New York to Dallas edahr-41

by J. D. Robb

  The adrenaline and whatever mild blocker they’d given her at the hospital burned off before she sped into the parking garage. The way pain radiated from her ribs she feared she’d snapped the fused bone. Her heart beat so hard she could barely get her breath as she headed toward the elevator in a limping run.

  They’d said something about a hairline fracture in her ankle. Hairline, my ass, she thought. She could feel it puff out like a pus balloon over the nurse’s ugly shoes.

  She just needed to get to Isaac, just needed to get some candy. Oh God, yes. Needed him to take care of her, like he promised, like nobody else ever had.

  He’d give her what she needed—the drugs, the drugs—and buy her flowers.

  Tears of pain, rage, withdrawal leaked from her eyes as she stumbled into the building. Sweat poured down her face.

  A couple of days, she thought, just needed a couple of days to heal up. Then they’d go after Dallas. God, she couldn’t wait to get her hands on that bitch. She wouldn’t look so fucking tough when they got through with her.

  And she wanted to go first, wanted to pay the bitch cop back for the pain, for the fear.

  Her breath came in wheezes as she limped into the elevator.

  “Hold the elevator!” someone sang out.

  “Fuck off!” she snarled at the woman and her snot-nosed kid when the doors shut in their faces.

  She only had to ride one floor, but every second was its own separate agony. Teeth clamped, she dragged herself down the hall.

  “Isaac.” Voice hoarse, she punched at the security plate. She couldn’t remember the code; everything jumbled together in her head.

  She needed a hit. God, God, she needed a hit.

  Needed Isaac.

  When he answered, she wept out his name, fell into his arms. “I’m hurt. She hurt me.”

  “Aw, baby doll.”

  He rubbed her back.

  She stank, he thought, stank of sweat and hospital. Stank of stupidity and age. Even her hair stank, the tangled, matted mess of it.

  Her face was pinched, white—old again.

  “You didn’t answer. You didn’t answer.”

  “I was . . . involved. I didn’t hear the signal, and I didn’t want to tag you back in case. How did you get here, sweetheart?”

  “I stole a car, right out of the hospital lot. Right under the cops’ noses. They were waiting for me, Isaac, waiting for me outside the duplex. But I got away. Fix me up, Isaac. They wouldn’t give me anything.”

  “Fix you right up.” He helped her to the sofa where he’d already prepared a pressure syringe. “Quick and good,” he told her. “Poor baby doll.”

  Her hands shook as she snatched at it, and he watched her jab it in the crook of her elbow, as he’d watched his mother countless times.

  Like his mother, she let out a harsh, guttural grunt—almost sexual—as the drug punched into her bloodstream.

  “Gonna be better now.” Eyes glazed with pleasure, she smiled at him. “Gonna be better.”

  “Absolutely. What did you tell her?”

  “Tell who?”

  “Dallas.”

  “Didn’t tell her shit. She tried to turn me against you. Lying whore. I spit in her face, told her you were going to pay her back good. You pay her back, Isaac.”

  “Of course.”

  “I want to cut her.” Cruising now, Sylvia leaned back, face going slack. “I want to cut her first. She looked at me—you know how she looked at me? Like I made her sick. Tried to tell me she didn’t need me anyway ’cause they were close to finding you. Lying cunt.”

  “Said that, did she?”

  He rose, wandered.

  All the work, he thought, the time, the money, the preparation. And worse, all the hours he’d spent with this dried up, stupid junkie.

  He wanted to beat her face to pulp with his fists. Saw himself doing just that. Caught himself turning toward her with his fists bunched, his breath coming fast.

  She sat, glassy-eyed, smiling, unaware.

  Bringing himself under control made him shudder.

  “How did they find you, sweetheart?”

  “I dunno. They were just there. Want more candy.”

  “In a minute.”

  The van, he decided. They’d managed to track the van. He’d really thought he’d had at least another week there. He should have had another week.

  Ah, well, on to Plan B.

  “Suitcase,” she muttered.

  “Hmm?”

  “We going? We packing up, and going somewhere nice?”

  He followed her stare. He hadn’t meant to leave the suitcase out in plain sight. He’d just been so rushed. Had so many things to think of, to decide on.

  “Mmm,” he murmured, strolling behind the sofa.

  “Get a nice new place, and when we get that Dallas bitch, you’ll let me have her first. Bleed her good. Make some money off her, right, Rich? Make a whole lot of money off her.”

  He lifted his brows at the name she called him. That was women for you, he supposed, couldn’t keep their men straight.

  “I’m going to have to disappoint you there.”

  He yanked her head back, slit her throat with quick, almost surgical precision.

  Good, he thought. Good. Now he felt much better.

  When she gurgled, tried to clutch her throat, he shook his head, let her slide to the floor. “You’re useless to me. Absolutely useless.”

  He pulled off his shirt, tossed it aside as he went to the kitchen to scrub his hands and arms.

  He’d already carried most of what he needed to the car, though he intended to travel light. He changed his shirt, brushed a hand over his hair. Slipped on his sunshades.

  Picking up the suitcase, he blew a kiss toward the door, toward Melinda and Darlie.

  “Fun while it lasted,” he said, and strolled out without a backward glance toward the woman bleeding on the floor.

  16

  As Roarke drove, Eve worked the ’link, coordinated with, strategized, updated the team Ricchio put together.

  “Four uniforms on scene, pulled a block back from target,” she muttered, while Roarke roared through the gap between a truck and a Mini with a stream of spit to spare. “He doesn’t know we have this location. Has to know she wouldn’t go back if we did—and they’ve spotted the stolen car just inside the apartment’s garage. So she’s there.

  “We need to keep them back,” she said into the ’link. “Right now he has bait, a new start to his collection. If he sees cops, the bait become hostages. And he only needs one.”

  “SWAT’s ten minutes out,” Ricchio told her. “We’re right ahead of them.”

  “We’re under two. We need a way in. He’ll have security. He’s on guard now, wondering what we know. Or he’s already poofed.”

  “We’ll ascertain with EDD on arrival.”

  “Heat sensors won’t show them in the room he’s prepped for them. If they’re all in there—On scene now. I’ll get back to you.”

  She leaped out before Roarke braked at the curb.

  “Status.” She snapped it out, flashed her badge at the uniforms.

  “No visible activity in the subject’s apartment from the exterior. We got the stolen car in the garage.”

  “He’s got another vehicle. Dark blue Orion sedan.”

  “We got that data, Lieutenant, and have no confirmation on it. There’s an underground level. We’d have to approach the building and go in to ascertain. Orders are to hold here.”

  She nodded.

  “I need to get in there.”

  “I can certainly get us in,” Roarke said, but she shook her head.

  “If he’s watching he’d make you in two seconds flat.”

  “And not you?”

  “That’s a problem.” She kept scanning, kept thinking. “Wait. Hey, you. Kid.”

  Near the corner, the teenaged boy executed a smooth half-pipe on his airboard.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  Christ, even
boarders were polite here. “This is police business. See?” She held her badge up.

  “I didn’t do anything.” He shoved his flop of hair out of his eyes. “I’m just—”

  “I need to borrow your hat, your sunshades.” And God help her. “Your board.”

  “Oh man, I just got the board.”

  “You see that guy over there, with the cops? The one who looks rich?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “He’s going to give you a hundred for the loan. If you stay right where you are.”

  “Well, yes, ma’am, but the board cost—”

  “Two hundred, for a loan. If I’m not back in ten minutes, he’ll make it three. Now give me the goddamn stupid hat and shades. I need that shirt, too.”

  His face went pink. “My shirt?”

  “Yeah. And don’t say ‘yes, ma’am’ again.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “What are you doing?” Roarke demanded as he joined them.

  “Going boarding.” She stripped off her jacket, tossed it to him. Then pulled the oversized black shirt with its wild-haired music group on the front over her head. “I need to get in.”

  “If you think you look like a teenaged boy,” he began, then reconsidered when she cocked the hat on her head, fixed the rainbow neon shades on her face. “Not that far off, actually. But you’ve got no business going in there.”

  “Going in there is my business. He’s on two,” she added, giving the building a good study. “I’m not going above ground level. I can get down to the garage, verify his vehicle’s there—or that it’s not. We have to know, and may have to do what we can to evacuate civilians.”

  “I’ll go in from the rear.”

  “Roarke—”

  “You want me to trust you to take the front, and go unrecognized. Do me the same courtesy.” He gave the bill of the cap a flick with his finger. “Keep your head down. And slouch.”

  “Excuse me, sir, but the lady said you’d pay me two hundred for the loan.”

  “Two . . .” Resigned, Roarke pulled out his wallet. “Do you know who owns that truck there?”

  “Sure, that’s Ben Clipper’s truck.”

  “If Ben comes looking for it, tell him it’s on loan. There’s two in it for him as well.”

  Eve gave a glance back, signaled the uniforms. She wondered how the hell she was supposed to slouch on a goddamn airboard. Knees loose, she ordered herself, and for God’s sake don’t run into anything.

  She kept her head down, as much to keep her eye where she feared she might plant it on the sidewalk as to block her face from any cams.

  She didn’t risk any flourishes, but hopped off at the building’s entrance, and shouldered the board at an angle to shield her face.

  She palmed her master, bopping her head and shoulders as she’d observed teenaged boys did for no good reason.

  Inside she reached a hand under the shirt for her weapon, glanced up the stairs.

  Nothing and no one moved.

  “Single elevator,” she muttered into her com, tossed the sunshades onto the single chair beside the elevator. “Both it and stairs right of entrance. Elevator’s coming up. Stand by.”

  She kept her weapon low, moved to the far side of the car, back to the wall.

  A woman and two kids got out, making enough noise to raise the dead.

  Eve stepped forward. “Please stop where you are.”

  “Oh! You startled me.” The woman’s surprised laugh cut off as she spotted Eve’s weapon. In a finger snap she had both kids shoved behind her.

  “I’m the police,” Eve said quickly. She held up her free hand, then dug under the shirt for her badge. “Do you know the residents of apartment two-oh-eight?”

  “I’m not sure. I—”

  “Big guy, good shape, late thirties. A lot of charm. Just moved in a few days ago. He’d be with a woman now and then, and she’d be in a lot. Blond, mid-fifties, attractive, a little flashy.”

  “You must mean Tony, Tony Maxwell. He’s the nicest man. Is he all right? I just saw him a little while ago when he was leaving.”

  “When?” Damn it, Eve thought as she pulled off the borrowed shirt, tossed it on the chair. “Exactly when?”

  “Ah, maybe a half-hour ago. I had to go pick up the kids, and I saw him in the garage on the way out, stowing his suitcase. He said he had to go away on business for a couple days. What’s this about?”

  “Was he alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you see him leave—actually drive away?”

  “No, I left first, but he was getting in his car.” She wrapped her wide-eyed kids to her sides. “I want to know what’s going on.”

  “I want you to take your kids, go outside, turn left, and keep walking until you get to the uniformed officers down this block.”

  “But—”

  “Go now.” She heard the elevator start its rise. “Right now!”

  She swung back, lifted her weapon as the woman grabbed both kids by the hands and fled. She lowered the weapon again as Roarke stepped out.

  “His car’s not there.”

  “He’s gone. Neighbor saw him leave—alone, and with a suitcase. Fuck! He told her he’d be gone a couple days.”

  She pulled off the cap, raked a hand through her hair. “We’ve got to go up.” She reached for her ’link as it signaled.

  “Dallas, what’s your status?”

  She filled Ricchio in.

  “EDD finds no heat sources in the target location. We’ve got the building hemmed in, and SWAT’s moving into position now.”

  “We’re going up to try to verify whether the suspect is still in this location.”

  “Backup’s coming in.”

  “Can you hold them, Lieutenant? Two minutes. On the off chance he’s still here, his captives will be safer if he doesn’t see us coming.”

  “Two minutes, counting now.”

  She shoved the ’link in her pocket. “He’s gone, but we can’t take the chance. Can you jam his security long enough for a quick, quiet entry?”

  “You know I can.”

  “Stairs.”

  They went up fast. She swept the second-floor hallway.

  “Hold here,” Roarke murmured, keying codes into his jammer. “He’s got several layers. And there.”

  He moved ahead of her now, pulling a small case out of his pocket. “A number of layers here as well.” He mumbled it as he crouched and got to work. “They only look like standard locks. Very nicely done.”

  “You can compliment him when he’s in a cage. Just get us in.”

  “So I have.” He met her eyes. “Ready?”

  She nodded, held up one finger, then two. They burst in on three, her low, him high.

  She smelled the blood, smelled the death instantly. Swinging left, she saw the body, saw her mother and the pool of blood.

  “God. God. God.”

  “Eve.”

  “We have to clear.” Her voice came out thin through the narrow opening the burn of shock left in her throat. “We have to clear the area, take your side.”

  When she swung the other way she saw the keys on the high table by the door, and the memo cube with them.

  Gone, she thought. Gone, and walked over to pick up the keys.

  She could hear the backup pushing through the door downstairs. If Bree was with them, and if he’d left more death, she’d need to be prepared.

  Eve unlocked the door. She breathed deep, braced herself.

  Opened it.

  They were on the floor, the girl wrapped in a blanket, the woman’s body shielding her.

  Melinda stared at her. Blinked.

  “Officer Dallas.” The words broke on a strangled sob. “Darlie, it’s Officer Dallas. I told you they’d come for us.”

  “It’s ‘Lieutenant.’ ” Her voice sounded distant and tinny to her ears. Eve looked at the girl, at Darlie. And another pair of shattered eyes etched themselves into her head. “You’re safe now.”


  Alive. She reminded herself what she’d told Tray Schuster on a morning that seemed years ago. Alive was better.

  “You’re safe now. They’re safe,” Eve said as Bree burst through the door.

  “Melly.”

  “I’m all right.” But she dropped her head on her sister’s shoulder and wept when Bree wrapped her arms around her. “We’re all right. I knew you’d find us.”

  Eve stepped back, shifted away as Detective Price pushed his way through to Melinda.

  “Let’s go outside.” Roarke took her arm. “There’s nothing for you to do here.”

  “Yes, there is.” Sweat, icy and thin, ran in a line down her back. “There is,” she repeated, and turned to Ricchio. “Your scene, Lieutenant.”

  “Ambulance is on the way. We need to get them out, Melinda and the girl. Get them medical attention before we take statements. I want this scene secured and every inch of it gone over. We’ve issued a BOLO for the vehicle he’s driving.”

  He won’t be driving it long, Eve thought, but nodded.

  “We’ve got agents at every transpo station in the city,” Nikos added. “If he ditches the vehicle and tries to get out of Dallas by other means, we’ll find him.”

  “He had to leave in a hurry.” Laurence glanced at the body. “He could’ve left something behind besides his dead partner. If he’s going to make a mistake, this would be the time. I’ll start on the scene with a couple of your men. Lieutenant Ricchio, continue when your CSU arrives.”

  “Good. I’m going to notify Darlie’s parents, get some people knocking on doors.”

  They watched as Detective Price lifted Darlie into his arms. He murmured to her, and she closed her eyes; he pressed her face to his shoulder as he carried her out.

  Didn’t want her to see the body, Eve thought, the blood. Spare her from that anyway. She’d have enough horror in her head already.

  Melinda came out, leaning on her sister. She looked at death, then at Eve. “Thank you. Again. He said to tell you to stick around. He said, ‘Tell Dallas to stick around. More fun to come.’ He’s . . .”

  “Later, Melinda.” Bree gripped her tighter.

  “I need to stay with Darlie. She needs me to stay with her.”

  “I’ll be around,” Eve told her. “We’ll talk later.”

  “Come on, Melly, come with me. We need to tell Mom and Dad you’re okay,” Bree said as she led her sister out.