New York to Dallas

by J. D. Robb

  The minute she’d done so, her ’link signaled.

  “Dallas.”

  “She’s loose.”

  “What?”

  “She killed Malvie—Officer Malvie,” Bree said quickly. “Forced the nurse on duty to give her scrubs. Took the ID and walked out. They’ve locked down the hospital, have an alert out for her, but—”

  “She’s headed straight to McQueen.” Fury and frustration would have to wait. “She won’t be on foot. She’ll boost a vehicle, hail a cab.”

  “You don’t hail cabs here.”

  “What do you—never mind. Have security check for a missing vehicle out of hospital parking, nearest her exit point. How long does she have?”

  “An hour, maybe a little more.”

  Too long, Eve thought. Too long.

  “I’m on my way in.”

  She broke transmission, shoved up to bang on Roarke’s office door.

  “It’s not locked for Christ’s sake.”

  She pushed it open. “She’s out. She killed the cop on duty, got nurses’ scrubs and walked. I need to go. Now.”

  “Two minutes.” He hunkered over his comp. “Two bloody minutes. I’m nearly there. She’ll go to McQueen. Let me find the bastard.”

  “Add Maxwell to the search. Don’t ask,” she snapped. “Just do it. Add Maxwell and look for a transfer of funds on the twelfth of the month.”

  “Feeney sent me the same data. It’s in. Be quiet.”

  She gritted her teeth, fisted her hands. But she knew that look—the cold, clear eyes, the scowl. If he said he was close, he was close.

  He snapped out orders even as he worked the keyboard and the screen manually. From her angle she could see data—incomprehensible to her—flashing by.

  She answered her signaling ’link with a snarl. “What?”

  “A Sampson Kinnier just reported his all-terrain stolen out of the first-level visitors’ lot. A red ’fifty-nine Marathon,” Bree continued, “Texas plates, Charlie-Tango-Zulu-one-five-one. BOLO’s issued.”

  “Roarke thinks he’s closing in on a location. I’m taking another couple minutes here. If he hits, I’ll relay on the way.”

  “Don’t bloody hell think,” Roarke muttered. “Bloody hell know.”

  She went with instinct. “It’s going to hit. Advise your lieutenant we’ll need SWAT, tactical, crisis negotiator—all the bells and whistles, Detective—on alert.”

  “Yes, sir. Dallas, if he runs—Melinda.”

  “The best thing we can do for her is the job. Now go.”

  She shoved the ’link away. “Roarke—”

  He shot up a hand, clearly telling her to be quiet again.

  Do the job, do the job, she told herself, rolling to the balls of her feet and back. When doing the job meant waiting, it could tear pieces off the guts.

  “Got him, buggering bastard. Copy location to vehicle navvy,” Roarke ordered. “And get the bloody vehicle out front now.”

  As the computer acknowledged, he picked up a holstered weapon—one he’d had no business transporting over state lines—strapped it on as he moved.

  “Where?” she demanded as she jumped into the elevator with him. “Where?”

  He rattled off an address as he shrugged his jacket over the weapon. “It’s only minutes from here according to the computer.”

  “She’s already there.” Eve relayed the address to Ricchio.

  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 had
n’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.”