“Grazed.”
“But—but—you had my magic coat.”
“I took it off. Don’t,” Eve said before Peabody could harass her as Roarke had. “When the power’s up, get EDD to check out any and all electronics. Then—”
“Dallas, you want to take a look here.”
She looked back as Lowenbaum played his light around the room.
Or, more accurately, the armory. A battered worktable held more than two dozen weapons—long and short range, knives, boomers. More body armor hung on pegs, along with other goggles, field glasses.
“He must’ve been stockpiling for a while, maybe even before his wife died.”
“There’s another knife stuck in the wall out there,” Peabody said.
“So that’s what that was.” Eve looked down at Mackie. “You’re going to find that funk, too. I could see the tremor in his hands.”
She stepped back as the MTs came in. “Patch him up, bring him around. I need him in Interview.”
To keep Roarke off her back, she let the MTs treat her arm while she, Lowenbaum, and Feeney had their roundup.
“He had a two-level barricade on the doors and windows,” Lowenbaum told her. “If we’d tried storming, he’d have picked some of us off.”
“Maybe—didn’t want to risk it—but he’s not the marksman he was. My team found two kegs of funk hidden in the closet of his room. Probably hiding it from the daughter, but she’d have been blind and deaf not to see the effects.”
“Prided himself on his exceptional vision and steady hands.” Lowenbaum shook his head. “But he goes on the funk, goes on what takes those away.”
“Ever known a funky-junkie who didn’t think they’d beat the effects until they didn’t? I’m going to the hospital—I’ve got four cops on him. Unless he’s fricking dying, he’ll be in a cage tonight.”
“Heard the MTs say he’d need surgery on his right eye—maybe the left, too.” Feeney shrugged. “Even then he ain’t getting it all back—some of that’s the funk. Got some burns on his lower calves where the boot leather seared into him. I’m not going to cry about it.”
“He was a good man once. I’m not going to cry about it, either,” Lowenbaum added. “But I’m goddamn sorry he lost the man he was.”
“The daughter’s still out there.” Eve pushed to her feet, ignored the low-level burn down her arm. “And there’s no evidence suggesting she has any trouble with steady hands or eyesight. We get him patched up, get him in a cage, break him.”
“It’s his daughter, Dallas. I don’t see how you can break him down enough to flip on her.”
“He’s a junkie,” she said flatly. “I’ll break him.”
—
But not that night. Eve argued with nurses, with doctors, and ultimately with the surgeon. Reginald Mackie would not and could not be released from the hospital for at least twelve hours.
“We removed sixteen shards of infrared lens out of his right eye and seven out of his left.”
“He killed seven people in two days.”
The surgeon huffed out a breath. Maybe his own eyes looked exhausted, but Eve didn’t give a shit.
“You do your job, Lieutenant, I do mine. I’m giving you the facts. His addiction has already compromised his vision, his retina, and his optic nerves. This trauma has left his corneas and his retinas damaged further. Once cured of his addiction, he would be a viable candidate for organ replacement, or at least additional surgery, but at this point we’ve done what can be done. He and his eyes need rest. We need to keep him under observation, as we’re concerned about more deterioration or infection.”
“Is he awake?”
“Yes, he should be. And he’s restrained and guarded. We have our own security backing up your officers. We’re fully aware of who he is, and what he’s done.”
“I want to talk to him.”
“I have no medical objection to that. His head is in a stabilizer. We don’t want him to move his head, jar his eyes in any way, for the next twelve hours. After that, I’ll examine him, and hopefully clear him for release to your custody.”
Accepting it was the best she’d get, Eve made her way to Mackie’s room. She moved through the two uniforms on the door, inside where she had two more keeping watch.
Mackie lay still, his head slightly inclined inside the cage-like stabilizer, his eyes covered with bandages. Tubes ran from him into machines, and the machines clicked and hummed busily.
God, she hated hospitals, had hated them since she woke up in one at the age of eight. Broken, battered, with no idea where she was, who she was.
But Mackie knew who and where.
She signaled to the uniforms to give her the room, then approached the bed.
“Record on,” she said clearly, and saw Mackie’s fingers flex in reaction. “Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, questioning Mackie, Reginald. Mackie, in case you missed it, you’ve been placed under arrest for multiple counts of murder, conspiracy to murder, possession of illegal weapons, armed assault on police officers, and a whole bunch of lesser charges. It’s what we could call a freaking cornucopia of charges. Also, in case you missed it, I’m going to reread you your rights.”
As she did, slowly, she watched him, watched his jaw tighten, his mouth firm, and those fingers tap, tap, tap on the sheets.
“Do you understand your rights and obligations in these matters? I know you’re awake and aware, Mackie,” she said after a beat. “And you know that you’ll be out of here and in a cage very soon. Stonewalling me gets you nowhere. We’ll find her.”
This time his thinned lips curved, just a little.
“Don’t think so? Think again. We’ll find her, and when we do, she’ll spend a lot more years in a cage than you have left. Fifteen years old? She could spend a hard century in a cage, off-planet. Never see the sun again. If you think her age will play in her favor, think again there, too. I put away one younger than she is. If I have to hunt her, I’ll make it my mission to see she spends every day of the rest of her life locked up like an animal.”
His hands shook, but he managed to lift the middle finger of his right hand.
“Gee, that stings. I guess you’re feeling pretty smug, lying there getting pain meds and something to cut down on the funk withdrawal. But that won’t last. I wonder if you’re thinking Willow’s on her way to Alaska. Yeah, that’s right,” she added when his hands fisted. “We know all about Alaska. We’d bag her, bag, tag, and toss her in that cage. But she’s not heading to Alaska, you idiot. She had a hit list of her own. Headed by her mother, her stepfather, her little brother.”
“Liar.” He croaked it out.
“She has blueprints of her school.”
“Get out.”
“The names of specific school employees and students she plans to take out.”
His breathing sped up, quick, short breaths. The trembling increased. He said, “Lawyer.”
Eve deliberately misunderstood him. “We know you had the lawyer on your list. I’m talking about hers.”
“Lawyer,” he repeated. “I want a lawyer.”
“So you understand your rights and obligations?”
“I understand, and I want a lawyer.”
“Your choice, a bad one, but that’s not a surprise considering your track record. Give me a name, a contact, and we’ll get your lawyer.”
“Provided. Appointed.”
“You want a court-appointed representative. Okay. Seriously bad choice, but I’ll start that ball rolling. The doc says you’ll be ready to move in under twelve hours now. Enjoy your plush accommodations while you can. They’re going to go seriously downhill. End of questioning.”
Eve stepped to the door, switched off her recorder. “A lot of blood on your hands, Mackie. Your daughter’s may be on them before this is over. You think about that while you wait for your law
yer.”
She stepped out, jerked a thumb at the two uniforms to send them back into the room.
“He said lawyer,” she told the other uniforms on the door. “I’ll be arranging that. No one but the lawyer, if and when he arrives here, and authorized medical personnel are to enter his room. Check every ID, and scan anyone going in for weapons.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Drag over a couple of chairs,” she advised. “It’s going to be a long night.”
She walked away, hunted up the head nurse. Badged her. “I’m to be informed the minute Reginald Mackie is medically cleared for transport.”
“Of course.”
“He’s requested a lawyer, and I’ll arrange one. No one but the lawyer, when appointed, medicals required for his care, and authorized police officials are to be given access to him.”
“Understood.”
“If anyone attempts to gain information about his status, you are to log the contact, and tell them nothing.”
“Lieutenant, it’s not my first roundup. I know the drill.”
“Good. Make sure everyone else does, too.”
Stepping away, she used her ’link to begin the process of granting Mackie his right to a court-appointed lawyer.
Roarke walked over, held out a tube of Pepsi. “The coffee here is marginally better than at Central, but it’s close.”
“Thanks. I need another couple minutes. I want to update the commander, Peabody, make sure Mira’s on tap, with all her hats, when I finally get Mackie into Interview tomorrow. And I want to talk to Nadine, have her blast the daughter’s picture on screen. Other media will follow that lead.”
“Take your time.”
It took another thirty, but when she felt she’d done all she could do, she two-pointed the empty tube into a recycler.
“He may delude himself that she’s off to Alaska, but she’s still here. Still in New York, and prepping for the next strike.”
“I agree with you, but there’s nothing you can do here and now. You need to go home, get some sleep.”
“Yeah, maybe.” She glanced back as Roarke steered her toward the elevator. “I hope he sleeps right and tight tonight, because it’s the last night he’ll spend outside of a goddamn cage.”
14
She fell asleep in the car, her PPC falling out of her limp hand onto her lap. Reaching over, Roarke slid it into her pocket, then lowered her seat back.
She worried him. No matter how completely he understood she did what she had to, pushed herself and others because she had no choice, she worried him.
He knew how thin her defenses were when she worked herself into exhaustion.
At least she’d get a few hours’ sleep in her own bed, he thought as he drove them through the gates. And he’d see she ate a decent breakfast in the morning.
He, too, did what he must, and the most important must for him was Eve.
He would have carried her in, and straight up to bed, but she stirred.
“I’m okay,” she mumbled as she pushed herself up to sitting. “I’ve got it.”
“Sleep,” he said as he slid an arm around her on the way to the door.
“Yeah, I’m mostly already there. I need to be up at six. No, five-thirty’s better. I want to clear some things, go into Central, and be ready when they transport Mackie.”
“Five-thirty it is then.”
“I can count on you for that.” She leaned her head toward his shoulder, realized she could have slept standing up. “Does it have to be oatmeal? You’re already thinking about what you’re going to feed me in the morning.”
“Pancakes.” Swamped in love, he brushed a kiss over her hair. “And bacon and berries.”
“And lots and lots of coffee.”
He ended up carrying her the rest of the way, pulling off her boots as she dragged off her coat. Together they got her undressed. She managed a “Thanks” as she burrowed under, and was dead asleep before he slipped in beside her, wrapped an arm around her.
And let himself join her.
—
Eve stood on the circle of white ice with its spreading pools of blood. The wind cut like razors. In the deep, dark night, the blood read black against the white, and the bodies it flowed from were a pale and sickly gray.
She faced the girl, the girl with smooth skin and black dreads and bold green eyes.
And what she felt in that moment, looking into those bold green eyes, was a kind of pity. One she had to shove away, even in dreams.
“I’m better than you,” Willow said with a glinting smile.
“At killing unarmed civilians? Sure, I’ll give you that.”
“Better than you all the way. I know what I am. I like what I am. And I’m the best at what I am. But you? You pretend to be what you’re not.”
“I’m a cop. I don’t have to pretend.”
“You’re a killer, same as me.”
“We’re not even close to the same.” Yet something shuddered through her at the words—Willow’s, her own. “You kill for sport, for jollies. You kill the defenseless and the innocent. Because you can—until I stop you.”
“It’s the kill that counts, and I already have more racked up than you. Reasons don’t matter.”
“Yeah, they do. Who’s running and hiding? Not me.”
“I’m right here.” As the wind whipped, Willow opened her arms. “And you hide every day, run and hide every day from who you are, deep down.”
In the dark night, the red light began to pulse, washing over the white ice. “You did that to your own father.”
Eve looked down at Richard Troy’s body, at the blood seeping from more than a dozen wounds.
“I did that, and I’d do it again.”
“Because you’re a killer.”
“Because he was a monster.”
“Who says you get to choose and I don’t? People hurt my father, now they’re dead.”
“Your father’s a selfish, twisted son of a bitch.”
Willow smiled again. “Yours, too, but my father loves me. He taught me, helped make me what I am. So did yours.”
“I made me what I am, despite him. How did she hurt your father?” Eve pointed at the dead girl in red.
“I didn’t like her. Show-off. The kind who thinks they’re better than me. Like you do. When I’m done, I’ll come back for you.”
“When I’m done, you little freak, you’ll live in a concrete cage. You and your old man.”
Willow threw back her head and laughed. “You’d kill me if you could, because that’s who you are. But you won’t find me. I listened to my father, bitch. I learned, I worked, and I’m not finished. Before I’m done, I’ll check off every name on my list, then I’ll kill everyone you care about. I’ll save you for last.”
Willow raised her assault rifle. Eve drew her weapon.
“And then,” Willow said.
They fired together.
Eve woke with a jolt, Roarke’s arms around her.
“Shh, baby, it’s all right. Just a dream.”
“She said we’re the same, but we’re not. We’re not the same.”
“All right now. You’re cold. Let me light the fire.”
But she wrapped around him. “We’re not the same. Sick bastard fathers don’t make us the same. But she won’t stop and neither will I. What does that mean?”
“It means she’s as sick as her father. It means you’ll do your job. You’ll do whatever you can to protect others, even while you stand for the dead, for those she’s killed. Not the same, darling Eve. Opposites.”
“We could have been the same. We could have.” She pressed her face into his shoulder, a shoulder that was always there when she needed it most. “How much is you?” She drew back, framed his face with her hands. Even in the dark she could see the w
ild, wonderful blue of his eyes. “I love you.”
“A ghrá.” He kissed her softly. “My only.”
“I love you,” she said again, pouring herself into the kiss. “You saved me.”
“Each other.” He laid her back, covered her with his body. “We saved each other.”
She needed him, the tangible act of loving. Mouth on mouth, hands on flesh, heart beating to heart.
Not the cold, the dark, not the ugly pulse of red light and blood black against white. But warmth and beauty and passion, and all the brilliance he’d brought to her life simply by loving her.
Whatever she’d been, whatever she’d become, she was more because he loved her.
So strong, he thought, and so vulnerable. The two aspects of her in constant conflict. But that pull and tug made her what she was. And what she was, here and now, was his. Only his.
So he soothed her with long, gentle strokes. And aroused her with depthless kisses. And took the gift of her for himself, saturated himself in the feel of those long limbs, those tough muscles under soft skin.
The pulse in her throat, in her wrists, the beat, beat, beat of her heart, all that life twined with his.
She needed this, just this, more than sleep, more than food, more even than breath at that moment. Needed his body joined with hers. A testament to what she was, what he was. What they were.
Away from death, away from brutality, away from the cold.
She opened for him, took him in, gave herself utterly to that joining. Rising and falling together, pleasure building on pleasure until nothing else existed.
And reaching, reaching for that moment, that exquisite moment when they emptied all they were into the other.
Filled with him, she wept.
“What’s this, what’s this?” Undone, he gathered her close again, tried to kiss away the tears.
“I don’t know.” Trembling, she held tight.
So he shifted, cradled her, rocked her, and still felt helpless.
“It’s stupid. Who am I crying for?”
“You’re worn out, that’s all. Just worn out, worn down.”
It was more, she knew it, but couldn’t pinpoint it. The tears, so hot, so strong, came from something, fell for something.