by J. D. Robb
“Stupendous praise from you, so thanks. We’re going to keep the boring speeches over dinner to a minimum, then liven it up again with dancing. But before we herd this mob to the tables, I need to steal your husband.”
Eve inched just a little closer to Roarke. “I’d as soon keep him. I’ve gotten used to him.”
“I’ll return him, with hardly any wear. The mayor asked specifically to have a word with you,” Louise said to Roarke. “I promised I’d deliver.”
“Of course.” Roarke set his untouched drink aside, skimmed a hand down Eve’s back. “Politics must be played.”
“You’re telling me. Charles, you’ll entertain Dallas for a few minutes, won’t you?”
Eve had to fight the instinct to snatch Roarke’s arm and yank him back. He could handle himself—nobody better. But he’d been no more than a foot from her side since they’d walked into the Regency. She’d wanted to keep it that way.
She watched his back as he moved across the ballroom with Louise.
“I have a message for you, Dallas.”
“Huh? What message?”
“From Maria Sanchez. I’m to tell you you’re solid, and for a cop, you’re a pretty decent bitch.” He sipped his champagne. “I assume those are compliments.”
“More to you than me, I’d say. Odds are you gave her the best conjugal she’s had since they locked her cage, and the best she’ll have until it opens again.”
“Let’s just say that if it should ever be necessary, I’m sure I could use her as a reference. Actually, she was an interesting woman with a very simple outlook on life.”
“Which is?”
“The fuckers are all out to get you, so you’d better get them first.”
“Somebody ought to sew that on a pillow.” When she lost sight of Roarke, her stomach clutched. “Ah, I can’t quite see Louise. What was that color she was wearing?”
“I got him, Dallas,” Feeney said in her ear. “He’s covered on the cam, and Carmichael and Rusk moved in.”
“Silver,” Charles said with no little surprise. He’d never heard Eve express any interest in clothes. “She looks like she’s wearing moonbeams.”
“Got it bad, don’t you, Charles?”
“A terminal case. I’ve never been happier in my life. Do you know what it is to find someone who accepts you for what you are, and is willing to love you anyway?”
She searched the crowd for Roarke, settled just a little when she found him. “Yeah, I guess I do.”
“It makes you a better person. It makes you . . . whole. And that’s enough philosophizing for one night.” He shifted, blocking her view of Roarke for a moment. “Those earrings are absolutely fabulous.” He reached out to touch one, and had her earpiece registering the click of finger on metal like a dull gong. “Antique?”
“Yeah.” She re-angled her body, tried to zero in on Roarke again. “They belonged to a solider.”
“They’re perfect for you. Anything wrong?” He touched her cheek now, drew her attention back to his. “You seem a little on edge.”
“Gigs like this make me itchy. People are starting to drift toward the tables. We’d better snag our dates.”
“We’re sitting together. We’ll catch up with them at the table.” He took her arm, was surprised to feel the muscles tense, almost vibrate. “You really are itchy.”
Short of knocking him down, she wasn’t going to shake Charles. And shoving her way through the milling crowd wasn’t the way to keep a low profile. But there was a buzz in her blood that told her to get to Roarke, and get there now.
“There’s something I need to tell Roarke, but I’ve lost his location.”
The underlying tone of urgency in her voice had Charles looking over sharply. “All right, Dallas, what’s going on?”
“Roarke’s at three o’clock,” Feeney told her. “Twenty feet from your position. Crowd’s closed in, but Carmichael and Rusk still have him in sight.”
“Dallas?”
“Not now,” she hissed at Charles and pivoted to the right. It was raw instinct that pushed her forward. No logic, no reason, but a primal knowledge that her mate was threatened. She caught a glimpse of him through the spark and color. Of polite amusement on his face as he was cornered by a stick-thin society butterfly. She saw Carmichael get elbowed back by a tuxedoed couple who’d imbibed a bit too freely during cocktail hour. The annoyance on Carmichael’s face as she jockeyed back into position.
She heard the orchestra strike up with a bright, jazzy tune. Heard the trills of laughter, the gossipy tones as people dished dirt, the shuffle and click of feet as more went on the move.
She saw Louise turn away to speak to someone, and block Rusk’s easy path to Roarke.
And she saw Julianna.
It went fast as a heartbeat, slow as a century.
Julianna wore the trim white jacket and slacks of the servers. Her hair was a soft, honey brown—a short, curly cap that was fashioned like a halo around her face. That face was carefully enhanced, carefully composed to nondescript.
She could have passed for a droid, and was garnering just as much dismissal, as she walked easily through the polished bodies toward Roarke.
In her hand she carried a single flute of champagne.
Her gaze flashed up, met Roarke’s. Whatever she saw there must have satisfied her, for she smiled, just the slightest curve of unpainted lips.
“Target sighted.” Though Eve spoke clearly, there was too much distance, too much noise between them for Julianna to have heard.
And still she turned her head and looked at Eve.
They moved at the same time, Eve forward, Julianna back. Eve had the small twist of satisfaction of seeing startled temper cross Julianna’s face before she swung into the thickest part of the crowd.
“Suspect is dressed as server. Brown and brown, moving west through the ballroom.”
She sprinted forward as she spoke, ducking, shoving, flinging herself through startled people. Feeney’s relay rang in her ears, had her spinning to the right, knocking hard into a startled waiter. She heard the thunderous crash of his tray behind her.
She caught another glimpse, saw Julianna pass the flute to an oblivious older man before she streaked up the curve of the floating staircase to the second level. People tumbled in her wake like tossed dolls.
“Moving up,” Eve shouted. “Close in from positions eight and ten. Now, now, now!”
She ran straight into the man who was just lifting the flute of champagne to his lips. It splattered all over his suit as the glass flew out of his hand and crashed to the floor.
“Well, really!”
He was angry enough to make a grab for her arm, and got a hard stomp on the instep. He’d limp, Eve thought as she leaped up the stairs, but he’d live.
“Inside this area, Lieutenant.” One of the two cops who raced forward to flank Eve gestured toward a pair of double doors. “She nicked in. I couldn’t get a stream off due to civilian safety. She’s flipped the locks and caged herself in. There’s no way out unless she decides to jump ten stories.”
“She’ll have a way.” Without hesitation, Eve aimed her weapon at the door and blasted the locks.
The explosion came a second later. The hot gush of air punched like a fist and knocked Eve back a full five feet. She tumbled, head over feet, and her weapon spurted out of her hand like wet soap. Her earpiece went dead.
Smoke belched out of the anteroom, choking and blinding. She heard the nasty crackle of flame, and the shouts around her, below her, as people rushed into a screaming panic.
She slapped her clutch piece out of her ankle holster. “Officer down. Officer down,” she repeated, hoping the mike still worked as she saw one of her backup lying unconscious and bleeding from the head. “We need medical assistance, the fire and explosives department. I’m going in after this bitch.”
She crouched, sprang, and went through the doors into the smoke in a fast, low roll.
Julianna leaped
on her back in a fury of fists, teeth, and nails.
The safety system had water gushing down from the ceiling, fans whirling, alarms screaming. Through it, they grappled like animals over the ruined carpet.
For the second time she lost her weapon—or so the report would read. The satisfaction of feeling her bare fist plow into Julianna’s flesh was like a song.
She tasted blood, smelled it. Rode on it.
Her mind was laser sharp as they both gained their feet, circled each other.
“You fucked up, Julianna. Stay back!” she snapped out the order as Roarke burst into the room, steps ahead of McNab. “Stay the hell back. She’s mine.”
“Sir.”
Roarke merely reached over, lowered McNab’s weapon hand. “Let her finish it.”
“You’re the one who fucked up, Dallas. Going soft over a man. I had more respect for you.” She spun, kicked out. She missed slamming her foot into Eve’s face by a whisper. “He’s just like the rest of them. He’ll shake you off when he’s bored of you. He’s already out shoving his dick into other women every chance he gets. That’s what they do. That’s all they do.”
Eve straightened and stripped off the ruined jacket. Julianna did the same with her own.
“I’m taking you down,” Eve said. “That’s what I do. Come on, let’s dance.”
“You’ll want to hold the troops back, Ian.” Roarke reached down to retrieve Eve’s discarded clutch piece as fists and feet flew. “Someone could get hurt.”
“Man. Some girl fight.”
Roarke merely lifted a brow, though his attention stayed riveted to his wife. “And that someone will surely be you if you say that loud enough for the lieutenant to hear. She needs to do this,” he stated, and felt the blow in his own chest as Julianna kicked Eve.
She didn’t feel it. Her body registered by falling back, pivoting, spinning, feinting. But her mind refused the pain. She felt the dark joy, heard the satisfying crunch of bone when she spun and rammed a fist back into Julianna’s face.
“I broke your fucking nose. What’re you gonna do about it?”
Blood poured down Julianna’s face, ruining beauty. Her breath was heaving, as Eve’s was, but she was far from done. She screamed, came at Eve at a run.
The force of the attack had them both flying through the terrace doors. Glass shattered, wood snapped. Roarke reached the ruined doorway in time to see Eve and Julianna spill over the railing in a tangle of limbs and fury.
“Christ Jesus.” His heart in his throat, he raced to the rail, saw them fall, still wrapped like lovers, onto the glide two stories down.
“That’s gotta hurt,” McNab said beside him. “One of us has to stop this, and I’d rather it wasn’t me.”
But Roarke was already vaulting over the rail, and leaping.
“Lunatics.” McNab hitched his weapon back in its holster and prepared to follow suit. “We’re all a bunch of lunatics.”
The glide vibrated under the blows of bodies. Civilians who’d been unlucky enough to be on board scrambled down and off like rats off a doomed ship.
The thin silk tank Julianna wore under the uniform jacket was torn, bloody. Lights gleamed over her partially exposed breast as she jump-kicked Eve in the shoulder, followed up with a roundhouse.
Eve ducked the punch, went in low and heard the explosive whoosh of air as she plowed a blow into Julianna’s belly.
“Prison fit ain’t street fit, bitch.” To prove it, Eve rammed her elbow up under Julianna’s jaw, snapping her head back. “But let’s see how much workout time they give you when you’re back in a cage.”
“I’m not going back!” She was fighting blindly now, and only more viciously. She got a swipe under Eve’s guard and raked her nails down her cheek.
She saw the men storming down the glide over Eve’s shoulder. Heard the shouts and rushing feet from behind. In that moment, her body alive with a pain she’d never experienced, she cursed herself for falling into a trap, cursed Eve for outmaneuvering her.
But the war wasn’t over. Couldn’t be over. Retreat, her mind ordered. And following it she jumped from the glide, springing hard to clear the three feet to the open-air restaurant.
Those who dined were already goggling. Several screamed when the bloody woman, her face blackened with soot, her eyes wild, her teeth bared, landed among the charming glass-topped tables and glowing candles.
Two women and one man fainted when the second woman, equally torn, flew down, feet first, and slammed into the dessert cart.
There were splashes and shouts as a few diners fell into the pool.
Cornered by the cops who burst through the restaurant’s doors and the others that ranged on the now-disabled glide, Julianna focused on the only one who mattered. She grabbed a bottle of superior merlot, smashed it against a table. Wine splattered like blood as she turned the jagged edge toward Eve.
“I’m going to kill you.” She said it calmly, though tears tracked through the filth on her face.
“Hold your fire,” Eve ordered as one of the cops took aim. “Hold your goddamn fire. This is my op. This is my collar.” She sensed rather than saw Roarke land behind her. “Mine.” She all but growled it.
“Then finish it.” He spoke quietly, for her alone. “You’ve given her enough of your time.”
“Let’s see if you’ve got the guts, Julianna, to try to slit my throat with that. You’ll have to come in fast. It’s going to be messy. Not neat, not delicate like poisoning some poor slob.”
She circled as she spoke, gauging her ground, planning her moves. “What’s the matter, Julianna? Afraid to try the direct kill?”
On a scream of rage, of insult, of loathing, Julianna charged. Eve felt the rush of facing death stream cool into her body. She sprang off her toes, one leg pistoning out, then the other. The two rapid kicks, both dead in the face, had Julianna flying back, landing without grace on one of the glass-topped tables.
She smashed through it, landed hard in an ugly shower of glass. “Basic rule of combat,” Eve said as she reached down, dragged Julianna up by her curls. “Legs are generally longer than arms.”
She leaned in, whispered in Julianna’s ear. “You shouldn’t have gone after what’s mine. Big mistake.”
Though in a daze Julianna managed to bare her teeth. “I’ll be back, and I’ll kill both of you.”
“I don’t think so, Julianna. I think you’re done. Now I’m going to give you your civil right to remain silent.” So saying Eve punched her full in the face and knocked her cold.
Eve flipped her over, clapped on the restraints, then straightened, stepped back. “Peabody.”
“Ah, yes, sir. Right here.”
“See that this prisoner is read her rights, transported to the proper holding facility, and given all required medical attention.”
“You bet. Lieutenant?”
Eve turned her head, inelegantly spat out blood. “What?”
“I just want to say, you are my god.”
With a half-laugh, Eve limped to a chair. Sat. Pain was beginning to leak through and promised to be awesome. “Get her out of here so they can start cleaning up this mess. I’ll be in to file the reports and debrief the team after I clean up some.”
“She won’t be in before morning,” Roarke corrected. He lifted a large, unbroken bottle of water, opened it, handed it to Eve.
“Two hours.” Eve tipped back her head and drank like a camel.
Wisely Peabody opted to stay out of this particular battle as well.
“Sorry about messing up your pretty hotel.”
“You did quite the job on it.” He pulled up a chair, sat in front of her. Her face was bruised, bloody, filthy, her knuckles raw and swollen. A gash among the many scratches on her arm would require treatment. But for now he took out a handkerchief, plucked one of the linen napkins from the table, and tied on a quick field dressing. “And you did one on my pretty wife as well.”
“I was just lulling her into complacency. You k
now, playing with her awhile.”
“Oh yes, I could see that, particularly when you lulled her by falling off a ten-story terrace with her.”
“That was sort of unplanned, but all in all.” She happened to glance down at herself and for a moment was paralyzed and speechless. The skin suit was torn at the neck with the material flapping down to play peek-a-boo with her breasts. It gaped down the center of her body almost to her crotch. One leg was ripped open to the hip.
“Well, holy shit.” She yanked what she could over her breasts. “You could have told me I’m sitting here mostly naked.”
“When a man stands back and watches two women fight, it’s with the cherished hope that clothes will be ripped off along the way.” But he rose, stripped off his jacket, and offered it.
“Here are your choices. A health center or hospital, the MTs, or a room here where Louise can examine and treat you.”
“I don’t—”
“Want to argue with me over this. You wanted to take her down with your bare hands—needed to. Otherwise you’d have used your weapon.”
“I lost it when I—”
“The knife’s still in your boot.” He laid a hand lightly over hers. “Say whatever needs to be said in your official report, Eve, but don’t pretend with me. You did what you needed to do, and I understand it. I’d have wanted the same if anyone had come at you because of me.”
“Okay.”
“You did what you needed to do, and I didn’t interfere. Do you think that was a simple thing for me?”
She kicked at some of the broken glass with her boot. “No.”
“Now you’ll let me do what I need to do, and not interfere. Which of those choices suits you best?”
“I’ll take Louise,” she agreed. “Even though she’s going to be royally pissed at me for messing up her fancy charity do.”
“Shows what you know about such matters. She couldn’t have bought the kind of publicity and attention for her cause that this little adventure will reap. And if she doesn’t think of that straight away, you’ve only to remind her.”
“Good thinking.” She reached out, brushed his hair back from his face. “I love you. I just sort of felt like saying that right now.”