Apprentice in Death (27 page)

“She hasn't budged.”

“Roarke?”

“Alarms down. I'm on the locks. And they're popped.”

“All teams, all teams, we're going in. Peabody, rear steps; Dallas, front; Roarke front to station on second level. We're on the move.”

She reached for the door handle. “Leave the portable, Peabody. Straight back. Straight up.”

As she eased open the door, she drew her weapon.

Technology aside, she swept the foyer, straightened slowly. “We're in,” she murmured for the recorder, and signaled Peabody to go.

With Roarke, Eve started up the stairs, said nothing when he held a weapon very similar to her own.

“Feeney?”

“Got you, kid. Got Roarke, got Peabody. Target's in the same position.”

“Heading up to her now.”

She gestured to Roarke:
Stay here.
“Baxter, Trueheart, Santiago, Carmichael, move in the front, fan out inside.”

She started up the next flight, ears cocked. Halfway up she heard the murmur of voices, identified Nadine's.

She made it up two more before she heard the distinctive creak from the back stairs. She didn't need Feeney's warning in her ear that Willow heard it, too. She caught the sound—the scramble of feet, started up in a run.

“Move, move, move! Police!” she shouted, leaping up the last stair. “This is the police!”

The flash grenade exploded on impact, two feet in front of her. Even with the visor, the blast of light burned against her eyes. Momentarily blinded, she laid down a stream along the floor, hoping to keep the target contained.

She felt return fire—heat and pressure against her shoulder, her hip, pivoted.

Willow hit her hard—a shoulder in the sternum, with momentum behind it. It took Eve down, stole her breath, but she rolled, threw out a hand, managed to snag the girl by the ankle.

Got a vicious kick in the head that had her helmet vibrating.

She heard shouting through the glare, the smoke, through her earbud. Pounding feet. More than seeing, she felt her quarry swing around, shove up from where she'd fallen, and fire toward the shouts. Because Eve rolled again, the next kick glanced off her ribs. She tossed up her legs, scissored them, connected hard enough to send Willow stumbling.

Seconds before the next flash exploded, she saw the blur of movement shoot to the left. She feinted right, heard the whine of the strike from the handheld shimmer the air where she'd been. From a crouch, she did a fast forward roll toward the doorway in the direction the blur had gone.

She dove left this time, so the strike shot through the opening.

Thinking of her team, thinking of blocking escape, Eve kicked the door closed.

She couldn't see, not clearly enough through the smoke, through the glare. Which meant she couldn't be seen. Any attempt to communicate with her team would give away her position.

She did what Master Wu taught her in those strange and fascinating lessons in the dojo. She breathed through her toes, became the fish—whatever the hell that meant. She risked lifting her visor—she couldn't
breathe, couldn't hear through the echoes. She went absolutely still, and let her senses rule.

The faintest sound, like the movement of the smoke in the air. Following instinct, Eve fired toward it, aimed low. Heard the hiss of shock, rolled, fired again.

The door crashed open, and shouts rang through it. The volley of strikes zipping through the smoke, the opened door had her shouting to
Get back! Get back!
even as she sprang up to dive clear herself.

She caught a glimpse, barely a glimpse through the glaring billow of smoke. The girl wearing a riot vest, the laser in one hand, the grenade in the other. The grenade hand unsteady—it was unsteady—from a glancing stream.

Eve's weapon and the grenade went off simultaneously. Still tuned, Eve heard the rush of boots across the floor, leaped over, slammed the door. The resulting
thud
and fall brought only an instant of satisfaction.

Eve fell on the target, grappled with her in the choking smoke.

It was ugly. A hard knee to the crotch seared straight through Eve, an elbow shot had her eye burning, watering, but she managed to grip Willow's weapon hand with her left, began to twist. They rolled, with the girl getting in a couple of decent punches while Eve focused on disarming her.

The laser went off, shot a strike through the privacy screen, smashed the window.

“Give it up!” Eve ordered. “There's nowhere to go.”

“Fuck you!”

When the door slapped open again, Eve rapped Willow's weapon hand hard on the floor. “Hold fire! Hold fire! I've got her—almost. Don't fucking stun me.”

She shifted, using her weight to increase pressure. Later she'd think that slight change in angle had caused the point of the combat knife Willow jerked out of her belt to slice along her hand rather than her throat.

But the pain, the smell of her own blood, changed Eve's tactics.

“Fuck this.” On that sentiment, she gave Willow a sharp head butt—the advantage was hers considering the helmet—then she short-jabbed her fist into Willow's larynx.

She heard the knife clatter, felt the laser hand convulse, then give. Still working half-blind, Eve shifted again, shoved Willow over, yanked her arms behind her back.

“I've got her,” Eve called out as she snapped on restraints. “I've got her! Hold fire. And somebody get this smoke clear.”

A little light-headed and queasy from it, Eve dragged off her helmet. It didn't make it better, and, in fact, brought it home that her head pounded like a bass drum.

Someone moved through the haze toward her. Of course it would be Roarke.

He crouched beside her, took her bleeding hand. “We need the MTs.”

“Just need to mop it up.”

“There are plenty to mop her up, so—” He guided her toward the door as her team flowed in to deal with the rest.

“Just a little fresh air,” she managed. “How long was I in that crap? An hour?”

“Under five minutes from the first flash to the takedown.”

“Under five.” She gulped in clearer air on the second floor. “It felt like an hour.”

“Every bit of it,” he agreed as he took a handkerchief from his pocket to wrap around her bleeding hand. “Couldn't get to you,” he told her, “and when I nearly did, you slammed the door in my face.”

“Timed it so she ran right into it. I didn't want her getting out of the room. Didn't want to risk it. Or one of my team getting blasted, or blasting me by mistake. Magic coat or not, a lot of weapons on scene. Couldn't call out and give her a bead on me.”

“So I concluded. Back to the kitchen, I'd say. Cleaner air, some water, a chair.”

“I can go for all three. I breathed through my toes.”

“What now?”

“Master Wu. Couldn't see in the smoke and flash, couldn't hear clearly with the helmet. Breathed through my toes. Became the fish. Or maybe it was the pebble.” Man, her head thumped and banged. “Had to lift the visor to do it, but—”

“Which is why you'll have a black eye.”

“Yeah?” She lifted her hand, poked with her finger. “Ow. Anyway, it worked. Best Christmas present ever.”

“You're welcome,” he said, taking a firmer grip when she stumbled, drunk on the smoke.

He steered her into the kitchen, where McNab was pushing water to a gray-faced Peabody.

“The stair creaked.” Peabody croaked it.

“One of those things,” Eve said.

“When the grenade hit, I couldn't see a damn thing, and I misjudged the stairs. I went down like a brick.”

Eve angled her head as Roarke got more water. “Is that the chin bruise?”

“Hit the tread when I tripped.” Obviously disgusted, Peabody tapped the flat of her hand under the raw bruising on her chin. “The helmet rapped up. Bit my tongue, saw stars. And I didn't have your back.”

Eve held up a finger, guzzled the water until the burning in her throat went down to raspy aching. The head banging, eye throbbing, hand stinging probably required more than water.

But God, it tasted, just then, better than real coffee.

“So you just sat on the steps crying like a baby?”

“No! I—”

“She crawled.” McNab rubbed Peabody's shoulders.

“I couldn't see. At first I could hear you. I could hear the banging around, and she was firing. You, too. But I didn't want to risk a stream hitting you.”

“You called out.” Eve went back over it all in her head. “Drew her fire. You, too,” she said to Roarke. “Stupid risk, but . . . that's backup in my book.”

“Then I couldn't hear you,” Peabody continued. “Or see you. Feeney's shouting you're to my left, to my left, but it's a wall. And Roarke's there, pulling me up. I can hear the others coming. We finally found the door.”

“Magic coat,” McNab added, resting his cheek on Peabody's head.

“I'd have taken one mid-body without it. You, too,” Peabody said to Roarke.

“Aren't we the lucky ones?”

“But you shut the door.”

“And she ran right into it, knocked herself down. Then I had her.”

“But you're bleeding.”

Eve took another blissful swallow of water. “You, too. But we got her. So let's take a moment here.” She closed eyes that felt as if they'd been scrubbed with sand. “Then we'll go clean it up.”

Eve took her time, even let the MTs clean up and slap some NuSkin over the gash on her hand.

The bruises elsewhere, and she had plenty of them, could wait.

Because she wanted privacy, and air, she stepped outside with Roarke.

They'd moved the barricades in, closing off the area directly around the building. That didn't stop the gawkers and reporters—and really, what was the difference—from pressing against those barricades. But she could, and she did, ignore the questions spewed out, turned her back to cameras aimed in her general direction.

“You'd think people would have something better to do.”

“For most of these? Murder doesn't come into their lives every day.”

“Then they should be grateful.” She actively wanted to kick something. And her own ass would have done the job. “I screwed up in there.”

“What? When and how?” he demanded. “And remember I was there.”

“You weren't in here.” She tapped her temple. “Too much in here
kept thinking of her as a kid. I told everybody, forget her age, it doesn't apply. But I didn't. She got off strikes, at you, at Peabody. Strikes that could have done serious damage, and the flash grenades on top of it, because I didn't move faster and harder.”

“You're going to have to review your own recorder and see for yourself how completely bollocks that is.”

“Faster and harder,” she repeated. “Even when I had her one-on-one, I . . . I think maybe I held back just a little, just enough.”

“If that's true—and, as I've had a look at both of you after that one-on-one, I tend to disagree—the only one that got hurt is yourself.”

He wanted to take that wounded hand, kiss it, brush his lips over the darkening bruises on her face. But he judged, at that moment, she needed her dignity more than the distraction.

“She's not like you, Eve. She's never been like you, will never be like you.”

“Got that.” She blew out a breath that streamed white in the cold, vanished. “Maybe I didn't before, but I've got that solid now. And I won't be holding back when I take her in the box.”

She looked at him then, those wild blue eyes. Had it really been that same day they'd—tired, sickened, stressed—swiped at each other with Summerset between them?

It felt like years had passed.

“You should go home,” she told him, “and sleep.”

Reaching into her pocket, he pulled out the snowflake cap, pulled it over her head. “Did you miss the memo, where I sleep when you do?”

“Then you should go home, buy a couple planets. Seriously, you must have work you've shuffled aside for this.”

“I can work at Central.”

She blew out a second breath, met those gorgeous blue eyes again. “We're going to have to get you a damn office at the shop.”

“Tempting.” He smiled. “But thanks all the same. That makes it just a bit too official for the likes of me.”

“The likes of you helped bring her down. Don't forget it. Those people over there? The ones who don't have murder in their lives every day, and are really hoping to see some blood, maybe a DB? Any one of them, Roarke. Any one of them could have been next, and they don't get that. They'll talk over a brew later about being
this
close to a killer. They'll be able to talk about it because you helped bring her down.”

“Yet I'm not the one with a six-inch gash on my hand, a black eye—and I suspect bruises elsewhere.”

“Yeah.” She shifted her aching shoulders. “We'll get to the elsewhere later.”

“Ah, my personal bonus.”

“Well.” She flicked her good hand over the cap, nodded. “If you're going to work at Central, let's get moving. Peabody! How about you drive?” she said to Roarke. “I've got some things to set up.”

She started setting them up as they circumvented the barricade, ignored the crowd, and headed back to the car.

Nadine came first.

“You fed me false information,” Nadine said immediately, with some serious rancor.

“No, I didn't. I just didn't give you all the information. Why does your face look like that? What's wrong with your left eye?”

“Nothing! I'm trying to get camera ready between lightning bulletins.” And she continued to expertly line her left eye as she ranted. “You weren't anywhere near Lexington Avenue.”

“Not personally, but there was an op in place there, as I told you.”

“But
you
and Willow Mackie weren't in that place, in that operation. Now I've got to get my ass into the station, go on air, and spin all my earlier bulletins so I don't look like an ass, while New York–One
happened to have a damn reporter half a block from where you took that bitch down, and has already done live remotes right on scene.”

“Well, you could do that,” Eve said as Roarke drove. “Or you could get your half-camera-ready self down to Central and broadcast a one-on-one exclusive with the primary who led the op and took that bitch down. If you take option two, you'd better get there fast.”

“Fifteen minutes,” Nadine said and cut Eve off.

“Peabody, arrange for Willow Mackie to be brought into an Interview room as soon as she's medically cleared. And find out if she's asked for a lawyer. Reo,” she said into her 'link. “Willow Mackie's been taken into custody.”

“So I heard—New York–One's all over it. I'm on my way into Central.”

“Good. We need to talk.”

“Did you get your face banged up in the arrest?”

“Yeah, there was a little . . . scuffle.”

“Isn't that a shame?” Reo smiled sweetly. “Put some ice on it. I'll see you there.”

Eve spent the rest of the drive contacting Mira, then Whitney.

The minute Roarke pulled into her slot in Central's garage, Eve hopped out. “Peabody?”

“Interview A. She's been cleared medically, and will be brought up within the next ten. She hasn't said the
L
word yet.”

“Good. I want you to forget her age.”

“Done. Believe me.”

“But work her like that's a factor for you.”

“Sympathetic.” Peabody sighed, and sighed long. “I'm always sympathetic.”

“Because it comes off real. But over that, play the disappointed and somewhat angry teacher to the student who fucked up. Adult to child, and the adult's in charge.”

“I can do that.”

“There's more, and we need to work out the timing in a huddle with Reo. I'm going to square things with Nadine.” Eve rocked on her heels in the elevator as she calculated. “All in all that should give her a solid twenty minutes to sit and wait in the box.”

“She's used to waiting,” Peabody pointed out.

“Not for this. If you want to observe,” she began, glancing over at Roarke.

“I'll be in and out. And close enough when you're finished with this.”

She got off the elevator, headed straight for her office.

“I'm going to tap your coffee,” Roarke told her, “before I take myself off to a quiet spot for an hour or so.”

“You can use my office.”

“I may end up there, but you'll need it for a bit, won't you?”

Even as he said it, they stepped in to find Reo waiting.

“That was fast.”

“I'd just gone to my office. If I'm working on Saturday, I might as well work. Hi, Roarke.”

“I'll be out of your way in just a moment. Coffee?”

“Oh boy, yeah. What happened to your hand?” she asked Eve.

“She had a knife.” Eve sat on the edge of her desk, took the coffee Roarke offered.

“I'll take mine to go.” Unconcerned about Eve's dignity in front of Reo, Roarke caught Eve's chin in his hand, kissed her firmly. “Go finish it.”

“I'll see you tomorrow.” Reo smiled at him. “At a happier event.”

“What's tomorrow?” Eve demanded as Roarke strolled out.

“Bella's birthday party.”

“What? No, that's . . . tomorrow?”

“Sunday afternoon,” Reo confirmed. “And really good timing as it turns out.”

Eve stared into her coffee. “I just can't catch a break.”

“Oh, what's your problem? It's happy! There'll be cake—and surely adult beverages. Now let's talk about our murderous teenager.”

“Yeah, wait. I want Peabody in on this.”

To make that happen, Eve merely stepped to the door, shouted, “Peabody!”

But she did program a coffee regular and shove it into her partner's hand when Peabody came in, double-time clomp.

“Close the door. Okay, here's how I want to play it. There's some timing involved.”

Eve ran it through for them. Together they discussed strategy, tactics, legalities. As she finished off her coffee, she glanced over at the sharp knock on her door.

“That's going to be Nadine. Peabody, go on and check on our suspect—from Observation. I'm going to need about ten minutes.”

Eve opened the door. Before Nadine could spew out the words that went with the hard gleam in her eyes, Reo stepped forward.

“Hey! How are you? I heard you were at Madison Square.”

“Backstage and out of the action.”

“Plenty of action around here, and more to come. If I don't get a chance to see you before you leave, we'll talk tomorrow.”

“Same goes.” And Peabody, recognizing that gleam, hustled out with Reo.

Now Nadine shut the door. “You lied to me.”

“I did not. Would I, if it saved lives? Absolutely. But I didn't. I used you,” Eve added. “And as a result you saved lives. One of them could have been mine. Thanks.”

“What kind of bullshit—”

“It's not. You can spend the time I have to give you bitching at me, or you can let me lay it out for you then have your exclusive. Your choice.”

The gleam stayed hard. “We're supposed to be friends, over and above the rest of it, Dallas. We're supposed to be friends.”

“Yeah, that happened. That happened and because of it I never thought of or considered tagging anyone else. I know my friends. I may have more of them than I actually want, but I know them or they wouldn't be. And I knew I could count on you.”

“You could have told me the truth, and still counted on me.”

Since she'd figured they'd have to push through this first, Eve shrugged, programmed coffee for Nadine.

“I did tell you the truth. I left out the part of it that would have compromised your journalistic integrity.” She passed Nadine the coffee. “Because, fuck it, Nadine, we're not supposed to be friends. We are.”

“Just how did—” Obviously still riding on plenty of mad, Nadine stopped herself, held up a hand. “Fine. Lay it out.”

“I was on my way to the op on Lex. And I peeled off on a hunch. It hit me, that's all. It just did, and when it did, I knew I needed a distraction if the hunch played out. I fed you the Lexington Avenue op when I verified the suspect was holed up—with a fucking armory—at her mother's house. She'd have spotted us coming in, and it's a pretty sure bet somebody, many more than a couple of somebodies would be in the hospital now, if not the morgue, if we hadn't been able to distract her. You coming on with the bulletin fixed her attention on her screen. It made her believe she was safe where she was, and I could call in the rest of the team while we moved in on her.

“She's in Interview now, Nadine, and with minimal damage to all parties, because you told her what I needed her to hear.”

Nadine scanned Eve's face. “You call that minimal. You've got a black eye. And what's wrong with your hand?”

“Minimal,” Eve said again. “You gave me the window. I used you to open the window. You went on the air with what I gave you, which wasn't a lie. I couldn't give you the rest, for obvious reasons. And I couldn't give you the rest and ask you to report half a story. I don't know all the Friendship Rules, but I'm going to say one of them's not asking
and expecting a friend to compromise her professional integrity to open a window for you.”

Nadine huffed, then pulled out Eve's desk chair and sat. She drank some coffee. “The Lexington Avenue op wasn't bullshit?”

“No, it wasn't. We were following a viable lead. Viable because the person giving us that lead believed it. That would be her father.”

Nadine straightened in the chair. “Her father flipped on her?”

“Not exactly, and if you want to ask questions, why don't we do it? I've got a case to close.”

Nadine sat another moment. “I
hated
getting scooped by that putz from New York–One.”

Eve shrugged again. “Happens, right? He's probably going to hate you going on with details of the arrest—with a follow-up on the result of the interview with said suspect.”

“Yeah, he is.” Nadine pushed up. “I need to trust you.”

“And you can. Nadine, both Roarke and Peabody took hits—body armor kept those hits from sending them to the morgue.”

“You?”

“Yeah, and me. The thing is, without the distraction, she might've hunkered down and distracted us by picking off civilians a couple blocks away. But she didn't have time to go there because we got in. She focused on you, then she had to focus on us. Minimal damage,” Eve repeated.

“All right. I'm going to think about all that. But right now, I'm going to tell my camera to come in. We'll get this on the air. I suppose offering you makeup for that face is a waste of time. You want those bruises to show.”

“Hey. I earned them.” Eve smiled.

—

P
eabody stepped out of Observation, where she and Mira had been watching a bored, sulky-eyed Willow and talking about tomorrow's birthday party.

She walked to the Interview room door, opened it.

Willow glanced up. She'd shorn off the dreads so her dark hair hung shaggy and short. Like Eve, she sported some visible bruising.