled as the operator jerked at what he saw through his viewer, and she heard his gasping oath. But he was cool enough to zoom in.

Yes, he looked like a monster, Eve thought. Blood literally dripping from his fingers, his hair. His mouth was wide, his eyes wild and red as a demon's. He hacked at the air with the knife, beat a fist against his own head.

He raced from one end of the terrace to the other, batting at the air as if swatting at insects. Then gripping the knife in both hands, he threw back his head. And plunged it into his own chest.

"Holy shit." Jamie stood in the doorway leading to Roarke's office. His jaw was slack, his gaze riveted to Eve's view screen.

"Goddamn it. End run. That door was closed."

"Sorry. Roarke asked me to… I was just getting something for him and wanted to ask you-doesn't matter." He took a steadying breath, scrubbed the back of his hand over his mouth. "That's the guy from yesterday, right? Yesterday's homicide."

"You should be in the lab."

"I'm part of this team." His chin came up. "My grandfather was a cop, and I'm going to be one. I've seen blood before. I killed a man."

"Shut up." She snapped it out, striding over to close the door behind him. "There's an official report, with my name on it, that states Alban was killed during the struggle to disarm and arrest. You want to fuck me over, Jamie, you keep saying you killed a man."

"I wouldn't do anything to mess you up." Something of what he felt for her, the core of love he tried to bury under a blanket of teenaged cool, surfaced on his face. "I'd never do that, Dallas."

Because she saw it, she eased back before it embarrassed them both. "Okay."

"This is between you and me. I know you kept me out of the briefing yesterday, and I can figure why. You didn't think I should see something like that." He nodded toward the screen. "The new guy, Trueheart, he's what? Three years older than me? Maybe four. What's the difference?"

"He's wearing a uniform."

"So will I."

She studied his face. Something in those gray eyes was already half-cop. "Yeah. Yeah, you will. Look, I'm not saying you can't handle yourself. There's a lot of bad shit out there. You see too much of it too soon, it can swallow you up before you get started."

"I've already seen a lot of it."

"There's more that's just as bad. There's more that's worse. You get through the Academy, you put on the uniform. That's soon enough to start dealing with it."

"Okay."

"Now scram. And do me a favor. I've got a meeting, a private meeting in a few minutes. Keep everyone the hell out of here."

"Sure." He grinned and looked terrifyingly young. "Trueheart's got a little thing for you."

"Get out."

As he laughed, she gave him a shove and shut the door in his face. She went back to her desk, copied the disc for her files, then sealed the other for her commander.

She took the rest of the time to update her evidence log, sealed that as well. Then organized her thoughts.

At the knock on her door, she took a deep breath, and rose to open it for the city's two top cops.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

"During the course of investigating the Greene/Wade homicides," Eve began, "I found Greene's financials didn't jibe with his lifestyle. Even assuming a substantial unreported income through his alleged dealings in illegals and sexual services, purchases, and other assets accumulated over the previous year far exceeded any projected monies."

"You assumed he had another source," Whitney put in.

"Yes, sir. During the initial search and sweep of the premises-"

"Lieutenant." Tibble held up a hand to stop her. "Is there a reason you're taking us down the long road here?"

"I think my findings in this matter are going to require a solid foundation."

"Fine. But there's no need for the formalities. Just lay it out."

"Yes, sir. We found a safe when we did the first pass. There wasn't enough in it as review of the security tapes showed us three probable deals going down in his digs during the last week. He didn't go out himself, so he wouldn't have made any deposits. The guy dealt in cash primarily. No way he's going to hand his take over to a teenager he found in a club and trust her to dump it into his safebox or dummy account. Had to be another cache in his place, just like there had to be another source of income. Given the type of clientele he serviced, blackmail seemed the most logical sideline."

"You felt this assumed sideline connected with Purity?" Tibble asked her.

"It's not enough to connect, to investigate the big picture. Each case has to be handled individually, by the numbers, or you miss details."

Tibble nodded. "Since we're here, I assume you didn't miss the details."

"I returned to Greene's condo, with the civilian consultant. We located the second safe. I logged those contents at that time, and have updated the log as I reviewed those contents. It contained eight hundred and sixty-five thousand in cash, a code for a safebox at the Security National Bank, 88th Street branch, five data discs, and twelve video discs."

She gestured to her desk. "All contents are logged and sealed, as is my record of their confiscation from the safe."

"Since you're being very cautious, Lieutenant, those contents must be hot."

She met Whitney's eyes. "They are. The data discs contain his underground books. He kept good records. They also contain his daily journals. His deterioration from the infection is well documented on them, demonstrating increasing pain, paranoia, anger and confusion."

"And the vids," Tibble said. "Blackmail?"

"Yes, sir. I did ID search and matches on the individuals recorded by Greene. There's little doubt they were unaware they were being recorded during their activities as said activities were extremely graphic in nature. Some of the recordings take place at an as yet unknown location, others in the spare bedroom at Greene's condo. On those vids are a number of very prominent citizens recorded in compromising, illegal, and/or embarrassing sexual situations. Among them are a criminal court judge, the wife of a college professor and vocal Conservative Party supporter who I believe I can and will connect to Clarissa Price, a well-known media personality, and the Mayor of New York."

"Oh, Christ." Tibble stared for a full five seconds, then pressed his fingers to his temples. "This is a confirmed ID on Peachtree?"

"Yes, sir. I recognized him, but followed up with an image scan."

"Then it's a fucking mess." He dropped his hands. "All right, the idiot cheated on his wife and got recorded."

"Sir. It's a little more… involved than straightadultery."

"Spell it out, Dallas," Whitney said impatiently. "We're grown-ups here."

"He was dressed in women's clothes and had a sweaty sexual session with another man, which included a little dominance and punishment and, um, oral gratification and consummation."

"It just gets better and better." As if tired, Tibble sat back, rested his head on the cushion of his chair as he studied the ceiling. "Mayor Steven Peachtree is a transvestite who was being blackmailed by a sex and illegals broker who's now dead, and whose death was precipitated by a terrorist organization now responsible for seven murders."