18

 

 

She should be on her way to Alaska—but she wasn’t.

She was supposed to take a bus to Columbus—but she didn’t.

They had a mission—but she had another of her own. Hidden from her father, her teacher, her mentor.

He wants her to live. She wants to kill. He tells her to run, stay safe, wait it out.

Running? Safety? For losers. Waiting takes too long. She wants to kill.

“She’s not going to listen to him,” Eve murmured. “It’s not because she’s fifteen. Maybe that plays a part, but that’s not the crux. It’s just not. She knows she’s better than he is. He’s lost his physical edge, and hers is still sharp. He’s weak, isn’t he?”

She shoved up then, paced, her eyes on the board.

“Who accomplished that? She did. Not him. Stay safe? She doesn’t want safe, she wants action. She wants the excitement, the points, the targets.

“Her targets.”

“Where would she go?” Roarke asked her.

“Not to some mangy flop with whores and junkies. Not to some hole to curl up and wait until whenever. It’s all now. It’s all today. It’s about her. She’s the center. She wants the center. If she wanted safe, she’d be gone. She’s not gone because it’s now, and it’s about what she wants. Her mission now. She’d go home.”

“If she’s at the apartment—” Peabody began.

“That’s not home. That’s HQ, her father’s HQ, and that mission is done, at least for now. The townhouse. Her mother’s house.” She

turned around, and Roarke saw it in her eyes. Instinct became knowledge.

“It’s comfortable, it’s hers. Clothes, food, entertainment. Again an area she knows—and right now, an empty house. And better, more important, fucking vital? They’ll come back. A few days, a week, but they’ll come back, the three people who top her list. That’s something she’ll wait for.”

“We sealed it.”

“She’ll get in. Her father would’ve taught her how to get around and through a seal. She can have the place to herself—privacy screens down. She can watch the screen, judge when the media play eases off. Tuck up somewhere and wait. They come in, they feel safe, or safer. She just has to hole up, just wait until the house is locked up tight, until it’s all quiet. Take the stepfather first, then the mother, then the kid. Then take what you want, whatever you want, and walk away. Find somewhere else to kill.”

“Should I pull the op?” Peabody asked.

“No.” As she weighed percentages against instinct, Eve dragged her fingers through her hair, pulled at it. “I could be wrong. I’m not, but I could be. Let it play.”

“The three of us then.”

Eve nodded at Roarke. “If you’re up for it.” “Personally or professionally?”

“Funny. Peabody, bring that location on screen.” She pulled out her comm. “Reineke, I’m peeling off.”

It was a risk, Eve thought after she’d checked out her weapons, after they’d gone down to the garage. She loaded a laser rifle, a scope, the equipment Roarke would use in her deceptively ordinary DLE. The earbud kept her in constant communication with the others teams.

If the percentages proved true, she could be with the main team in minutes. If her instincts were on target, she could pull in the main team fast.

EDD reported no heat source in the basement, none in the apartment. They continued to identify sources in the flop.

Carmichael would pose as an LC, Santiago as her mark. They’d enter the building, and deal with the droid.

“I can send backup,” Lowenbaum told her. “I can send you a couple of guys.”

“We’ve got it for now. One of us is going to be in the right place.

When we know, the other gets their ass there fast.” “I hear that.”

“Try not to kill her, Lowenbaum.” “Same to you.”

Eve handed Peabody a visored helmet. “She’ll aim for your head.” “That’s comforting.” Peabody slid into the backseat.

“I’ll drive,” Eve told Roarke. “You work the portable. She can’t keep watch out the windows 24/7, but she may have cams set up to give her a view of the street, the sidewalks.” She glanced at Roarke as she pulled out. “How close do you want me?”

“The boys in the van snagged the best toys, but I can make do with this. Try for within fifty feet of the building.”

Eve drove, considered. Contacted Nadine on her wrist unit. “Get ready to go on with a bulletin.”

“What?” Nadine shoved a hand at her hair—tied back in a short tail and far from camera ready. “How hot? I got home an hour ago after doing spots on last night, on Mackie’s arrest, on the manhunt for his daughter. Have you got her?”

“Just be ready when I tag you back.” She cut Nadine off, whipped around a Rapid Cab. “She’ll be ready.”

“For what?” Peabody wondered.

“To go on with a bulletin that will pull our suspect’s attention away from the street, the sidewalk.”

“You’re going to blow the other op,” Roarke concluded.

“Not if she’s there. Not if I’m wrong. And not while there’s a cop unsecured. But . . .”

“If she’s not there, you’re not wrong, and the rest are secure, you’ll feed Nadine the other op. As if it’s going down.” Roarke smiled as he fiddled with the sensor. “She’ll be very annoyed with you, our Nadine.”

“She’ll get over it when I give her the exclusive on this op.” “This helmet’s heavy. And it echoes.”

Eve flicked a glance in the rearview mirror at Peabody with the black helmet and visor in place. “Take it off until you need it. You look

ridiculous.”

“Not at all.” Roarke smiled back at her. “Sexy Stormtrooper.” “Really?”

“Stay on point,” Eve warned. “I’m still figuring out how to get in without giving her time to kill us.”

“I have every confidence,” Roarke said, continuing his work on the portable, hoping to boost its range.

“I don’t want to double park, drawing her attention when people start blasting horns and bitching. How much inside fifty feet?”

“I think I can get a read at sixty now. It’s worth a try.”

Eve considered the option of using a building, flashing the badge and getting Roarke set up in a neighboring house. But she spotted a curbside barely big enough for a mini. She could make it work.

Making it work meant using the DLE to nudge another vehicle up to the bumper of the one in front of it, and doing the same to the one behind. With that, and a lot of maneuvering, she squeezed in.

“This is more like sixty-five than sixty.”

“If you can’t do it from here, why didn’t you say so before I got here?”

“I didn’t say that. Just give me another minute.”

She put a hand to her ear. “Yeah, go,” she said to Jenkinson. “Santiago and Carmichael are in. The check-in droid gives a

negative on the suspect.” “How reliable a negative?”

“They say it’s wonky, so Feeney’s sending Callendar in to work on it. We got about a dozen single heat sources. Feeney’s done some calculation and takes four of them out. You can’t get accurate height and weight, but his calcs say those four are way too big for the suspect.”

“Good enough. We’re about sixty-five feet from the target location. Roarke’s working on scanning for heat sources. We’ll let you know.”

She ended transmission, shifted to Roarke. “Well?”

“You understand this is meant to work at much closer range, which I’d already managed to increase before you added to that range, so bugger off a minute.”

She buggered off by tapping her fingers on the steering wheel.

Better if they nailed her at the other location, Eve thought. Better if they had that flop surrounded, took her there.

But . . .

“All right then, let’s see if I’ve performed a small miracle.”

Roarke programmed the coordinates, tapped in codes, scanned the small screen.

“Geeks rule.” With her chin on the back of his seat, Peabody studied the screen through her visor. “You’ve got a read.”

“Now let’s see if there’s anyone home.”

He began a slow scan, starting with the main floor.

“A narrow basement area beneath, in case you didn’t know.

Nothing there, nothing on the main floor. Starting scan of second floor.”

Nothing flared as he scanned slowly foot by foot. “Second floor clear. Starting scan on third level.”

Here or there, there or here, Eve thought, waiting for one of her team to report back. Waiting for something to flare.

“Ah. Geeks and cops rule, it seems. There she is, Lieutenant.”

“I see her,” Eve noted, and watched the flare of the heat source on screen.

“Stretched out. I bet she’s bored. Watching the screen, watching monitors. We’re going to give her some excitement. Lowenbaum!”

“Got you back,” he said. “Your EDD cutie’s in there, working the droid, but word is his memory disc doesn’t show the suspect in the last twenty-four. That’s as far as he goes.”

“Because she’s here.” “Son of a bitch.”

“I want you to leave some of your men on that building. Visible, Lowenbaum, but not too obvious about it. I’m going to use your location as a distraction. Throw her off. The rest of you come in fast and quiet. We’re going to take her, Lowenbaum.”

“Bet your superior ass.” “Reineke, you copy?” “That’s affirmative.”

“Leave some of the uniforms. Make them visible. And get the rest of the team to this location. Barricades at the end of the block, both

sides. Keep out of eyeline unless and until I say different. We’re going to move in five.”

“Watch your ass, LT, and the rest of you.”

She tagged Nadine again. “NYPSD officers, including SWAT, are moving in on the remaining suspect in the recent LDSK murders.

Lieutenant Eve Dallas is supervising a takedown of Willow Mackie, believed to be holed up in an SRO building on Lexington. Dallas reports an arrest is imminent.”

“What kind of bullshit is this? You never report that—and you never feed the media during an op.”

“You’re not just the media, are you? Go with it, go now. I can promise you, it’ll be worth it. Every level worth it. Go with it, Nadine.”

“I’ll go with it, damn it. You’re going to owe me.” “I’ve already got the payment ready. Later.”

Eve engaged her comp screen. “It shouldn’t take her long.”

In fact, it took just under two minutes before Channel Seventy- Five’s feed went to their hot blue and jittery red Breaking News flash.

The on-air reporter announced an important development in the hunt for the suspect in the Madison Square attack, and threw it to Nadine, whose voice came over with a photo of her in the corner of the screen.

“This is Nadine Furst reporting by remote as even now police officers and SWAT units converge—”

Eve cut off the screen, shoved open her door the instant she saw the heat source move from recline to stand.

“We got her attention. Gear up.” She tossed Roarke a helmet. “Now, really, Eve.”

“Wear it or stay here.” She pulled out her own, shook her head at it. “Hate these. They’re heavy and they echo.”

“What I said!”

“I never said you were wrong. First, we get in—that’s on you,” she said to Roarke. “I take the front stairs. Peabody, you go through, go up the back stairs. If she’s wearing body armor, aim for the head.

Nobody sits around watching screen in one of these damn helmets. Make damn sure your stunner’s on mid-range. We aren’t giving her any love taps, but I don’t want to risk paralysis. She doesn’t go

down, you amp it up. Roarke, I need you to hang back, second level, in case she gets by us. She gets by us, you take her out.”

“Backup?” Peabody asked.

“By the time we’re in position, by the time we get in, they’ll be here. Where is she?” Eve asked Roarke.

“Sitting, very likely on the floor of the room—third floor, front of the house, far side.”

“Watching the screen. Keep it going, Nadine. Sixty-five feet. Let’s cover it.”

They moved fast, eating up the ground on a cold, clear day, with Roarke keeping track on the portable.

Not a lot of tourists on this more residential street, Eve noted. And most natives barely spared a glance at three people half jogging down the sidewalk wearing visored helmets.

But even jaded New Yorkers would gather and point at a SWAT unit. The goal? Get in before the op drew any sort of attention.

Before Willow Mackie realized her location was blown.

They reached the door, crouched down together.

“Peabody, take the portable. She moves, we know it. She’d need to be at the window, angled and looking down this way to spot us.

Roarke, do your thing.” “Scanning security first.” “Reineke, status.”

“Barricades going up. We’ll come on foot from here.”

“You and Jenkinson take the back of the building. Hold there until I tell you, then come in hard. Lowenbaum.”

“Copy.”

“Target is third floor, southeast window. She’s on the floor, watching screen, so if you’re going to move your men, do it now, do it fast.”

“We’ve got her. Feeney’s located her. We’re moving. I’ll have men on rooftops, facing buildings. Sending another team with yours to the rear. She’s pinned, Dallas.”

“Pinned isn’t done. We’re working on silent entry.”

“She’s a clever girl,” Roarke said. “She’s jury-rigged a secondary alarm. I expect it signals her ’link. It’s clever, but relatively basic. Just another moment.”

To give her time, to give her a heads-up, Eve thought, when the family came home.

She glanced around, scanned, caught a flash of movement on the roof of the building directly across the street.

“Peabody?”

“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.”