New York to Dallas (25 page)

She tuned into the chatter now—the directions, the street names, and kept her eye on the van.

The woman would contact McQueen, Eve thought, as soon as she got a little distance. And that couldn’t happen.

Take her now, right now.

She hit vertical, pushed for more speed, and took back everything she’d said about Roarke and his fancy rides as the car soared. Sirens ripped through the morning air as she yanked the wheel, made the turn with the van, then edged over it.

A little more, a little more, she thought, gaining, gaining.

She nipped over the van, took the car down fast and hard, yanking the wheel again to block the road.

She saw the woman’s face, just for an instant, saw the lips peel back in shock and rage. The van swerved, but there wasn’t time.

It rammed into the rear of the car, sending Eve into a shrieking three-sixty while air bags exploded. She heard the crash as she shoved the seat back, pushed free.

The van tilted half on the street, half on the sidewalk where it had jumped the curb after smashing into a parked car.

Weapon drawn, Eve walked toward the van.

“Hands! I want to see your hands.”

She moved closer as other cops, other weapons joined her.

“Put your fucking hands on the wheel, now.”

“I’m hurt!”

“You’re going to be more hurt if I don’t see both your hands on that wheel.”

She saw them, and blood.

Head wound, she noted as she wrenched open the door, saw blood running down the woman’s face. Without pity, Eve yanked her out of the van, spun her around to face it.

“What are you doing? I’m hurt. You wrecked my van. I need an ambulance.”

“Call for a bus,” Eve ordered.

“My chest.” The woman wheezed breath in and out. “Oh God, my ribs. My head.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re under arrest.” Eve cuffed the woman’s hands behind her back, then was forced to hold her up as she swayed.

“What are you talking about? I didn’t do anything.” She added weeping to the wheezing. “You drove me off the road.”

“What name should we start with? Sister Suzan? Sarajo Whitehead? Should we go with Sylvia Prentiss since you’re her today?”

She turned the woman around. Broke her sunshades in the crash, she thought fleetingly. “Whatever name you’re using, we’ve got your ass. And we’ll get McQueen’s.”

Eve pulled off the broken sunglasses, tossed them to another cop.

The woman looked at her with such fierce, bright hate.

“Fuck you. You’ve got nothing. You are nothing!”

Eve’s knees went loose, nearly buckled as the edges of her vision grayed, wavered. The heat rolled up, a wave from her toes to the crown of her head that coated her skin in a thin layer of sweat.

And she knew.

“LT, Lieutenant Dallas.” Annalyn took Eve’s arm. “You should sit down. You took a pretty hard knock.”

“I know you,” Eve managed, her voice low and harsh with shock. “I know you.”

“You don’t know shit.” Then the woman’s eyes rolled back. She’d have hit the street in a dead faint if Eve hadn’t yanked her up again.

“I know you. I know you.”

“Dallas, Dallas. Ease back. Take the bitch, Jay.” As he did, Annalyn pulled Eve back. “You’re in shock, Dallas. She’s out cold, and you’re in shock.”

“What? What?” She pushed at Annalyn’s hand, stumbled to the curb and sat. Put her head between her knees.

Couldn’t get sick. Wouldn’t.

Had to be wrong.

Everything kept spinning around, and rolling heat had turned to bitter, blowing cold. She couldn’t get her breath.

Shocky, yes, Detective Walker was right. A little shocky from the crash.

“The bus is on the way, Lieutenant.” Bree crouched in front of her. “Suspect is unconscious. She’s banged up pretty bad. No safety bags in that van, so she took a hard hit. You, too, even with them.”

“I’m all right. Just got a little shaken up.”

“The MTs will look you over, but you should go in to the hospital.”

“Yeah, I’m going in. With her. I’ll ride with her.” Pull it together, Eve ordered herself. Remember who you are. She lifted her head, bore down when the air seemed to shimmer and sway around her. “Jesus, what a clusterfuck.”

“She didn’t contact him. Didn’t have time. We’ve got her ’link. Price already checked it and the dash ’link, and she didn’t use either in the last half-hour. He doesn’t know we’ve got her.”

“Silver lining.”

“We’ll get McQueen’s location out of her. We will.”

Tears in the corners of Bree’s eyes, Eve noted. She wasn’t the only one fighting to pull it together.

“We will. And we’ve got her coms. Make sure EDD starts on them asap.”

“We can take it from here.” Laurence stepped up to her. “We’ll work the van, the electronics, the duplex. You get checked out. That was some kick-ass driving, Dallas. Kick-ass.”

“Yeah.”

“Your lip’s bleeding some.”

She swiped at it, looked at the smear on the back of her hand. “Just smacked it on the air bag. I’m good.”

Blood, she thought, studying the smear. Blood on her hand, blood in the van.

Blood didn’t lie.

She got to her feet, waved Bree aside. “I’m okay. Just need to walk it off.”

She walked to the car as if to study the damage. Roarke knew her; she knew him. As she expected he’d had a field kit stowed in the trunk.

Don’t think, she ordered herself, just do. Just do it.

She took out swabs, used one on the cut on her lip, capped it. Hands steady, she marked it, pocketed it.

She moved through the cops, around the MTs who’d just arrived to work on the suspect.

She stared at the blood on the wheel. Head wound, she thought dully. Always plenty of blood with a head wound.

She used the swab, capped and marked it.

After a few calming breaths, she walked back to where the MTs worked. “What’s the damage?”

“She’s got the head laceration, probably concussion,” the MT told her. “Contusions on her chest and arms, and a couple ribs either broken or cracked. Internal injuries likely. We’ve got to get her in.”

“I’m riding with you. What hospital?”

“Dallas City. If you’re coming, you’ve got to come now. We’re about to load her.”

“I’m coming.”

She stepped aside, took out her ’link.

“That was fast,” Roarke began, then stopped, smile dropping away. “You’re hurt.”

“Just a couple bumps from the air bags. I wrecked the car.”

“Typical,” he said, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “What happened?”

“Later. We have her. It got fucked, but we have her.”

The shakes wanted to start again, and the heat began its next roll over the ice.

“She’s being transported to Dallas City Hospital. I need you there. I need you to . . . I need you to come there. I didn’t get the address.”

“I’ll get it. Eve, tell me what’s wrong.”

“I can’t, not now. I’m not hurt. It’s not that. Roarke, I need you to come.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Now or never,” the MT called out.

“I have to go.”

“Whatever it is, we’ll handle it. I’m on my way.”

Eve slid the ’link into her pocket, climbed into the back of the ambulance.

She sat, studied the face of the unconscious woman.

Open your eyes, damn it. Open your eyes and look at me again.

Because, she admitted, she hadn’t been wrong. It hadn’t been shock, not from the crash. She knew McQueen’s latest partner.

And it was just another nightmare.

But the woman didn’t wake up, not on the short ride to the ER. Eve kept pace with the medicals, one foot in front of the other, and saw her prisoner’s eyelids flutter, heard her moan as they rushed her down and through to a treatment room.

“Outside, please.”

Eve gave the doctor in charge, a young, harried black man in scrubs, one glance. “She’s in my custody. I stay.”

“Keep out of the way.”

She stepped back, but watched every move while the doctors, nurses, MTs rattled off in their strange language, transferred the woman to the table.

She moaned again.

“What’s her name?” the doctor called out to Eve.

“Which one? She’s got a lot of them.” She nearly gave him the one flashing like neon in her mind, then thought better of it. “Try Sylvia. It’s current.”

“Sylvia. We’ve got you now. Look right here. Can you tell me what day it is?”

“It fucking hurts! Make it stop. Give me something.”

“Just hang on now, we’re going to take care of you.”

“Give me something for the goddamn pain, you fuck.”

“Classy,” Eve said mildly. “She’s an addict.”

“Keep that fucking cunt of a cop away from me. She tried to kill me.”

“She’s lucid.” The doctor cut his eyes toward Eve. “Is she on anything now?”

Eve kept her eyes on the bruised, bloodied face. “Can’t say, probability high.”

“What did you take, Sylvia? How much did you take?”

“Fuck you. I’m dying. She tried to kill me. Give me something.” She lashed out, tried to claw at the doctor’s face.

“Strap her down,” he ordered.

Dispassionately, Eve watched the struggle, listened to the screams, the curses. One of the nurses moved over to her.

“Would you step outside with me? Just outside. She’s secured, and believe me, Doctor Zimmerman can handle her. We’ve got to get her stabilized, access the injuries.”

With a nod, Eve stepped outside the door, but faced the porthole window, continued to watch.

“Do you know what she might have taken?”

“Not at this time. They’ll bring in the contents of her purse, whatever she had at her residence, in her vehicle. You’ll have to run a tox yourself to determine. She’s dangerous,” Eve added. “She’s to be under guard at all times. She is not to be allowed any communications, and must be kept in restraints.”

“What the hell did she do?”

Eve glanced over, saw Annalyn and Bree coming at a fast clip. “These officers will tell you what you need to know.”

“What’s her status?” Bree demanded. “Has she said anything?”

“Nothing helpful. Ask the nurse re status.” Eve went back to watching.

She’d live, Eve thought. She’d damn well live because there were questions to be answered.

Machines and scanners on her now, Eve noted, taking pictures of what was inside her. She’d stopped screaming and turned on the tears.

“Messed up, but not critical.”

Eve nodded at Annalyn’s interpretation of the nurse’s rundown. “EDD’s scanning the duplex for alarms and trips. When they clear it, we’ll go in, take it apart.”

“What about her coms?”

“Last communication was a text.” She pulled out her notebook.

U wore me out last night. Going to salon, some shopping. B there about 3. CU later.

“Gives us some time. Any chance of a trace?”

“If he contacts her, we’ll trap and trace. They’re working on the code she used to send. I don’t know yet.”

“Did the van have navigation? I didn’t see.”

“Disabled,” Annalyn reported. “All her ’links are disposable clones, juiced up with filters. But EDD will cut through.”

“She knows where Melly is,” Bree murmured. “She knows.”

“And we’ll get it out of her,” Annalyn assured her. “He won’t miss her until after three. We’ve got time to work her.”

“Send another text,” Eve said. “After fourteen hundred, send another. It took longer at the salon, she booked a massage, or whatever the hell. Out shopping. Bought him a present. Something. Running late. Might be six. Buy us a few more hours.”

“That’s an idea.”

“I’m full of them,” Eve muttered.

“I got word on the way over. We nailed down the salon. If we need to we can cover that in case he tries to contact her.”

“Cover it,” Eve ordered. “We’re not taking any chances.” She turned away from Annalyn when she spotted Roarke. “Stay on her. If they take her out, stay with her. I need to take care of something.”

She intercepted Roarke. “Let’s go outside. I could use some air.”

He touched the abrasions on her cheek, the cut on her lip.

“Just the air bags. Hers didn’t deploy, so she’s banged up pretty good. She’ll live, but she’s going to hurt for a while.”

“McQueen?”

“She made us, tried to rabbit. So no. Not yet.” She went out, kept walking. Away from people moving in and out. “She didn’t have time to warn him, and we’ve got a window to work her.”

“That’s not what’s wrong.”

“I need you to do something for me, fast and private.”

“All right.”

She pulled the swabs out of her pocket. “I need DNA. Need these two samples compared. I need to know if... One’s mine. One’s hers.”

She saw it come to him, first the shock, then the sorrow. “Christ. Christ Jesus, Eve.”

“I recognized her from the first on some level.” Her voice wanted to shake, but she feared if she let it, it would never stop. “Down deep where I couldn’t—or wouldn’t reach it, I knew her. It made me sick. Then I pulled her out of that van, and she looked at me, and I knew. It was the same look. The same as the day I remembered when I was two or three—who knows—and I’d been playing with her face stuff. She was so angry, hyped, violent. And she looked at me with such hate. Murderous hate.”

She took a shuddering breath. “My mother.”

“You’d just been in an accident,” he began.

“Roarke.” She made herself meet his eyes, made herself let him see. “I know. She was Stella then, but the name doesn’t matter. She sticks with names starting with S. Maybe she’s got monogrammed sheets or some shit.”

She didn’t tremble, not until he touched her. Then she shook, her body, her voice. “I know. I just need it confirmed.”

“I’ll take care of it.” He drew her in. “I’ll see to it, don’t worry about that. Did she know you?”