The In Death Collection, Books 16-20

by J. D. Robb

  “Eve.” At Roarke’s voice, she stirred, blinked her eyes open. And followed his look toward the doorway and Louise.

  She got up quickly, joined the group already gathering around Louise.

  “She’s out of surgery. They’ll be bringing her into Recovery, and the surgeons will come through shortly to talk to you.”

  “She came through it.” McNab’s voice was hoarse with fatigue and emotion. “She came through.”

  “Yes. She’s critical, and they’ll almost certainly put her in ICU for the time being. She’s in a coma.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “It’s not unusual, Ian. It’s a way for her body to rest, to recover. The early scans look good, but she’ll need more. They’ll need to keep a close eye on her for the next several hours.”

  “She’ll come out of it.”

  “There’s every reason to believe so, yes. There are some concerns—the kidney, for instance. But she came through the surgery well. Strong.”

  “I can see her, right? They’re going to let me see her.”

  “Absolutely. In just a little while.”

  “Okay.” That seemed to settle him. The shakes smoothed out of his voice. “And I can just sit with her, until she wakes up. She shouldn’t wake up alone.”

  “I’m sure you can. No more than two in the room at once. But it’ll be good for her to know someone’s there. She will know,” Louise promised. “She’ll know.”

  Eve took her turn, stepping in with Roarke while McNab hovered just outside the room in ICU. She’d prepared herself, but it wasn’t enough.

  Nothing would’ve been enough to brace her for that first look.

  Peabody lay on the narrow bed, tethered by more tubes than Eve cared to count. Maybe the steady hum and beep of monitors was supposed to be reassuring, but they made her jittery.

  But she could have taken that. She’d visited hundreds of victims, fellow cops, perps in hospital rooms, and knew what to expect.

  But none of them had been Peabody lying utterly still with her face so bruised it was barely recognizable.

  The sheet covered her to the neck, but Eve imagined there were many other bruises under it. Strapping, bandaging, suturing, and God knew what under that white sheet.

  “They’ll treat the bruising,” Roarke said from behind her. “It wouldn’t have been a priority.”

  “He broke her face. The son of a bitch.”

  “And he’ll pay for it. Look at me. Eve.” He turned her, gripped her arms tight. “She’s mine almost as much as she’s yours. I’m in this until the end of it. I want my chance at him as well.”

  “It can’t be personal. That’s the primary rule on any investigation. And that’s bullshit.” She stepped away from him, stepped toward the bed. “That’s just raging bullshit, because it’s as personal as it gets. He doesn’t get by doing this to her. So yeah.” She looked up, met his eyes, then turned her icy gaze to Peabody. “We’re both in it, till the end.”

  She leaned over, spoke quiet and clear. “I’m going to kick his ass for you, Peabody. You’ve got my word on it.” She reached out, then hesitated, unsure where to touch. In the end, she laid her hand on Peabody’s hair. “We’ll be back.”

  She waited as Roarke bent to touch his lips to Peabody’s bruised cheek, then her lips. “Soon. We’ll be back soon.”

  They went out to where McNab and Feeney waited.

  “He messed her up bad.” McNab’s eyes looked hollow, like caves of anger and anguish.

  “Yeah, yeah, he did.”

  “I want to be there when you take him down. I want to be there, Lieutenant, but . . . I can’t leave her. I can’t leave until . . . until she wakes up.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, that’s your primary assignment.”

  “I could do some work from here, while I was sitting with her. If I had the equipment, I could do runs or data searches, anything. We’re still trying on the Transit discs. I could keep punching that.”

  “I’ll get your work,” Eve promised.

  “And I’ll get you what you need to do it.” Feeney laid a hand on his shoulder. “You go on, son, sit with her. I’ll bring you what you need.”

  “Thanks. I don’t think I’d’ve made it through tonight if . . . thanks.”

  Feeney drew a long breath when they were alone, and his eyes were bright and fierce. “We’re going to burn this bastard.”

  “Damn right,” Eve promised.

  She’d start at home, shower off the night, marshall her thoughts and resources. The moment they walked in, Summerset was there.

  “Detective Peabody?”

  He might be an asshole, Eve thought, but right now he looked like an asshole who hadn’t slept, and who was carrying a load of worry.

  “She came through it. She looks like somebody tossed her in front of a train, but she came through.”

  “She’s in ICU,” Roarke continued. “She hasn’t regained consciousness yet, but they’re hopeful. McNab’s with her.”

  “If I can be of any help.”

  Eve had started up the stairs, but now she stopped, looked down on him, and considered. “You know how to run the unregistered?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m taking Roarke with me, so you’re on e-duty. I’m going to get a shower, then I’ll tell you what you’re looking for.”

  “Tell me what you’re looking for,” Roarke prompted when they reached the bedroom.

  “I have to think it through.”

  “Think out loud, while we both grab a shower.”

  She worked up the energy to narrow her eyes at him. “Shower’s strictly for body maintenance.”

  “I consider sex body maintenance, but we’ll catch up with that another time.”

  She talked it out while the hot water helped rinse some of the fog out of her head. And, though she hated them and the jumpy way they made her feel, she popped a Stay-Up, shoved a couple more in her pocket for later.

  “Maybe I’m off, but I want to turn all the stones.”

  “Whether you’re on or off,” Roarke replied, “we’ll turn the stones and see what’s under them. You’re going to eat.”

  “We can chomp a couple nutribars on the way.”

  “No. Foot firmly down on this one. Fuel. You’ll shovel in some fuel. It’s barely six in the sodding morning,” he reminded her as he programmed the AutoChef. “You want to interview the witnesses, you’ll do better when they’re awake.”

  He had a point, and arguing would only slow things down. So she sat, shoveled in what he put in front of her.

  “You said something to McNab, about how it feels when somebody—when somebody you love gets hurt. I’ve put you through that a few times. Maybe not as bad as this, but—”

  “Close enough,” Roarke replied.

  “Yeah. I . . . How do you stand it?” Hints of the fear and the worry of the night eked through. “How do you get through it?”

  He said nothing, only took her hand and, watching her over it, brought it to his lips. It made her eyes sting again, and her throat constrict and burn. So she looked away.

  “I can’t let go, even a little. It feels like if I let go at all, I’ll just break to pieces. And I can’t stop. I’ve got to keep moving, keep going forward, and I have to keep telling myself there’s going to be payment. Whatever it takes, whatever it costs, there’s going to be payment.”

  She shoved her plate away and stood. “I’m supposed to say justice. There’ll be justice, and I’m supposed to mean it. But I don’t know if it’s going to be enough. I should step back from it. If I don’t know if that’s enough, I should step back, but I won’t. I can’t.”

  “And will you continue to ask more of yourself than is human?”

  She reached down, picked up her badge. She studied it for a long moment before she slid it into her pocket. “Yeah. Let’s get started.”

  She briefed Summerset, kept it short, to the point, then headed out to her car. “I can’t believe I’m asking him to
commit an illegal act.”

  “It would hardly be the first of his life.”

  “And that I’m asking him to assist in a police investigation.”

  “That may very well be a first.”

  “Ha. No, I’m driving. I’m all buzzed from the chemicals.”

  “Well now, that inspires confidence in your passenger.”

  “I gotta do stuff or I’ll just rev. You take anything?”

  “Not yet.”

  She got behind the wheel. “Talk about more than human.”

  “Just metabolism, darling. I’ll likely need something by midday if we’re still at it.”

  “You can count on that. Witness lives same block as Peabody. Get me the exact address.” Then she looked over at him as he called up the data. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. But this isn’t just for you.”

  “No. I know.” Needing the contact, she reached over, gripped his hand as she drove through the gates. “But thanks.”

  Chapter 20

  She didn’t bother to hunt up a parking space, but doubled beside a clunky solar mini that looked as if it hadn’t moved in six months.

  Flipping the ON DUTY light, she stepped out and ignored the shouted “Cops suck!” from the driver of a rusted compact stuck behind her. If she’d been feeling more chirpy, she’d have taken the time to stroll over and have a little chat with him.

  Instead, because she couldn’t help herself, she walked across the street and studied the bloodstains on the pavement.

  “Laid in wait. That’s his style. Maybe he followed her sometime, tracked her home sometime, and she didn’t make the tail.”

  But she shook her head even as she said it. “You can’t just pop a cop’s address out. You work at it, maybe you can finesse it, but there are blocks on cops’ personal data. Had to tail her, or do some heavy hacking.”

  She thought about the interview for Nadine, and the media conference. Both times she’d pushed Peabody forward.

  “How long would it take a decent hacker to pop a blocked address?”

  “Depending on talent and equipment . . .” Roarke was studying the bloodstains as well, and thinking of Peabody. Her steadiness, her sweetness. “Anywhere from an hour to a few days.”

  “An hour? Jesus, why do we bother?”

  “It’s a shield against the general populace. Tapping into a cop’s data is an automatic flag for CompuGuard. It’s a heavy risk unless you don’t give a bloody damn, or you know how to get around the blocks and guards. You have any reason to think he’s got above-average hacking skills?”

  “Just thinking. He knew his victims’ schedules, their routes, their habits. Where they lived. And all but one lived without a partner.”

  “Elisa Maplewood lived in a family unit.”

  “Yeah, a family unit with the male portion of that unit out of the country. Maybe he factors that element in. He tailed them, yeah. Had to do some of that. And we’ve got Merriweather’s comment about the big, bald guy on her subway. But he could’ve done some comp research. Gather as much data as possible. He takes risks, sure—big ones. But they’re calculated. And the guy we’re projecting doesn’t blend. Merriweather spotted him. So I’m thinking he doesn’t do extensive fieldwork.”

  “Preps as much as possible by remote.”

  “It’s possible. Probable. He moved fast with Peabody. Faster, I think, than the others. That’s because she wasn’t the standard for him. She’s an add-on—prove a point because he was pissed. Or threatened.”

  She stayed as she was, tilted her head to look up at the apartment windows. “And you know what else?”

  “He didn’t know enough about her to know there was another cop up there. Waiting for her. Or enough about the neighborhood to consider someone might spot him and try to help.”

  “Didn’t do as much research. Too mad, too threatened, in too much of a hurry.”

  Eve angled back to look down the street. “She takes the subway most times, and she wouldn’t be looking for a shadow. He could’ve stalked her, like he stalked the others. But I don’t think it worked that way because she’d have made him. She’d have made a tail. She’s got good eyes, good instincts.”

  “Hacking her address would cut back on the time, and the risk of being seen.”

  “Yeah. And she was putting in overtime. You have to log any assigned OT. If he could get her address, he could get her schedule, because when I hooked her with Feeney and brought you in, I plugged it into the system.”

  He took her chin, turning her head so their eyes met. “Eve.”

  “I’m not blaming myself.” Or was trying not to. “I’m blaming him. I’m just trying to see how it went down, that’s all. He nails her home location, knows she’ll be late. If he knows all that, he knows she doesn’t have a personal vehicle registered in her name, and that she’ll most likely be on foot. So he comes here, parks, and just waits. Patient bastard. He just waits until she comes along.”

  “Still risky. This street’s well-lighted, and she’s less than a half a block from her door. And she’s a cop, armed and able. It wasn’t smart,” Roarke said. “It wasn’t like the others.”

  “No, with her—me—he was pissed. Prove a point, like I said. But at the base of it, he doesn’t figure she’ll give him trouble. Not like she did. She’s just a woman, and he’s a big, strong man. Take her down, take her down, toss her in the back of the van, and poof.”

  She crouched down, laid her hand on the stain of her partner’s blood. “Where was he going to take her? Same place, same place he took the others, the ones before? The missings and presumeds.”

  “She’ll have gotten a good look at him. She’ll be able to describe him more thoroughly, even more than Celina.”

  Eve glanced up. “If she remembers. Head trauma, she might not remember. But if she does, she’ll make him. She’s sharp and she notes the details. She’ll be the one who takes him down. When she wakes up. If she remembers.”

  Eve pushed to her feet. “Let’s see what the witnesses saw. We’ll take the female first.”

  “Essie Fort. Single, age twenty-seven. Paralegal at Driscoll, Manning, and Fort. Tax lawyers.”

  Eve worked up a smile as they approached the building. “You’re handy.”

  “We do what we can.” He pressed the button for Fort in 3A.

  While they waited, Eve turned, judged the distance between the door and the point of attack. A male voice came through the intercom. “Yeah?”

  “Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD. We’d like to speak with Ms. Fort.”

  “I want to see your . . . oh, there it is,” the voice said when she held her badge up to the security cam. “Come on up.”

  He buzzed them in. And was waiting at the door when they got off on three. “Essie’s inside. I’m Mike. Mike Jacobs.”

  “You also witnessed the incident, Mr. Jacobs?”

  “I’ll say. Essie, Jib, and I were just coming out, going to head over and pick up Jib’s date. And we . . . come on in. Sorry.” He opened the door wider.

  “I stayed here last night. Didn’t want to leave Essie alone. She was pretty shook up. She’s getting dressed.” He glanced toward a closed door. “The woman who got beat up was a cop, right? Did she make it?”

  “She’s holding her own.”

  “Glad to hear it. Man, that guy was whaling on her.” Mike pushed at his curly mop of blond hair. “Look, I was hunting up some coffee. You want?”

  “No, thanks. Mr. Jacobs, I’d like to get statements from both you and Ms. Fort, and ask some questions.”

  “No problem. We talked to some cops last night, but everything was messed up. Look, let me get this coffee, okay? We didn’t get much sleep last night, and I need the jolt. Sit down or something. I’ll try to move Essie along.”

  She didn’t want to sit, but she perched on the edge of a chair in bold red. Gave herself a moment to settle by glancing around the room. Lots of strong colors, weird, geometric art on the walls. A bottle of wine and a coupl
e glasses left over from the night before.

  Mike Jacobs was wearing jeans and a shirt he hadn’t buttoned. Probably what he’d had on the night before. Probably hadn’t planned on staying the night.

  New relationship maybe, without the understanding sex would follow an evening out.

  But he’d stayed. And he had, according to McNab, come to Peabody’s aid. Maybe he didn’t think cops sucked.

  The bedroom door opened. The woman who came out looked fragile and slight. Her hair was a short wedge of glossy, raven-wing black, and her eyes a blue strong enough to fit her decor, though they looked exhausted.

  “I’m sorry. Mike said the police were coming up. I was getting dressed.”

  “I’m Lieutenant Dallas.”

  “Do you know her? The woman who was hurt. I know she’s a police officer. I’ve seen her walking across the street. She used to wear a uniform, but now she doesn’t.”

  “She’s a detective now. She’s my partner.”

  “Oh.” Those blue eyes filled—sympathy, distress, fatigue, Eve didn’t know. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Is she going to be all right?”

  “I . . .” Eve felt her throat close again. It was harder, somehow harder, to take concern from strangers. “I don’t know. I need you to tell me exactly what you saw.”

  “I—we—were going out.” She looked over as Mike brought out two thick red mugs. “Thanks. Mike, would you tell it?”

  “Sure. Come on, let’s sit down.” He led her to a chair, and sat on the arm of it beside her. “We were coming out, like I said. We heard the noise as soon as we walked out the door. Shouts and, well, the sounds you hear from a fight. He was a big guy. Seriously big. He was kicking her and shouting. Kicking her when she was down. She pumped up her legs, knocked him back a little. It all happened really fast, and I think we all froze for a second or two.”

  “It was just . . .” Essie shook her head. “We were all laughing and joking around, then we heard, and looked over. It was just bam!”

  “He jerked her up, off the ground, just hauled her up.”