The In Death Collection, Books 6-10

by J. D. Robb

  “Oh, on some level, certainly. And he’ll deny. He does his best work in denial. But he will consider himself responsible. Guilty, I suppose, by omission. He is certainly aware that experiments and research are being conducted in this and other facilities, without official sanction. He tends to look the other way easily, to call out his loyalty to the club. One doctor does not turn on another.”

  “But you do.”

  “My loyalty is to the project.”

  “What do you hope to gain?”

  “Is that the blank you can’t fill? My God, we have done it.” Now his eyes sparkled, emerald green and full of power. “We can rejuvenate a human organ. Within one day, a dying heart can be treated and brought back to health. Not just health, but strength, youth, vigor.” Excitement had his voice rising, deepening. “Better in some cases than it was before it was damaged. It can be all but reanimated, and that, I believe, is possible with a bit more study.”

  “Bring the dead to life?”

  “The stuff of fiction, you’re thinking. So were transplants once, cornea replacement, in vitro repair. This can and will be done, and very soon. We’re nearly ready to go public with our discovery. A serum that, when injected directly into the damaged organ through a simple surgical procedure, will regenerate the cells, will eradicate any disease. A patient will be ambulatory within hours, and will walk out, cured, in under forty-eight. With his own heart or lungs or kidneys, not some artificial mold.”

  He leaned toward her, eyes gleaming. “You still don’t understand the scope. It can be done over and over again, to every organ. And from there, it’s a small step to muscle, to bone, to tissue. With this beginning, we’ll draw in more funding than we can possibly use to complete the work. Within two years, we will be able to remake a human being, using his own body. Life expectancy can and will double. Perhaps more. Death will essentially become obsolete.”

  “It’s never obsolete, Waverly. Not as long as there are people like you. Who will you choose to remake?” she demanded. “There’s not enough room, not enough resources for everybody to live forever.” She watched his smile turn cagey. “It’ll come down to money then, and selection.”

  “Who needs more aging whores or sidewalk sleepers? We have Waylan in our pocket, and he’ll push his influence in East Washington. The politicians will jump right on this. We’ve found a way to clean up the streets over the next generation, to employ a kind of natural selection, survival of the fittest.”

  “Of your selection, your choice.”

  “And why not? Who better to decide than those who’ve held human hearts in their hands, slid into the brain and gut? Who understands better?”

  “That’s the mission,” she said quietly. “To create and mold and select.”

  “Admit it, Dallas, the world would be a better place without the dregs that weigh it down.”

  “You’re right. We just have a different definition of dregs.”

  She shoved the gurney hard to the right and leaped over it.

  Roarke crouched at the secured door. His entire world had become that single control panel. There was a raw bruise on his cheekbone, a jagged gash in his shoulder.

  The security droid was minus his left arm and head, but it had taken entirely too much time.

  He forced his mind to stay focused, his vision to remain clear, and his hands steady. He never flinched when he heard footsteps pounding down the corridor behind him. He could recognize the slap of cheap cop shoes a mile off.

  “Jesus, Roarke, was that droid your work?”

  “She’s in there.” He didn’t glance back at Feeney, but continued to search for the next bypass. “I know it. Give me room, don’t get in my light.”

  Peabody cleared her throat as the computer warning sounded again. “If you’re wrong—”

  “I’m not wrong.”

  She rammed her fist into his face and relished the sting of knuckles meeting flesh. Something ripped as she tackled him and sent them crashing onto the floor.

  He wasn’t soft, and he was desperate. She tasted her own blood, felt her bones jar, saw one quick burst of stars when her head cracked against the wheels of the gurney.

  She didn’t use the pain, she didn’t need it. She used her rage. Half blind with it, she straddled him, slamming her elbow into his windpipe. He gagged, strained for air. And she twisted the syringe he’d nearly pumped into her side out of his hand.

  Wheezing, eyes huge, he went still as she tipped it against his throat. “Scared, you bastard? Different on the other end, isn’t it? Move the wrong way, and you’re dead. What did you say? Within three minutes? I’ll just sit here and watch you die, like you watched all those people die.”

  “Don’t.” It was a rusty croak. “I’m choking. Can’t get air.”

  “I could put you out of your misery.” She smiled as his eyes wheeled in his head. “But it’s just too damn easy. You want to live forever, Waverly? You can live forever in a fucking cage.”

  She started to climb off him, sighed once. “I just have to,” she muttered, and rammed one short-armed jab into his face.

  She was just pulling herself to her feet when the doors swung open. “Well.” She swiped the back of her hand across her swollen mouth. “The gang’s all here.” Cautiously, she turned the syringe upside down. “You might want to seal this, Peabody, poison precautions, it’s lethal. Hey, Roarke, you’re bleeding.”

  He stepped to her, gently wiped her lip with his thumb. “You, too.”

  “Good thing we’re in a health center, huh? Ruined that fancy coat.”

  Now he grinned. “You, too.”

  “Told ya. Feeney, you can interview me when you clean up this mess. Somebody ought to take a look at Louise. He must have sedated her. She slept through this whole thing. And pick up Rosswell, would you? Waverly rolled over on him.”

  “It’ll be a pleasure. Anybody else?”

  “Cagney and Vanderhaven, who happen to be in the city, according to Dr. Death here. There’ll be more, here and there.” She glanced back where Waverly lay unconscious. “He’ll give it up. He’s got no balls at all.” She picked up her clutch piece, stuck it in her back pocket. “We’re going home.”

  “Good work, Dallas.”

  For a moment, her eyes were absolutely bleak, then she grinned, shrugged. “Yeah. What the hell.” Sliding her arm around Roarke, she walked away.

  “Peabody.”

  “Captain?”

  “Get Commander Whitney out of bed.”

  “Sir?”

  “Tell him Captain Feeney respectfully requests his administrative ass on-scene here as soon as possible.”

  Peabody cleared her throat. “Is it okay if I rephrase that slightly?”

  “Just get him here.” With that, Feeney walked over to take a look at Dallas’s good work.

  She was dead asleep when the ’link beeped. For perhaps the first time in her life, she simply rolled over and ignored it. When Roarke shook her shoulder, she just grunted and yanked the cover over her head.

  “I’m sleeping here.”

  “You just had a call from Whitney. He wants you in his office at Central in an hour.”

  “Shit. That can’t be good.” Resigned, she pushed the covers back, sat up. “The test results and evaluation can’t be in yet. It’s too early. Goddamn it, Roarke. I’m busted.”

  “Let’s go in and find out.”

  She shook her head, dragged herself out of bed. “This isn’t for you.”

  “You aren’t going in alone. Pull yourself together, Eve.”

  She bit down on the despair, rolled back her shoulders, and looked at him. He was already in a business suit, his hair shining and sleek. The bruise on his cheekbone had nearly faded away with treatment, but the shadow of it added just a hint of the dangerous.

  “How come you already are?”

  “Because staying in bed half the morning unless sex is involved is a waste of time. Since you didn’t appear to be cooperative in that area, I started my da
y with coffee instead. Stop stalling and go take your shower.”

  “Okay, fine, great.” She stalked into the bathroom so they could worry in different rooms.

  She refused breakfast. He didn’t press. But as he drove downtown, she reached for his hand. He held it until he’d parked at Central and turned to her.

  “Eve.” He cupped her face, relieved that though she was pale, she didn’t tremble. “Remember who you are.”

  “I’m working on it. I’ll be all right. You can wait here.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Okay.” She took a bracing breath. “Let’s do it.”

  They rode in silence. As cops piled off and on the elevator from floor to floor, gazes flickered toward her, then away. There was nothing to be said, and no way to say it.

  Her stomach rolled as she stepped off, but her legs were steady as she approached the outer office of the commander.

  The door was open. Whitney stood behind his desk and gestured her inside. His gaze shifted briefly to Roarke.

  “Sit down, Dallas.”

  “I’ll stand, sir.”

  They weren’t alone in the room. As before, Tibble stood at the window. Others sat silently: Feeney with his morose face, Peabody with her lips clamped tight, Webster eyeing Roarke specutively. Before Whitney could speak again, Mira hurried in.

  “I’m terribly sorry to be late. I was with a patient.” She took a seat beside Peabody, folded her hands.

  Whitney nodded, then opened the center drawer of his desk. He took out her badge, her weapon, laid them in the center. Her gaze lowered to them, lingered, then lifted without expression.

  “Lieutenant Webster.”

  “Sir.” He rose. “The Internal Affairs Bureau finds no cause for sanction or reprimand or for further investigation into the conduct of Lieutenant Dallas.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. Detective Baxter is in the field, but his investigative report on the homicide of Officer Ellen Bowers has been written and filed. The case has been closed, and Lieutenant Dallas is cleared of any suspicion or involvement in that matter. This confirms your evaluation, Dr. Mira.”

  “Yes, it does. The test results and evaluation clear the lieutenant in all areas and confirm her aptitude for her position. My reports have been entered into the subject’s file.”

  “So noted,” Whitney said and turned back to Eve. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t blinked. “The New York Police and Security Department offers its apologies to one of its finest for an injustice done to her. I add my own personal apology to it. Procedure is necessary, but it is not always equitable.”

  Tibble stepped forward. “The suspension is lifted and will be expunged from your record. You will not be penalized in any way for the enforced time away from the job. The department will issue a statement to the media detailing what facts are deemed pertinent and necessary. Commander?”

  “Sir.” Whitney’s face remained passive as he picked up her badge, her weapon, held them out. Emotion sparked in his eyes when she simply stared at them. “Lieutenant Dallas, this department and myself would suffer a great loss if you refuse these.”

  She remembered to breathe and lifted her gaze, met his, then reached out and took what was hers. Across the room, Peabody sniffled audibly.

  “Lieutenant.” Whitney offered his hand across the desk. A rare grin broke out on his face when she clasped it. “You’re on duty.”

  “Yes, sir.” She turned, looked straight at Roarke. “Just let me get rid of this civilian.” Watching him, she tucked away her badge, shrugged into her harness. “Can I see you outside a minute?”

  “Absolutely.”

  He sent the sniffling Peabody a wink and walked out after his wife. The minute they were out of view, he spun her around, kissed her lavishly. “It’s nice to see you again, Lieutenant.”

  “Oh God.” Her breath hitched in and out. “I’ve got to get out of here without . . . you know.”

  “Yes.” He wiped a tear off her lashes. “I know.”

  “You have to go or I’ll fall apart. But maybe you could be around later, so I could.”

  “Get to work.” He tapped a finger on her chin. “You’ve been loafing long enough.”

  She grinned, swiped the back of her unsteady hand inelegantly under her nose as he walked away. “Hey, Roarke?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant?”

  She laughed, rushed at him, leaped, and gave him a hard, smacking kiss. “See you.”

  “You certainly will.” He flashed her one last devastating grin before the elevator doors closed him in.

  “Lieutenant Dallas, sir.” Peabody snapped to attention, a dopey grin on her face when Eve turned around. “I didn’t want to interrupt, but I’m ordered to return your communicator.” She dashed forward, shoved it into Eve’s hand, and bounced her up and down in a hug. “Hot damn!”

  “Let’s maintain a little dignity here, Peabody.”

  “Okay. Can we go out later to celebrate and get drunk and stupid?”

  Eve pursed her lips in thought as they headed for the glide. “Got plans tonight,” she said thinking of that last flashing grin of Roarke’s, “but tomorrow works for me.”

  “Frigid. So look, Feeney said I should tell you we’ve still got some details to wrap up to close this case good and tight. International connections, the East Washington angle, a full sweep of staff at the Drake, coordinating cooperative investigations with CPSD.”

  “It’ll take some time, but we’ll clean it up. Vanderhaven?”

  “Still at large.” She sent Eve a sidelong look. “Waverly’s out of the health center. He’s cleared to be interviewed any time, and he’s already singing out names hoping for leniency. We figure he’ll spit out Vanderhaven’s hole. Feeney figured you’d want to take the interview.”

  “He figured right.” Eve hopped off the glide, changed directions. “Let’s go kick some ass, Peabody.”

  “I love when you say that. Sir.”

  Loyalty in Death

  J. D. Robb

  Contents

  prologue

  chapter one

  chapter two

  chapter three

  chapter four

  chapter five

  chapter six

  chapter seven

  chapter eight

  chapter nine

  chapter ten

  chapter eleven

  chapter twelve

  chapter thirteen

  chapter fourteen

  chapter fifteen

  chapter sixteen

  chapter seventeen

  chapter eighteen

  chapter nineteen

  chapter twenty

  chapter twenty-one

  chapter twenty-two

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Loyalty in Death

  A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with the author

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 1999 by Nora Roberts

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability.

  For information address:

  The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  The Penguin Putnam Inc. World Wide Web site address is

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  ISBN: 978-1-1012-0371-2

  A BERKLEY BOOK®

  Berkley Books first published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY and the “B” design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Putnam Inc.

/>   Electronic edition: October, 2003

  For Vanessa Darby because I really want to go to heaven

  As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods;

  They kill us for their sport.

  —Shakespeare

  Politics, as the word is commonly understood,

  are nothing but corruptions.

  —Jonathan Swift

  prologue

  Dear Comrade,

  We are Cassandra.

  It has begun.

  All we have worked for, all we have trained for, all we have sacrificed for is in place. A dawn after so long a twilight. The goals set over thirty years ago will be achieved. The promises made will be kept. And the martyr’s blood that was shed avenged at long last.

  We know you are concerned. We know you are cautious. This is what makes you a wise general. Believe that we have taken your counsel and your warnings to heart. We do not break the moratorium on this righteous and bitter war with a battle we intend to lose. We are well-equipped, our cause well-financed, and all steps and options have been considered.

  We send this transmission to you, dear friend and Comrade, as we joyfully prepare to continue our mission. Already, first blood has been spilled, and we rejoice. Circumstances have put an opponent in our path you would find worthy. We have attached to this transmission a dossier on Lieutenant Eve Dallas of the so-called New York City Police and Security Department so that you might familiarize yourself with this adversary.

  Through the defeat of this enemy, our victory will be all the sweeter. She is, after all, another symbol of the corrupt and oppressive system we will destroy.

  Your wise counsel directed us to this place. We have lived among these pitiful pawns of a weak-kneed society, wearing our smiling mask as we scorn their city and their system of repression and decay. We have to their blind eyes become one of them. No one questions us as we move about these immoral and filthy streets. We are invisible, a shadow among shadows as you, and the one we both loved, taught us the canniest soldier must be.