"Maybe, but looks don't always mean dick. We'll see about that. But perception's truth, right? If nothing else, she perceived no one sees her, gets her, cares about her not like her father. And she's killing for him. Killing because he's trained her, taught her to see that as her right, or at least as an answer."

She shook it off, had to shake it off. "It only matters why right now if the why helps us find them, stop them. So yeah, you take a look. Given his age, they probably have parental controls on this unit, but she could have hidden her own files in there."

"Easily enough."

"If so, you'll find them. I'm going to go back to her room."

Eve checked in with Peabody no movement then stood in the center of Willow Mackie's bedroom. A good space, fully triple the size she'd been able to claim at the same age. Nicely, comfortably furnished. The clothes all good quality.

No photographs, not of herself, her family and friends. Not even of her father. Maybe some on her computer, Eve thought, and she'd look there.

She searched through the three drawers in the desk, found a few school-type supplies. No junk. None of the weird junk teenage girls and boys, for that matter collected.

No discs, she realized. Data or music. No other electronics. No PC, no tablet.

Because she carted them with her, one week here, one week there?

Her gaze passed over the posters. Weaponry, violence. Would a teenager so focused on weapons live every other week without access to any?

She stepped back into the closet. A smallish space with that same sense of organization. The fussy clothes obviously the mother's pick in the back. And there, still in their boxes, a pair of heels, a pair a boots both clearly, even to her eye, meant to go with the dresses or more stylish pants.

And both, she determined, studying the soles, never worn.

In the toe of a well-worn boot she found a little stash of cash. Just a couple hundred, which made Eve feel as if it had been put there deliberately, something her mother could find.

In the pocket of a hoodie she found a notebook and, engaging it, heard a girl's voice a shock how young complaining about her brother, her mother, her stepfather. How they didn't understand her. And on and on.

Also so her mother could find it, Eve thought, bagging it for evidence. They'd listen to all the whines and complaints, but the last entry at least had been clearly designed to make her mother feel guilty if she searched and found it.

So she wouldn't hide anything important in the closet, Eve determined.

Though she didn't believe she'd find anything in usual places, she checked them anyway.

She went over the closet floor, the walls, even the ceiling, looked under the bed, between mattresses, checked the cushions of the desk and lounge chairs, under and behind the desk.

She judged the dresser too heavy to be moved out without showing scuffs on the floor, but tried it anyway, looked under it, pulled the drawers out, looked under them.

As she slid the bottom drawer back into place, the design beneath it caught her eye. A kind of braiding, about two inches high, ran along the base. And when she'd slid that drawer in, pulled it out, there'd been the slightest need to tug, and the faintest little click.

Nothing that out of the ordinary, but...

She took the bottom drawer out again. It was a well-made piece of furniture, sturdy, nicely crafted of engineered wood.

The bottom drawer rested on a slab of that wood.

Curious, she ran her fingers over the twisted braid of decoration along the base, pushing, prying. Felt one twist give, just the tiniest bit.

She tugged. Nothing.

She kept working along the braid, found another twist give, then a third.

She didn't have to tug. The narrow hidden drawer slid out toward her.

Empty, she noted. Empty but for the cushioning foam with cutouts for two knives and two hand weapons. Blasters by her eye. Another cutout, a rectangle, would easily hold several IDs, maybe more cash, Eve thought.

"She's not coming back here," she murmured.

"I agree," Roarke said from the doorway. "You'll want to see this. You were right about using the younger brother's unit. The file I found was cleverly hidden. And even then," he continued as they walked back to the brother's room, "she was careful. This isn't a rash or impulsive young girl."

"Not even close." Eve studied the first document on screen. "It's their hit list. Just initials, not full names, but there's BM, KR Michaelson, Russo there's MB and I'm betting on Marta Beck, Michaelson's office manager, there's BF, that's going to be Fine, the driver who hit the second wife. One of these others AE, JR, and MJ is likely the lawyer we haven't identified. And two others. Two down, five to go."

"There's a second page to this document." Roarke ordered it on screen.

"Zach Stuben that's her brother. Lincoln Stuben, her stepfather. Christ, her mother's on here. Rene Hutchins, Thomas Greenburg, Lynda Track we need to identify them. And this one with initials. HCHS."

"It's her high school I'm sure of it, as I found this document as well." Roarke called up a blueprint of Hillary Clinton High School. "Certain classrooms, certain areas were highlighted, egresses marked."

"Jesus, Jesus. She plans to hit her school."

"And already has her nest chosen. Closer this time than the other two attacks, but still an appreciable distance."

Eve looked at the next image. "The roof of her father's apartment building. She has these hidden here because this isn't her father's agenda. It's hers. When they finish his mission, she can begin her own. How hard did you have to look to find this?"

"A bit of work, but more to the point, I likely wouldn't have found it if I hadn't been specifically looking for it. It was shielded under a perfectly harmless school report on George Washington."

Eve paced. "Okay, let's get back. We need to access Mackie's apartment. It's likely he's got cams set up, is monitoring anyone going in or out of the building, certainly his own space."

"I can take care of that."

"Counting on it. We need to get in, see who's next. When and where. They may have moved straight to the next nest, and there are three people on his agenda we haven't ID'd. And we have to ID the unknowns on her list."

"There's more on hers. She's listed her kills. Animals," he said quickly. "The type, the place, the distance, the weapon, the date, the time. It appears her father's taken her hunting illegally very often into Montana, Wyoming, Alaska, the Dakotas, even into Mexico, Canada. She's listed over two dozen kills in the last seven months."

"Copy the file to my units. I'll have EDD pick this up, and hers. Hell, all of them, and now. She'll have a unit at her father's place. We need to get into that. She wouldn't have needed to be so careful on his agenda there, so maybe we'll have names."

Eve shoved a hand through her hair. "I wonder if Mackie knows what kind of monster he's created. And if he knows, does he care?"

9.

E.

ve tagged Peabody, reeled off the names from Willow's list. "These people are connected to the suspects, most likely the female. Nail them down, get contact information."

She clicked off, turned to Roarke. "If Mackie's monitoring the security cams in the apartment remotely, jamming them will tip him."

As they walked, Roarke simply patted her shoulder and contacted Feeney. Though they launched into e-speak that made her head bang, Eve understood enough to interpret.

"You or Feeney can override the cam and replay a loop."

"Exactly so. If Mackie's monitoring closely, it won't fool him for long, so we'll want to time it well."

"He could've rigged the door, right? He's a cop, he'd think of details. Rig the door to let him know when anyone goes in, so -"

"Darling Eve, this is hardly my first B and E. In fact, how happy am I it's not even my first of the day. Have a little faith."

The snapping wind had keened to a sharp edge. She caught the scent of soy dogs and chestnuts from a cart a puff of winter-fragrant smoke. Someone's vehicle alarm went off in annoying, rapid beeps as a couple of teenage girls ran by giggling like lunatics.

Roarke spoke easily to Feeney.

"Override in ten," Feeney announced.

"Copy that. Take the door," Eve told Roarke. "Unlikely he's got a way to monitor my master, but why take the chance?"

"And go," Feeney said.

They went to the entrance and, with Roarke's clever hands, were smoothly inside in under six seconds.

"No lobby cams, but the standard in the elevator."

"We take the stairs." Eve started up.

A decent enough place, she thought. Nothing close to the ex-wife's duplex, but decent. She noticed sporadic soundproofing, catching snippets of sound from apartments as they moved up.

But on Mackie's floor all held quiet.

"He bumped up his security."

Roarke nodded as they stood out of range of the camera over his apartment door. "I've got this one."

He took a device from his pocket, keyed in something, studied the readout, added more code. "Feed's looped. Let's see what other tricks he has for us."

When they approached the door, Roarke used the same device to scan the locks, the security swipe. "Clever," he murmured. "I'm reading a monitoring system, so you were right to be cautious here. No explosives, so that's a bonus, isn't it? Let me just... Aye, that's it. Each in its time. Yes, clever enough. But... There you are. Hang on to this, will you?"

He handed Eve the device that hummed quietly in her hand while he took out his tools.

She watched him slip around a trio of police locks like they were thumb bolts.

Eve handed the device back to him, drew her weapon. "No explosives, good. But remember that old vid we watched a couple weeks ago? The guy booby-trapped his place. Had a big-ass shotgun rigged to go off if the door opened?"

"Classic vid," he corrected, "but I do remember, yes. So why don't we..."

They stepped to either side of the door. Eve turned the knob, dropped low, shoved the door open from the bottom.

No booby trap, no trip wires, no internal cameras.

And very little else.

She stepped into a living area that held one aging and sagging sofa.

"You reading this, Feeney?" She turned a circle to give him the three-sixty with her lapel recorder.

"Yeah, shit."

"We'll clear it anyway."

He'd left his bed, stripped to the mattress. A second bedroom held nothing but accumulated dust and some empty clothes hangers.

"They left this place weeks ago. Lowenbaum, stand down. They're not coming back here. Peabody, call in the sweepers. They can go over the place, for form's sake."

To release a bubble of frustration, she kicked the sofa.

"Copy that, sir," Peabody said. "I can give you those names."

"Give."

"Rene Hutchins, the school psychologist at the female suspect's high school. Thomas Greenburg, principal at the same school. Lynda Track works with Zoe Younger and is Lincoln Stuben's sister."

"Have them contacted, interviewed. Assign protective details."

"On it."

"You don't believe they're in immediate danger," Roarke said.

"No. One mission at a time." Eve hissed out a breath. "Rounds out her hit list with two authority figures from her school and her stepfather's sister who's likely friends with her mother."

She took a turn, put the second hit list aside for now, dealt with what was more immediate the three unknown people on the first list.

"He figured we'd get here sooner or later. He prepared for that. Left the furniture that was too big and too old to bother with. Carmichael, Santiago, start knocking on doors here. Let's see if anyone can tell us when he booked."

She resisted, barely, kicking the sofa again. "Okay, all right. No more pussyfooting around. Feeney, will you contact the commander, give him the status? We're going full release on the IDs. I'm available for a media conference in an hour."

"Better you than me, kid."

"Lowenbaum, be available for same." She yanked out her 'link, started that ball rolling. "Nadine."