by J. D. Robb
“I doubt you’re off at all. Pointing the finger at Jones eliminates his business partner. Cohen may have hopes he can recoup some of his funds and property.”
She headed for the elevators to save time. “He was hard to crack. It’s Mira territory, but I see it as he believes his own bullshit. Like he gave Vinn a good life, was just looking out for her, investing in their future. And all the way it was just business with Jones, just consulting. He didn’t kill anybody, jeez. He just advised, just consulted. So you had to keep hacking away at that to expose the meat and draw some blood.”
She tried to ignore the squeeze as more cops and support staff piled on.
“I don’t know if that makes him a sociopath or just a really good bullshitter.”
“Can be both.” One of the females wedged in turned her head toward Eve. “I was married to one of those for three years, eight months, and fourteen days. It can be both.”
“Yeah, it can be both. Your level,” she told Roarke. “I’ll see you there.”
“Knock back a protein drink from your car AC.” With the cramped car, she couldn’t avoid the kiss on the forehead. “It’ll give you a boost and clear up the headache.”
The woman sighed as Roarke got off. “In three years, eight months, and fourteen days, that asshole never worried about my protein. And he was my headache. You’re lucky.”
She supposed she was.
When she got to the garage—finally—Eve opened her trunk, studied her mobile weaponry. She chose a combat knife, snapped it on her belt.
And hearing Peabody’s cowgirl boots, got behind the wheel. Ready to roll.
17
Eve parked on the edge of Banger territory. Nightfall provided some cover as she and Peabody moved quickly across the blocks to the EDD van. She wanted a sense of the streets before they moved in.
Shops locking up, she noted, pulling down their steel doors. Bars open, the neon beginning to pulse. Lights on in apartments—many with riot bars over the windows even on high floors.
Not a lot of street action yet—too early.
She gave a one-two-three rap on the cargo doors of the van. McNab opened it.
“We’re just setting up. Roarke’s getting you some ears. Marley’s working on the heat sensor.”
Marley, Eve noted, looked about twelve with girlie ringlets—raven black tipped with Peabody pink—tumbling down her back. Her skin looked as smooth and creamy as chocolate mousse. She wore bibbed baggies in screaming red with zigzag blue trim over a skin shirt covered with big-eyed kittens.
“Bebopping, McNabber.” She blew a purple bubble, snapped it back. “Got them some filters. Must be flush. Gonna zap them.”
“She says they paid for some pretty good shields to—”
“I got it.” Eve cut off McNab’s translation.
“Solid.” Marley tapped the heels of her hands together. “Take a mo. Ears up, Dreamcake?”
Roarke smiled at Marley with obvious delight. “Just about. Decent filters, but not prime.”
“Nope, no primo.”
McNab took a stool at a short counter, began to fiddle with dials and controls, his green eyes focused on the shuddering, spiking lines on a screen. “Let’s go boost.”
“Nicely done,” Roarke told him. “We can get some sound,” he said to Eve. “A portable at the site would give more, but we’re amplifying. You might hear something useful.”
“Zone in on where we talked to Jones.”
“Just ahead of you.” He tapped his headphones. “Basketball game on-screen, from the sound of it. Background noises.” Tilting his head, he made some adjustments on his controls, closed his eyes. “Voices, a number of them. Some music, either at a lower volume or farther away.”
“Got visual. One behind the door, sitting down. Moving on up,” Marley continued. “Looks like a party. Got multiples.”
“That’s Jones’s space.” Eve edged closer, tracked the heat-generated images herself. “We’ve got a dozen in there.”
“Got a couple over— Oooh, getting it going. Got sex, two on it. Got empty, empty, empty, got a sleeper.”
She covered the floor, giving Eve a count of fifteen. Then moved up.
“Six. Two horizontal—sleeping likely. Four working, maybe eating. Sitting, but hands moving. Up one more. Nobody home. Uh-uh-uh.” Lifting a hand, she wagged a finger back and forth. “Sneaky. Filtering there. Hold. You can’t hide from the Marlimator. Cha-cha, gotcha. Three, standing, moving. And that’s the wrap. Twenty-five human types from the door to the top.”
“Can you get me ears in that top room?” Eve asked Roarke.
“Working on it,” Roarke mumbled. “Filter—and some soundproofing’s my guess. Reinforced doors and walls, I’d wager. Bits coming through. Give us a boost here, Ian.”
“I’m giving her all she’s got, Cap’n!” McNab said in a thick burr and made Roarke laugh.
“Star Trek,” Peabody murmured. “McNab’s total on it.”
“‘Take him the fuck out. Fuck him up…’ Response unclear. ‘Ain’t no leader. Time for Bangers to bang.’ More indistinct. ‘Fuck that shit, Bolt.’”
“That’s it. Keep on it.” Eve stepped back, contacted the team leaders. “We’ve got twenty-five inside this location. One at the door, fifteen on the next floor, six above, and three over that. Strong?”
“In position. Eighteen inside. Four just walked out.”
“Go when you’re ready. Helmet, Peabody.”
“Here’s yours.”
“Helmets, e-geeks,” Eve ordered as she strapped on hers. “And stay alert. If any get through us, they could spot the van, try for it.”
Marley flipped one strap of the bib, patted her weapon. “We’re good here.”
Eve gave her a nod, looked at Roarke. “We’re go. Move, move!”
Take care of my cop, Roarke thought as she pushed out the cargo doors.
She ran hard, weapon in hand. Signaled to the takedown team to hit the door with the battering ram.
The guard inside—the one from the first night, who now sported a black eye and a swollen lip—jumped to his feet. His PPC hit the floor as he reached behind his back.
“Pull it, you go down. Hands up!” Eve ordered. “Now! Take him,” she snapped, and charged up the stairs. “Take the sex room,” she told Peabody. “Baxter, Trueheart, this floor. Next team, up, up.”
Someone fired a stream, then another out of Jones’s flop. Eve returned fire to cover her men as they raced by.
“Marcus Jones, this is the police. You and your people are surrounded. Put down your weapons, and come out with your hands up.”
The answer came in a shouted “Fuck you!” and more streams. Some idiot ran out with a knife and a war cry. Jenkinson dropped him with a mid-body stun.
“Dumb-ass,” was Jenkinson’s opinion.
Eve saw the homemade boomer fly out. She dived for it, then heaved it back.
On the explosion, the clouds of smoke, the ensuing screams, she and her team charged the room. In the chaos, she stunned two, shoved aside a shrieking, half-naked woman, dodged a knife swipe.
Some wild-eyed woman with biceps like soccer balls rushed her with a bat as the knifer tried again.
Tank, Eve thought. In the really big flesh.
Eve stunned her, which barely slowed her down, then slammed her boot into the kneecap of the knife-wielder behind her, which took him down.
A bat glanced off of Eve’s helmet—and boy, did that make the ears ring. The fist Eve slammed in Tank’s face had blood spurting, but the woman only grinned around it, swung again.
Tank—and she damn well fit the bill. Serious muscle, Eve thought as she ducked. Serious muscle on Zeus. She slammed her free hand to the floor, braced, and kicked up and back. The blow knocked her opponent back enough for her to spring up, fire another stream. Then wail in.
She took a few. More than a few, but the blows and the stuns took some of the juice out of those biceps. Leading with her helmet, she rammed her head into
Tank’s midsection, slammed down with the heel of her boot on the woman’s instep.
The bat slapped Eve’s shoulder, and though the force behind it lessened, she still felt it all the way to her fingertips as she pivoted, danced back, fired another stream.
Maybe she tasted her own blood in her mouth, but the goddamn tank finally went down jittering.
“Couldn’t get to you, LT.” Detective Carmichael, one eye swollen, dropped down, slapped restraints on the thick wrists. Then a second pair for good measure. “Couldn’t get a clear stream.”
“Jones?”
Carmichael pointed. “I’m on your six.”
Slower now—of the twelve they’d seen in the room, seven were down and restrained—she moved through the mess of the living area toward what she took to be a kind of meeting room. Big table, chairs, a couple of wall screens.
A window stood open wide with the night wind blowing through. She gestured for Carmichael to hold, then crouched, rolled.
Jones stood planted, stunner raised. “You’re done, bitch.”
He fired, and from the quick slap and heat against her coat, she judged he’d bumped it to full, aimed at her heart.
It only took an instant for his fierce grin to fade in shock, and another for her to drop him.
“Looks like he’s the bitch who’s done,” Carmichael said. “I’ve got to get me one of those coats.”
“Lock him down, and let’s clean up the rest of this mess.”
She circled around, through another door to the hall. Found Baxter clearing the individual flops. “Your nose is bleeding, LT,” he said with a glance at her.
“It’s not broken.”
“Bet it hurts anyway. Trueheart’s hauling some of them out. We found a naked girl trying to hide in a bathtub. My boy’s blushing, but he’s getting her out and into the wagon.”
“Good.”
“They had a little more trouble than we did upstairs, so we gave them a hand. Got the three contained. All kinds of goodies up there, boss. Some cash money, ID maker, weapons, and enough illegals to keep you zoned out for a couple years.”
“Also good. We get twenty-five?”
“Can’t tell you for sure. We bagged eight.”
“Jorgenson?”
“Oh yeah. He was the little bit more trouble upstairs.”
“Very good.” She swiped at the blood dripping from her nose. “Let’s get a count. Where’s Peabody?”
“Here I am.”
Eve turned to see her partner hobbling up the stairs. She had blood seeping from several cuts and scrapes on her sheet-pale face.
“Ouch,” Baxter said, then hurried to get a supporting arm around her.
“What the hell happened?”
“I sort of fell down the stairs—with the naked having-sex guy. He kind of went crazy, and I had to tackle him, then he pulled me down the stairs. But I got him. I got the naked guy.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“I got a little banged up. You, too.”
“Did you break anything?”
“I don’t think.”
“I think she’s a little shocky, Dallas.”
Nodding at Baxter, Eve ran her hands over Peabody’s arms, down her legs. Nothing felt broken. “Hold on.”
She moved back into the living space. “Jenkinson, Reineke, get a team and clear the house, every room. Santiago, Carmichael, get the rest into the wagon.”
“Some are going to need medical attention, Lieutenant.”
“That’s next.” She tapped her comm. “Lowenbaum, we’re controlled and clearing.”
“Copy that. We got five who slipped out. A couple of them thought the van looked like a nice getaway. Didn’t work out for them.”
Five outside, she thought, eight from Baxter’s count. She counted seven restrained or being restrained from the living area.
“Clean sweep. McNab, we need the MTs. Got some bad guys down. Listen, Peabody got a little banged up. We’re bringing her out.”
Like Baxter, she got an arm around Peabody, started taking her down the stairs. They hadn’t gotten halfway when McNab charged up.
“Hey, hey!” He saw blood, bruises, dazed eyes. “Did you take a hit?”
“I hit lots of places when I fell down the stairs. My face.”
“It’s my best girl’s face.”
“Aw.”
“I’ve got her.” He put his arms around her. “Marley’s pulling in medical. I’ve got her,”
“Go on back and help sweep it up,” Eve told Baxter. “I need to check in with Strong, and the van. I’ll be back.”
She walked down behind McNab and the hobbling Peabody, then blinked when skinny-ass McNab picked Peabody up to carry her the rest of the way.
“Strong,” she said into her comm. “Can you report?”
“Can and will. Ho and eight others are in custody. We got a few bumps, no serious injuries. Your team?”
“Bagged them all. Some bumps,” she added as she watched McNab carry Peabody to a mobile medical. “Sweep the place, Strong. Good work. I’ll see you back at Central.”
She kept walking to the van, where a couple of men were still on the ground. One of the uniforms hauled one to his feet. The other, like Peabody, might need to be carried.
When she noticed the one now on his feet, hands restrained behind his back, begin to snap his fingers, she smiled.
She signaled a uniform over, gave instructions, then continued to the van just as Roarke stepped out.
“Peabody,” he said.
“Banged up some. She’s with McNab and the MTs. You had some trouble?”
Marley hopped out, held out a fist for Roarke to bump. “We gave the trouble. We are the freaking trouble. Dumb-asses thought they could jack the van? We said, Uh-uh. Dreamcake has a good pow!” Then Marley winced. “Looks like somebody got a couple pows in on you.”
“I got in more. Go ahead and call in the sweepers, and we’re going to need to coordinate confiscation of illegals, weapons, fraud equipment.”
“On top, on bottom. Frosty working with you, Dreamcake.”
“And with you, Detective Adorable.”
As Marley hopped back in, Eve gestured toward the finger-snapper. “Is he one of your pows?”
“He was, actually. McNab and Marley handled the bulk of it—with assistance from Lowenbaum. That one thought he’d bull his way behind the wheel. He went down with one punch. He can’t be more than sixteen.”
“We’ll find out. Look at his hands.” Her smile came back. His fingers continued to snap as the uniform led him away.
“Ah, well now. I suddenly regret only punching him once. You’ve made quite a haul, Lieutenant, and I expect you’ll be at this for a while. I’d like to have a look at Peabody before you start the next phase of this.”
“She got tripped up by one of the bad guys. They both went down the steps the wrong way. She’s lucid,” Eve said as they crossed to the mobile. “I don’t think she broke anything.”
“And you?”
“Most of this is from a female with arms like concrete. They call her Tank for a reason. But she looks worse.” There was, always, satisfaction in that. “Hey, that’s Louise.”
Roarke studied the woman applying ice patches to Peabody’s face. “So it is. We know our Peabody’s in good hands with Dr. Dimatto.”
When he reached her, Roarke laid a gentle kiss on Peabody’s forehead. “How’s our girl?”
“Louise gave me really nice drugs.”
“Yes, I did. And let’s sling that arm until you get another pass with a healing wand. No breaks,” Louise continued. “But a jammed shoulder, and her knee’s going to need more treatment. My clinic’s open.”
She glanced around, studied Eve’s face with cool gray eyes. “You’re next.”
“I’m fine.”
“Which one of us has the medical degree?”
It seemed wise to change the subject. “What are you even doing here?”
“Word went out there were a l
ot of injuries in this location. Sit down, and I’ll—”
But Eve’s attention moved elsewhere. “Later. McNab, get Peabody to the clinic. Go with her.” Eve was already moving.
She grabbed the arm of a woman being loaded into a wagon.
“Where’d you get the bracelet?”
“Fuck you!” The woman bared her teeth. The layers of eye makeup had bled down to smear below her eyes, costing the rage glittering in them some points.
“Book this one on accessory to murder, three counts.”
“What?” She tried to break out of the uniform’s hold, jerking one way, the other, and exposing even more of her left breast and its black rose tattoo. “I didn’t do nothing!”
“The bracelet.”
“What the fuck. Asshole wanted a BJ. I got the bracelet.”
“Which asshole is that? Name, or three counts.”
“Ticker. That’s all I know. New guy.”
“Hold on,” Eve told the uniform, and went to get an evidence bag. “You’re wearing stolen property.” Carefully, she unhooked the bracelet with its large colorful stones, slid it into the bag. “When and where did you make the trade?”
“This is bullshit.”
“I can add soliciting without a license.”
“Last night, after I got off work.”
“What time do you get off work?”
“Like, three. He’s coming out of the house, and says give him a BJ and I can have the bracelet. So, what, he stole it? How’m I supposed to know?”
With a shake of her head, Eve walked back toward Roarke, held up the evidence bag.
“That would be Rochelle’s.”
“Matches her description, and it was on the wrist of some Banger Bitch who got it from a new recruit named Ticker in exchange for a BJ. He’ll be in this sweep. I’ve got them. Just have to nail it down.”
Roarke glanced around. Those in custody were still being loaded, or treated. Cops getting treated or swarming in and out of the building. People from the neighborhood crowded behind the barricades. And if he wasn’t mistaken, a media copter hovering overhead recording the scene.
Add that to whatever Detective Strong had going at her location.
