Origin in Death by J. D. Robb Page B

end of a single shift with the e-squad.
    Feeney, however-whom she considered the most sensible and stable of cops-seemed to thrive there. He sat at his desk in his wrinkled shirt, sucking on coffee as he worked.
    Some things you could count on, Eve thought, and walked in. So intent was his concentration that she'd skirted around his desk to take a look at his desk screen before he registered her presence.
    "That's not work," she said.
    "Yes, it is. End-"
    Without mercy, she slapped a hand over his mouth to stop him from ordering the program to end. "That's not a sim or scene reconstruct."
    He made some sound against her palm.
    "That's a game. It's a cops and robbers game. Roarke has this."
    He shoved her hand off his face and struggled for dignity. "Technically it's a game. But it exercises hand-eye coordination, tests reflexes and cognitive skills. It keeps me tuned."
    "If you're going to spread all this bullshit around, you could at least offer me boots first."
    "End program." He sulked at her. "Ought to remember whose office this is, and who outranks who."
    "Ought to remember some of us are trying to find real bad guys."
    He jabbed a finger toward his wall screen. "See that? There's your image match running right now. I ran your girl through IRCCA- name, MO, image. Nothing. McNab ran a standard image match, nada. So I'm running a secondary myself. Got boys going over the equipment from the crime scene, and a pickup unit heading out to bring in the personal from the vic's apartment. Any other little thing I can do for you today?"
    "Don't get pissy." She sat on the corner of his desk, helped herself to some of the sugared nuts he kept in a bowl. "Who the hell is she? Somebody who kills like that and doesn't blip on the radar anywhere?"
    "Maybe a spook." He scooped up a handful of nuts himself. "Maybe your vic was a sanctioned hit."
    "Doesn't play. Not off the data I have on Icove, not with this method. If you're a deep underground government spook, why do you walk through heavy security? Flash your face around? Easier, cleaner, to take him out on the street somewhere. Or his apartment. Security there's a hell of a lot lighter than it is at the Icove Center."
    "Rogue?"
    "If she'd gone rogue, all the more reason to keep your face off the radar screen."
    He shrugged, crunched. "Just tossing them at you, kid."
    "She makes an appointment, goes through security, uses ID that masses their system. She knows when the admin's going to be out for an hour, giving her a clear road out before the body's discovered. The weapon was previously planted-had to be. It's all slick as spit. But..."
    Feeney rolled his shoulders, waited for her to finish.
    "Why there? No matter how you slice and serve it, taking him out in his office was more complicated than doing him at home. Plus the guy walks to work, barring inclement. You're that good, you stick him n the street and keep walking. He took his car today. Underground or in his building. You could get to him there-security, sure, but still easier than his office."
    "She had a reason to take him there."
    "Yeah. And maybe she had something to say to him before she killed him. Or something she wanted him to tell her. Anyway, if this was her first time, she had some major beginner's luck. No missteps, Feeney, not one. Not a single bead of sweat on her delicate brow after she stabs a
    guy through the heart. Dead through, too. Like he had a fucking target over it. Insert blade here."
    "Practiced."
    "Bet your ass. But jabbing a droid or a dummy or a sim, doing it in a holo, whatever.... It's not the same as flesh and blood. You know that. We know that."
    She munched, considered. "And the vic? He's nearly as unreal as she is. Not a smudge, not a smear in eighty years of living, more than a half century of medical practice. Sure he's got a few suits filed against him along the way, but they're outweighed by good works and professional kudos. His apartment? It's like a stage set. Nothing out of place, and