Survivor in Death (20 page)

Trueheart was cheering her on, and looked about two years older than his charge.

“You got it now, you got it! Blast 'em good, Nix. In pursuit, armed suspects! You rock.”

The tiniest smile tugged at her cheeks, but her eyes were focused, her brow knitted in fierce concentration.

Eve smelled popcorn, and saw a bowl of it on one of the tables. The wall screen was on, volume up to scream, with one of Mavis's videos blaring. Mavis Freestone herself, in little more than a sparkle of paint, cavorted on that screen with what looked to be a number of mostly naked pirates. Black patches weren't just worn over the eye in Mavis's world, Eve observed.

She recognized the song--so to speak. Something about having your heart sunk and your love shipwrecked.

“I'm not sure that video, however entertaining, is appropriate for a girl Nixie's age.”

“Huh?” Eve looked back at Mira. “Oh, well, shit. Am I supposed to turn it off?”

“Never mind.” Mira patted Eve's hand, and waited until Nixie lost the ball.

“I still didn't get high score.”

“Beat the pants off of me,” Trueheart reminded her.

“But I can't beat Roarke. Maybe he cheats.”

“Wouldn't put it past him,” Eve said. “But I've watched him on that thing. You just can't beat him.”

She'd hoped the casual, somewhat cheerful tone would keep Nixie in the game mood. But as soon as the kid stepped down from the stool, she stared at Eve, the question in her gaze clear.

“No.” Eve spoke tersely now. “Not yet. When I get them, you'll be the first to know.”

“Hello, Nixie.” Mira stepped up to the machine. “You may not have gotten high score, but that looks very impressive to me.”

“It's not good enough.”

“When it's the best you can do, it's good enough. But maybe Roarke will play it with you sometime. Maybe he'll show you some of his tricks.”

A spark of interest lit her face. “Do you think?”

“You can ask him and see. Hello, Officer Trueheart.”

“Dr. Mira. Nice to see you.”

“Do you know all the police?” Nixie wanted to know.

“No, not all. But quite a few. I'd like to talk to you again, Nixie, but first I wonder if you could show me how to play that machine. It looks like fun.”

“I guess. If you want.”

“I do. I'll need to turn off the screen first.”

“But it's Mavis. She's the ult.”

“Oh, I think so, too.” Mira smiled at the cool suspicion in Nixie's eyes. “I have quite a few of her discs myself. Did you know Lieutenant Dallas and Mavis are friends? Very good friends.”

“Get back!” Then she bit her lip. “Excuse me, I'm not supposed to sass adults.”

“That's all right. You were just surprised. Eve?”

“Huh?” She'd been wondering why seeing a mostly naked Mavis, and company, on-screen was inappropriate for a kid who'd seen murder up close and personal. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, Mavis and I are pals.”

“You talk to her, in person?”

“Well, sure.”

“Does she ever come here, right to the house?”

“All the time.” Eve was treated to that long, unblinking stare again. Shifted her stance. Thought about security and procedure. Felt her bones start to burn under that stare. “Listen, if I can swing it, and she's not busy, I'll see if she can come by sometime. You can meet her and . . . whatever.”

“For real?”

“No, for false. Jesus, kid.”

“You're not supposed to swear in front of me.” Nixie informed her of this, quite primly.

“Then turn around so I can swear behind you. You straight here now?” Eve asked, just a little desperately, of Mira. “I've got work.”

“We're fine.”

“Trueheart, with me.”

“Yes, sir. See you later, Nixie.”

But before she got to the door, Nixie trotted up behind her. “Dallas. They all call you Dallas,” she said when Eve looked back. “Except for her. For the doctor.”

“Yeah,so?”

“Are you going away to work?”

“No, I'm going to work here for a while.”

“Okay.” She walked back to Mira. “I'll show you how to play now.”

Awhile” was hours. McNab might've exaggerated about their ears bleeding, but Eve thought her eyes might. She ran search after search, waiting for names to cross. When the sun went down and the light in her office dimmed, she programmed more coffee, and kept going.

“Food.” Roarke walked in. “You've sent your team home for food, to recharge, to rest. Do the same for yourself.”

“There's going to be a match. Has to be.”

“And the computer can continue the runs while you eat. We're going downstairs.”

“Why down--oh.” She scrubbed her hands over her face. “Right. What are we supposed to talk to her about now?”

“I'm sure we'll think of something.”

“You know what? She's a little scary. I think all of that breed is. Kids I mean. It's like they know stuff you've forgotten, but they still hammer you with questions. She rocked up, though, when Mira told her I was friends with Mavis.”

“Ah.” He sat on the corner of the desk. “A Mavis fan. Considerable conversation to be mined there.”

“And she wants you to play pinball with her. She's got a competitive streak, seems like. She's a little bent she can't meet your scores.”

“Really?” His smile bloomed. “I'd enjoy that. I'll take her down for a bit after dinner. Good practice for when we have a brood of our own.”

She didn't pale, but her eyes did go glassy. “Are you trying to wig me?”

“It's fairly irresistible. Come on.” He held out a hand. “Be a good girl and come to dinner.”

Before she could rise, her 'link beeped. “Minute,” she said, and noted the commander's home data on the ID. “It's Whitney.” Without thinking about it she straightened up in the chair, squared her shoulders. “Dallas.”

“Lieutenant. The safe house on Ninety-second has been hit.”

“Ninety-second.” Not trusting her mental file, she flipped her fingers over the keyboard to bring up the data. “Preston and Knight.”

“They're both down.”

Now she did pale. “Down, sir?”

“DOS.” His face was grim, his voice was flat. “Security was compromised. Both officers were terminated. Report to the scene immediately.”

“Yes, sir. Commander, the other locations--”

“Additional units have been dispatched. Reports are coming in. I'll meet you on-scene.”

When the screen went blank, she sat just as she was. Sat just as she was when Roarke came around the desk to lay his hand on her shoulder.

“I hand-picked them. Preston and Knight. Because they were good, solid cops. Good instincts. If there was going to be a hit on one of the locations, I wanted solid cops with good instincts covering them.”

“I'm sorry, Eve.”

“Didn't have to move a wit from that location. Didn't have anybody there, but it was one of the addresses Newman should have known, so it had to be covered. She's dead, too, by now. Stone dead. Tally's up to eight.”

She rose then, checked her weapon harness. “Two good cops. I'm going to hunt them down like dogs.”

She didn't argue when he said he was going with her. She wanted him behind the wheel until she was more sure of her control.

As she jogged down the stairs, pulled her jacket on, Nixie came out into the foyer. “You're supposed to come to dinner now.”

“We have to go out.” There was a firestorm raging in Eve's head she'd yet to be able to shut down to cold.

“Out to dinner?”

“No.” Roarke stepped to Nixie, brushed a hand lightly over her hair. “The lieutenant has work. I'm going to help, but we'll be back as soon as we can.”

She looked at him, then focused on Eve. “Is somebody else dead?”

She started to fob it off, even to lie, but decided on truth. “Yes.”

“What if they come while you're gone? What if the bad guys come when you're not here? What--”

“They can't get in.” Roarke said it so simply it could be taken as nothing less than fact. “And look here.” He took a small 'link out of his pocket as he crouched down to her level. “You keep this. If you're afraid, you should tell Summerset or one of the police we have in the house. But if you can't tell them, you push this. Do you see?”

She moved closer, her blonde hair brushing his black. “What does it do?”

“It will signal me. You can push this, and my 'link will beep twice, and I'll know it's you, and you're afraid. But don't use it unless you really have to. All right?”

“Can I push it now, to see if it works?”

He turned his head to smile at her. “A very good idea. Go ahead.”

She pressed her finger on the button he'd shown her, and the 'link still in his pocket beeped twice. “It works.”

“It does, yes. It'll fit right in your pocket. There.” He slipped it in for her, then straightened. “We'll be back as soon as we can.”

Summerset was there, of course, hovering a few feet back in the hall. Roarke sent him their own signal as he put on his coat. “Lieutenant,” he said, turning. “I'm with you.”

When Summerset stepped forward to take Nixie's hand, she waited until the door shut. “Why does he call her 'Lieutenant'? Why doesn't he call her 'Dallas' like most everybody else?”

“It's a kind of endearment between them.” He gave Nixie's hand a little squeeze. “Why don't we eat in the kitchen tonight?”

It wasn't rage. Eve wasn't sure there was a word for what gripped the throat, the belly, the head, the bowels when you looked down at the slaughter of men you'd sent into battle. Men you'd sent to their death. Going down in the line was a risk they all took. But knowing that didn't loosen the grip, not when she'd been the one to give them their last orders.

The other cops were quiet, a silent wall. The scene had been secured. Now it was up to her.

The safe house was a post--Urban Wars construction. Cheap, never meant to last. But it had stood, a narrow box of two stories, bumped up against a few more narrow boxes that were all dwarfed and outclassed by the sturdiness of the buildings that had survived the wars, and the sleekness of those built since the hurried, harried aftermath.

She knew the city had bought this, and others, on the cheap. Maintained them on a shoestring. But the security was better than decent, with full-panning cams, alarms backed up by alarms.

Still, they'd gotten in. Not only gotten in, but had taken out two seasoned cops.

Knight's weapon was still holstered, but Preston's was drawn, lying useless at the base of the stairs while he was sprawled and bloody on them.

Knight's body was facedown, a full stride out of the kitchen. A broken plate, spilled coffee, a veggie ham on rye were scattered in front of him.

The miserly entertainment screen was showing an Arena Ball game. The security screen was black as death.

“Took Knight first.” Her voice was slightly hoarse, but she continued to record the scene and her impressions. “Took him coming out of the kitchen. Surprised him. If they'd taken Preston, Knight would've come out with his weapon drawn. Preston heads down, ready, but they take him.”

She crouched, picked up the weapon. “Got a blast off, at least one, before he went down. Officer, start a canvass. I want to know if anyone heard weapons' fire. If they heard shouts. If they saw a fucking cockroach pass this way.”

“Lieutenant--”

She merely turned her head, and the expression on her face had the uniform nodding. “Yes, sir.”

“Cut their throats--their favorite game. But they didn't cut two cops' throats without a fight. Had to disable first. Long-range stunners,” she said, studying the faint singe on Preston's shirt. “That's what they had. No chances this time. Not just killing little kids. So they come in the front. God damn how did they get through? How did they compromise this system so fast two cops are caught with their pants down ?”

“It's a standard police system,” Roarke said quietly because he heard more than rage in her voice. He heard pain. “A good system, but standard issue for cop houses. If they had the kind of knowledge we believe, they could have set for this, taken it out, got through the door in under two minutes. Very likely considerably under two minutes with the equipment they must have at their disposal.”

“These were good cops,” she reminded him. “Too good to sit still for a breach like this. Knight's in the damn kitchen making a sandwich. There's a security monitor in there. There are security monitors upstairs. Screen goes out, you go straight to Code Red. So it didn't go out. Not at first. Why is Knight upstairs?”

She stepped over the body, over the blood, and went up to the second floor.

There were two bedrooms, one bath. All windows were privacy screened, barred, and wired. She looked at the 'link in the first bedroom, crossed to it and replayed the last incoming.

It was audio only, and it was her voice.

“Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. The suspects are contained. Repeat, the suspects are contained and being transported. Stand down and report to Central.”

“Fucking A.” Eve muttered.

“Lieutenant?” There was puzzlement, but no alarm in Preston's voice. “You're on the house 'link.”

“I'm aware of that. Did you copy your orders?”

“Yes, sir, but--”

“Dallas out.”

“Well, shit.” Preston's voice was perturbed now, and he didn't immediately end the transmission on his end. “Yo, Knight! Dallas collared the bastards. . . . How the hell do I know, she was her usual chatty self. Make me a damn sand--”

There was a blasting sound, a shout, then the sound of running feet.

“Voice simulator,” Roarke said from behind her. “There was a tinny quality to it, and the lack of inflection in your tone. I suspect, if he had another moment or two, he'd have considered that, and checked in with you.”

“One working the simulator, two coming in. Pull one of them up here with the 'link call, keep him occupied just long enough. Good surveillance equipment, maybe body heat sensors. Knew where they were. One up, one down. Took Knight before he could blink, but Preston got a stream off. They've homed in on him, though, so he's down before he can signal there's trouble.”

“If they had sensors, they'd have known there were only two people here. Both adults.”

She tagged the 'link for EDD. “Some of the safe houses have cold rooms, just to screw with that kind of surveillance. Subject under protection can be in the cold room. No point in not checking that out, once you've got the locations.”