“Spinning, just spinning.” She shoved at her hair. “But something’s going to pop out. Too much here, and something going to click.”
Task complete. Two results. Hyperion Car Service, twelve registered vehicles, two registered vehicles that meet search requirements. Make Rosari, 2058 model Luxe all-terrain.
“Is Hyperion an arm of another company or organization?”
Negative.
“Financial data on Hyperion. When established, current worth, owners.”
She felt time bleeding away as the computer worked. Then scanned the result.
“No, you can’t cruise around Europe on that. Next result.”
The Harper Group. Private company, global with multiple subsidiaries, including Homestyle Food, Nature’s Gift, Mrs. Harper’s—
“Hold. That’s it, that’s fucking it. Private—odds are family or part family owned. Global. Mega mucho moolah. When established, current worth, owners. Send results to my PPC.”
She strode into the bullpen. “The Harper Group, cross-reference with the Harper Group.”
As she spoke, Roarke walked in. As Roarke walked in, Trueheart shot up a hand. The other held the ’link he still spoke into.
“You’ve got something,” she said to Roarke.
“As you do, it seems. The Harper Group. He used a company card for the costumes. While his signature was largely illegible, the initials—”
“JandH.”
“JandH,” Roarke confirmed, “were legible.”
“He placed the orders in March.”
“Aren’t you clever?”
“Lieutenant, sir.J.H.Harper Group card. They think the last name starts with anEor anS,” Trueheart added.
“Hit with Wine Flight.” Baxter flipped off his ’link. “Tribeca. He’s a regular. Harper Group company card.”
“Peabody.”
“McNab’s on his way down. Feeney’s with him. He hit on an address in Tribeca, single family residence, with garage. Harper Group owns it.”
She turned to see Yancy come in, Carter beside him. “I think we’ve got him, Dallas.”
“The more he worked, the more I remembered. I started to see him,” Carter said. “I think this is him, I really do.”
“Harper Group,” Carmichael called out. She added a fist pump. “Company shuttle, New York to Paris, March three. Dallas, I’ve got it flying to Amsterdam. Tracking… Come on, come on. Yeah. Two days later, Amsterdam to London. And, oh yeah, here we go, three days later, London to Paris. A week there—no, eight days. Eight. Then Paris to Florence, back to Paris a couple days later.”
Carmichael looked up. “Boom!” Another fist pump. “Dallas, I’ve got the shuttle hitting all those cities again before returning to New York on April one.”
“April Fools,” Santiago said. “I can’t get through the privacy blocks on the hotels, LT, but I took a quick side trip. The Harper Group owns a home in Paris, a villa outside Florence. Nothing in Amsterdam, but they’ve got a place in London.”
The crack hadn’t just widened, Eve thought. It exploded.
“Yancy, grab a desk, run face rec.”
“Take mine.” Jenkinson got up. “Want a conference room, boss?”
“Peabody booked it.”
