Page 53 of Fury In Death

“While there seems to be plenty of it, I am not so inclined. Clear us through, or if you’re not so inclined, call in a replacement, as we’ll be taking you downtown for questioning. Of course, you’ll have to sit in holding until we get to that, as our business here is priority.”

His wide, angry face now shined bright red. “Think you’re a big fucking deal, don’t you?”

“I know I’m a bigger fucking deal than you. But your choice.”

Because she could clearly see he wanted to take a swing at her, Eve opened the car door, stepped out to face him. “You’ve got ten seconds to decide whether to follow your own procedure or make it worse.”

She saw him ball a hand into a fist, braced to block it, kept her eyes steady on his. She heard Peabody open the passenger door.

Then, yanking his communicator out of his pocket, Mertz turned on his heel.

Eve got back in the car. And Peabody, one hand on her weapon, relaxed.

“He really wanted to punch you in the face.”

“Yeah. I bet he’s had a lot of sad disappointments in his life.”

The gate opened. Eve drove through, then pulled into the same slot she’d taken earlier.

Mertz, mouth tight, eyes hard, marched to the elevator. Saying nothing, he set the elevator to the top floor, stepped back.

He shot up a middle finger as the doors closed.

“Gee, what a pleasant individual,” Peabody commented.

“Oh yeah, Security Officer Henry Mertz is a winner. Now, because he couldn’t punch me in the face, he’s going over to my vehicle to kick it.”

“You think?”

Eve couldn’t stop the smile so didn’t bother to try. “In the bank.”

Peabody beamed out a smile of her own. “He’s about to find out the DLE fights back.”

“Yeah, it’ll give him a good jolt. He’ll have a hell of a headache.” She smiled wider. “Sometimes things just work out perfectly, don’t they?”

Chapter Eight

The ride up proved smooth, and the doors opened on a more elaborate lobby than O’Brian’s level.

The Banner-Wyst logo, all gold and silver, filled the wall behind a long snow-white workstation where three people sat busy with their headsets and comps.

The sheer glass wall offered an expansive view of New York City to any who sat in the plush leather chairs, each with their individual beverage station and view screen.

Behind the chairs a large screen ran a vid loop showing various company headquarters, or lush fields of thriving crops, small children smiling as a white-coated medical inoculated them.

A woman rushed through glass doors.

“Lieutenant, Detective.”

She hurried over, curvy in a black suit, red heels. Her hair, a delicate blond, fell in waves around a face of creamy skin, lips as red as the shoes, eyes bluer than the sky outside the glass walls.

“I’m terribly sorry,” she said, hand extended. “I’d hoped to greet you at your arrival. I’m Lorilee Janis, Mr. Wyst’s executive coordinator and assistant. Let me take you back to my office. We’re all, all of us, just devastated by Dr. Chu’s loss. Have you found who’s responsible?”

“The investigation’s ongoing. We need to speak with Mr. Wyst.”

“I’m afraid he’s currently in a meeting,” she said as she walked them not through outer offices or cubes, but through a church-quiet area—a dining facility complete with chandeliers, a room with more leather chairs, tables, a glossy black bar.

Past a couple of closed doors and into another lobby area where three people—two women, one man—worked.