Apprentice in Death (32 page)

“That sounds like a bribe.” Considering, amusement clear, he nodded. “I'm very susceptible to the right kind of bribe. I believe we have a deal.”

“Solid.” She headed straight back to command.

—

S
he got her two hours, found it exhilarating and amazing. The comp was so quick, it all but anticipated her commands, the screen images so clear she almost felt she could walk into them.

The holo functions would take her a while to get a steady handle on, but even now she could see using them to put herself back into a crime scene, or bring a wit, a consultant, a potential suspect right into her space.

In all her wildest dreams, she could never have imagined having so much tech right at her fingertips. Even though it meant actually dealing with tech.

But the best, the abso-ult, as Mavis would say, was discovering the mini unit that allowed her to program coffee right at her command center.

That little bonus had her doing a mental happy dance even as they left for Bella's party.

“It's going to be really exceptional pool sex.”

Roarke slid behind the wheel. “Is it now?”

She yanked him to her, gave him a hard kiss. “Better stick to the shallow end, because we could drown. And even then.”

“Life's full of risks. And we are the brave.”

“An hour, ninety minutes tops, right?”

“For pool sex?”

Laughing, she punched his shoulder.

She decided a Sunday afternoon drive downtown didn't completely suck. Closed case, long sleep, hot food—and a command center. Life could be a lot worse.

Maybe it would be the first first birthday party she'd ever attended, but how bad could it be?

Better not think about it.

“You're sure the present deal got there?” she asked as he maneuvered into a parking place.

“I am.”

“I just don't want to screw up, be those people who forgot the present for the kid.”

“Delivered yesterday, and stowed away by Leonardo.”

“Okay. I bet there are going to be others there.”

“I certainly hope so.”

“No, I mean
others
. The others who crawl or walk like drunks with their hands waving, or zip around like Bella.”

“Ah, as in children. I'm sure you're right.”

“Why do they stare? They're always staring. Like dolls,” she said as they walked into the building. “Or sharks.”

“I have no idea, but now I'll likely worry about it.”

“Join the club.”

She took the stairs as she had countless times before Roarke, to the apartment that had once been hers. To the apartment, she thought, that, like her home office, no longer remotely resembled what had been hers.

She was a lot more than okay with that.

“Start the clock,” she told Roarke, and knocked.

The door swung open into noise, into color, into movement.

Balloons, streamers, flying . . . unicorns, fairies, and a rainbow-colored dragon.

All this lived behind the nearly seven-foot black man in a black vest over a red skin shirt. He grinned widely.

“Hey there, skinny white girl.”

“Hey back, large black man.”

She accepted the hug that had her eyeballing the long red feather that curled down from his earlobe.

How many first birthday parties had the owner/bouncer of a sex club on the guest list?

Then again, Mavis.

“Hey, Roarke.”

“Crack. Good to see you.”

“Cak, Cak, Cak,” came the call from behind him.

He turned, caught Bella on the fly. And the birthday girl, the pretty little golden-haired sprite in a frothy, sparkly pink dress and sparkly shoes that flashed with lights, nestled in the arms bulging with biceps and tattoos.

She whispered something in his ear that made him throw back his head and laugh.

When he turned around, Bella's eyes widened with delight. “Das! Ork!”

She launched herself at Eve, who managed not to fumble the pass. “Yeah, hey, happy birthday.”

Wiggling with glee, Bella launched into one of her incomprehensible monologues, then stopped. Her eyes filled with concern, sympathy, sorrow.

“What?” Instantly, sweat pooled at the base of Eve's spine. “What did I do?”

“Boo.” It was heartfelt, as Bella touched her fingers to the fading bruise under Eve's eye.

“Yeah, that's what I said.”

Very carefully, Bella leaned in to touch her lips to the same spot, smiled, babbled.

“She says it'll be all better.”

Eve glanced at Crack. “How the hell do you know what she's saying?”

“I be bilingual.”

“You be full of . . . it.” Eve remembered to leave off the
sh
in front of the kid. And when she noted Bella had shifted her attention to Roarke with her dipped chin, angled head, flirty smile, Eve saw her chance.

“She wants you. You hold her.”

“Well, I—” But Roarke found his arms full of a flirtatious toddler, who latched on, kissed his cheeks, then batted her big blue eyes.

“You're a charmer, aren't you now?” Eve heard him say as she made her escape.

The floor was full of crawlers, toddlers, other little-type people with sticky fingers or drool.

She spotted Peabody and, relieved—even though her partner wore a pink dress with a line of silver frills down the right side—headed toward her.

But was intercepted by the call of her name.

Mavis, in pink (Jesus, so much pink!) skin pants—or paint?—covered with white stars and a crotch-skimming dress—or was it a top?—floating over it in summer sky blue with pink stars, dashed toward her on blue-and-pink-striped booties with dizzying heels. Her hair, fountaining on top and tumbling down the back, blended all the colors of the spectrum and bounced, just as she did.

She caught Eve in a fierce hug. “You came!”

“Sure.”

“I wasn't sure—not with everything juggling and whacked. Two minutes,” she added, then dragged Eve through the crowd.

Good God, Summerset! He appeared to be having a conversation with some kid who barely came to his bony knees.

And the Miras. She really wanted to get a good look at Dennis Mira, just to make sure he was all right. But Mavis kept dragging her until they stood in the symphonic rainbow that was Mavis and Leonardo's bedroom.

“We didn't get a chance to huddle much after the Nightmare at the Garden. I knew you'd come that time. I knew you'd come, and we'd all get through. I finally fell asleep, and when . . .” With a shake of her head that sent the fairies dangling from her ears whirling, Mavis grabbed onto Eve again. “I was scared, so scared. I knew Bella was okay, home with the sitter. But I was scared if something happened to me and Leonardo . . . She wouldn't have us.”

“She's got you. She always will.”

“When I saw you, I stopped being scared. Today's for happy. For really happy. My baby's first birthday party.”

“Looks like, and sounds like, a hell of a party.”

“Wait until you see the cake. Ariel made it. It's a fairy castle. With unicorns.”

“Naturally. Did you invite everyone you know?”

“Only the ones who count. Let's get drinks. Lots of drinks.”

Eve got a drink, and managed to pretty much avoid Trina—especially when she noticed the hairdresser giving her hair
that
look. She saw Dennis Mira's dreamy smile as he sat right on the floor to play some game with a gaggle of kids.

She watched McNab gallop around in his airboots with some other kid plastered to his back, who shrieked as if being stabbed—a sound everyone else appeared to assume meant pleasure. Garnet DeWinter was smiling down at some visually stunning midsized kid who talked earnestly to Mira.

Leonardo, a shiny, dome-shaped party hat on his long copper hair, beamed at his girls, manning the bar in a tunic the color of sapphires.

Louise and Charles—late to the party. Doctors and cops, Eve thought, and saw Roarke talking to Feeney. Doctors, cops, and criminals—reformed. Bouncers and ex-LCs. E-geeks and fashion designers.

And a serious boatload of kids.

She didn't know everyone, but she knew a good chunk. Her people as much as Mavis's. Like it or not.

Chaos got real when the time came for Bella to rip into the gifts.

“Where the hell are they going to put them all?”

Roarke slid an arm around Eve's waist. “They'll find a way.”

Maybe, Eve thought, but certainly at the moment the kid was ridiculously thrilled with everything.

“Looks like we're up,” Roarke said as Leonardo signaled. He slipped away with Leonardo into another part of the apartment.

Together they carried out an enormous box of glittery pink and silver.

“I'm told this is a magic box,” Roarke said to Bella, who stared at it with huge eyes. “And you've only to pull that ribbon there to see what's inside.”

With Mavis's help, Bella pulled the long pink ribbon. The box collapsed outward to reveal the contents.

She'd wanted a dollhouse, according to Peabody—and Mavis had confirmed. And since Roarke had been in charge . . .

Like the home he'd built for himself, it was more castle than house. And in this case, all girl. Pink and white and pretty with its turrets and drawbridges, its arched windows and fussy balconies.

Eve didn't get it, just didn't get the concept of giving dolls a place where they could gather to plot. But she got Bella's reaction, and couldn't deny the little squeeze of her own heart.

Bella gasped, put her fingers to her lips, her eyes saucer wide with shock. Mavis murmured to her, and those eyes went shiny as she looked up at Roarke, over at Eve.

Then another girl squealed and rushed forward.

Bella's shiny eyes went hot and fierce, her teeth showed. Eve was prepared to see a long, forked tongue shoot out between them.

Obviously imagining the same, the squealer stopped dead, and backed up.

Shiny eyes returned, and Bella toddled to Eve. When Bella started to lift her arms, Eve took the safer course and crouched down.

“Das,” Bella said with a world of meaning in the single syllable. Her arms went around Eve, and she swayed in the hug—as her mother often did. “Das,” she said again, and held out a hand for Roarke. “Ork. Das. Ta. Ta. Ta.”

Whatever she said after was beyond Eve's scope, but the emotion was crystal. Pure joy, deep gratitude.

“Glad you like it.”

“Ove. Ove ou.”

Bella let out a long sigh, then sparkled as she danced in place. Whirling, she charged the dollhouse, applauded, poked at it, pulled out a throne-like chair, and hooted with laughter.

“I'd say it's a hit,” Eve said.

Then was struck when Bella looked over, smiled, and held out a hand to the squealer. An invitation to play.

A lot going on in that head, Eve realized, and everywhere else, too. A gift deeply wished for—let me take a minute here, sister. The thanks to the people who'd granted the wish, done with charm and sweetness. Another moment to celebrate, to have it for herself. Then a willingness to share it, to have someone enjoy it with her.

Nature, nurture, what the hell. The nature part was a lot of risk, a gamble, often the luck of the draw. Nurture could be kind or cruel, smart or insane—and still.

But here was a kid, with just one year under her belt. Sweet, innocent—but not stupid. Iron willed but compassionate. Already with her own sense of . . . style, Eve supposed. Her own little agenda.

How did all that get in there?

“You guys hit that one out of the park.” Peabody, sipping some frothy pink concoction, stepped up beside Eve to watch Bella and some of her friends with the dollhouse. “It's abso-mag, and when the place clears out some, I'm getting a turn with it.”

She took another sip. “It's a good day.”

“It's holding its own,” Eve began. And her communicator sounded. “Shit. Shit.”

She switched to text—too many people—and read the message. “Shit again. I've got to go.”

“We catch one? We're not on the roll.”

“No, it's Willow Mackie. Some issues.”

“Let me tell McNab.”

“No, you stay. It's just cleanup. If it turns into more, I'll tag you. Crap. Tell Mavis I'm sorry.” She glanced around, saw Roarke had already fetched their coats. “Tell her—tell her I'll tag her later.”

She grabbed her coat from Roarke, got out before any questions could delay her.

“What have you got?”

“A uniform in the hospital, a CS rep in hysterics, and people who'd better have a damn good explanation. We're going in hot,” she added. “Because I am
pissed.”

As the communication had come from Officer Shelby, Eve ordered her to go to the garage and wait. When they pulled in, Shelby stood beside Eve's designated slot as if guarding it from invaders.

“Lieutenant, I apologize for contacting you on your free day.”

“Forget it. Status.”

“The prisoner is contained. She had some minor injuries, has been treated.”

“I want her transferred to Rikers today, put in maximum security.” And for now, Eve intended to go to the confinement area of Central herself. “The injured officer?”

“He should have arrived at the hospital by now, sir. The MTs indicated while his injuries were serious, they weren't life threatening.”

“The ones I give him may be. How the hell did she get her hands on a weapon? And what the hell are you doing here, Shelby? You're not in uniform.”

“No, sir, I'm not on the roll. I came in to meet Mary Kate—that is
Franco, the nurse practitioner. She had morning duty at the infirmary. We're friends, sir, and we were going to see a vid later. I was going down when I heard the altercation.”

In the elevator, Eve ordered containment level, swiped her code to allow it.

“Spell it out.”

“Sir. Upon hearing the sounds of an altercation, I withdrew my service weapon from my bag and entered the infirmary. Officer Minx was down, bleeding from wounds on the face and the body. The adult female identified subsequently as Jessica Gromer, the CS rep assigned to the prisoner, was also on the floor, screaming. NP Franco was attempting to defend herself as the prisoner advanced on her with a scalpel. She—Franco—had grabbed a pressure syringe and, ah, a bedpan, sir. I called out to the prisoner to drop her weapon, at which time she attempted to grab Franco, I assume as cover or for a hostage, but Franco held her off. The prisoner then attempted to charge me, at which time I deployed my weapon, stunning her.”

Shelby cleared her throat. “I secured the prisoner while Franco immediately moved to Officer Minx to assess and treat his injuries. I did demand, in harsh terms, for CS rep Gromer to stop screaming. Gromer made it very clear once we had the situation under control she would report me for same.”

“What were the harsh terms, Officer?”

“Ah, sir, I believe I may have, in the heat of the moment, told her to shut the fuck up or I'd stun her, too.”

“Good. Your lieutenant advises you not to give another thought to any bullshit report filed by obvious moron Gromer.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“What was Willow Mackie doing in the infirmary?”

“Sir, I questioned both Gromer—who was not initially cooperative—
and Franco, as Officer Minx needed to be transported. I haven't yet written up my report.”

“Spell it out, Officer, write it later.”

Eve stepped off, nodded to the guard on the steel door of the containment area.

“The prisoner had availed herself of the rep from CS, who, apparently sympathetic to her age and situation, has already filed an objection regarding her classification as an adult.”

“That's going nowhere. Keep going.”

“During their interview, the prisoner claimed to be in pain from injuries incurred during arrest—resulting from police brutality.”

“Uh-huh. And?”

“The prisoner collapsed, stated she couldn't breathe. The rep called for assistance, and Officer Minx escorted the prisoner and, by her request, the rep to the infirmary. Franco instructed Officer Minx to help the prisoner onto the exam table and restrain her to it, at which time Gromer argued that the prisoner was in pain, and only a child, and should be treated with more care and compassion. The prisoner stumbled forward, as if dizzy or light-headed, knocking over a tray of tools. Pitched forward again, making sounds of acute pain when Officer Minx attempted to assist. From the statements it would appear, at this time, the prisoner grabbed a scalpel from the drawer of the counter—though neither Gromer nor Franco saw the move. But when Minx again went to assist, she slashed his face. She nearly got his eye, sir, then stabbed him—his throat, his chest—kicked him back and down, then turned on Franco. It was, sir, about this time that I entered the room.”

“Okay. Good work, Officer. Hold here.”

She went to the cop on the door, and though they knew each other, offered her badge for scanning. “Log us in. Dallas, Shelby, and Roarke.”

“Who you going to pay a Sunday visit to?”

“The Mackies. Both of them.”

He logged them in, gave Eve their sectors and cell numbers.

He opened the door—palm plate, retina scan, security swipe, and a code that changed twice daily.

Inside, more cops, another scan, another door.

It wasn't Rikers, Eve thought, but it wasn't a pink-and-white dollhouse, either.

Through that door, and into the cages lining the sidewalls.

And plenty of people in them. Some grouped together in more basic holding. Others, in one- or two-person cages, waiting for transfer elsewhere. A few waiting for their turn before a judge on Monday morning.

For the hard cases, like Willow Mackie, there was yet one more door. The cop on this eyed Eve, eyed Shelby. “How's Minx?”

“They said he'd be okay,” Shelby told him, and he shook his head.

“Barely out of the Academy. Needs a year or two on the beat, in Traffic, in a cube before they plug them down here. She's third cage, left.”

Eve walked down to where Willow sprawled on the single bunk in a cage. It held a toilet—no lid—bolted to the floor and a small sink bolted to the wall.

“I don't have to talk to you.”

“Not interested in anything you have to say,” Eve returned. “Just wanted a look before you take up housekeeping at Rikers—later today.”

“I'm not going there.”

“You don't seem to get your days of choices are finished. Officer, I also wanted you to have a look at someone you've helped put where she belongs.”

“CS is getting me out. Gromer told me. And when I get out—”

“Gromer's going to be reprimanded, if she's lucky. And if I get my way, she'll be out of a job come tomorrow. And you will now be further charged with attempted murder of a police officer, with assault with a
deadly on same, with attempting to escape, with attempted assault with a deadly on a medical. Just adds weight.

“Rikers max security until trial—you just bought that. And, oh boy, they're going to love you there. Fresh, really fresh meat.”

“I'll get out!” Tears leaped into Willow's eyes as she shoved to her feet. “I'll get out, and I'll come for you.”

“Now I'm bored.”

Satisfied, Eve signaled to Shelby, to Roarke, and walked away with Willow's curses echoing.

“Go on up, Officer. Write it up, and file. Then find your friend and go to the vids. You did good today.”

“Thanks, Lieutenant. Thank you for the opportunity.”

“I put you in Homicide. I didn't put you in that infirmary. The psychopath back there gave you the opportunity, and you handled it. Dismissed.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You choose well,” Roarke murmured when Shelby headed out.

Eve gave him a fierce smile. “I like to think so. One more stop.”

More steel doors, more scans, then Eve stood outside the cage holding Reginald Mackie. He didn't sprawl on the bunk like his daughter, but paced, back and forth, from wall to wall.

She imagined him pacing a cage for the rest of his life.

“Has word traveled down here that we took your daughter alive?”

He stopped pacing, turned, stared at her with his ruined eyes. “You can't try her as an adult. We had a deal.”

“Terms were not met, not even close to met. Let me be the first to pass along the fact that she just tried an escape—used the infirmary, an idiot CS rep, and a green officer. The officer is now in the hospital, with his face slashed, with stab wounds. She's going to Rikers, Mackie, and there she'll stay until her trial. Then it's Omega for the next century. Give or take a few years.”

“I helped you.”

“You didn't. She wasn't where you said, where you probably really thought she'd be. She was at your ex-wife's, lying in wait. And on the record, she bragged about how she intended to kill her stepfather, then gut her brother while she made their mother watch. Then she'd finish her. She wanted to rack up a hundred bodies at the school. Kids, teachers, parents, bystanders. Didn't matter as long as she hit the number.

“That's what you spawned, Mackie. I figure maybe she was born wrong. Maybe she had that twist in her right from the jump. But you nurtured it. You stoked it, educated it, brought it along. She had choices, sure, but you made the choices she made easy for her. You made them righteous.”

She felt nothing for him when he began to weep. Nothing.

“I want you to think about that for the rest of your life.”

When she walked away, his sobs echoed as Willow's curses had.

“We are done down here now?” Roarke asked her.

“Absolutely.”

“There's good news, as this place is starting to make me twitchy.”

“Not a cage that could hold you, ace.”

“I'd rather never find out.”

“I just have to go up, make the arrangements for her transfer, and I should contact Whitney, just bring him up to speed. Then we're done.”

As they moved back—the correct way, in his opinion—through the doors, he ran a hand down her back.

“On home then?”

She started to nod—home sounded excellent—then she thought: Choices. To kill, to train to kill. To move into trouble, or turn away. To share a precious new gift. To give thanks.

Wherever you came from, however you grew up, it always came down to the choices you made. Even when you only had one year on the planet.

She made one of her own, and took his hand.

“Let's go back to the party.”

“Voluntarily?” he said, making her laugh.

“Let's go back to the weird and the happy. Let's go have some fucking birthday cake.”

He made a choice of his own, cupped her chin, and kissed her. “That sounds absolutely perfect.”

They rode up, away from the cages, from the curses, the tears, from those who chose to shed blood. And made their way back to the weird and the happy.