The In Death Collection 06-10 (90 page)

“I can’t help you, Dallas.”

“What’d they use on you?”

“I’ve got a family.” He said it, low and fierce. “A wife, a five-year-old son, a
baby on the way. Nothing happens to them. Nothing. You get that?”

“Yeah.” She got something else, too. Fear that wasn’t for himself. Frustration at
being helpless against it. “Nobody knows I’m here, and nobody’s going to know. I’m on my own in
this, and I’m not letting go.”

He walked past her to the window, smoothed the pretty white curtains. “You got kids?”

“No.”

“My boy, he’s spending a couple of days with Karen’s mother. She’s due
any day. The kid’s amazing. Beautiful.” He turned, gestured with a jerk of his head to a framed holoprint on the end
table.

Obligingly, Eve moved over, lifted it, and studied the cheerfully grinning face. Big brown eyes, dusty blond
hair, and dimples. Kids mostly looked the same to her. Cute, innocent, and unfathomable. But she knew the response expected of her.
“He’s a beaut, all right.”

“They said they’d do him first.”

Eve’s fingers tightened on the frame before she set it carefully down again. “They contacted
you?”

“Set a fucking droid on me. Caught me by surprise, knocked me around some. I don’t give
a shit about that.” He whirled back. “Told him to tell his keeper to go to hell. I did the job, Dallas. Then the droid
explains just what’ll happen to my family, my little boy, my wife, the baby she’s carrying. Scared me bloodless. So I
figure I’ll send them away, do the job, get these bastards. Then I get pictures in the mail, pictures of Karen and Will, coming
out of a toy store, the market, playing in the yard at my mother’s, where I sent them. And one of that fucking droid holding
Will. Holding him,” he said in a voice pitched low but vibrating with vicious fury. “He had his hands on my son.
Message that came with it said the next time they’d cut out his heart. He’s five years old.”

He sat, buried his head in his hands. “Sometimes the badge can’t come first.”

She understood love now, and the terror it could bring to you. “Did you tell your
boss?”

“I didn’t tell anybody. It’s been eating at me for months.” He sat, continued
to lean over, while his fingers kept raking through his close-cropped hair. “I’m working private security at night,
playing down in that idiot workshop half the day making birdhouses. I’m going crazy here.”

Eve sat beside him, leaned in. “Help me get them. Help me put them away where they can’t
touch your family.”

“I can’t ever go back to the job.” He lowered his hands. “I can’t ever
pick up a badge again. And I can’t be sure just how far they can reach out.”

“Nothing you tell me goes in a report, official or otherwise. Tell me about the droid; give me a line
here.”

“Hell.” He rubbed his eyes. For weeks he’d lived with doing nothing, with backing
down, with the fear. “Six two, two ten. Caucasian, brown and brown. Sharp features. Top-line model. Combat
trained.”

“I met his brother,” she said with a thin smile. “What buttons were you pushing when
the threats started?”

“I’d shaken out some slime from the black market, but it wasn’t going anywhere.
Nothing I’d run on the victim turned up anything that made it look like a personal hit. I went in circles awhile, but I kept
coming back to how it was done. So goddamn neat, right?”

“Yeah, very neat and tidy.”

“There’s a free clinic a few blocks from the crime scene. The victim had been in there a few
times. I interviewed the rotation doctors, ran them. It looked like a dead end, too. But it didn’t feel like one,” he added,
relaxing a little when Eve nodded.

“I started circling out, hitting other med centers, cross-checking surgeons. I started scratching at the
Nordic Clinic, and the next thing I know, the boss calls me in and says that fathead Waylan’s making noises about harassment,
entrapment, Christ knows what, and demanding
that we show some respect for the medical community.
Shit.”

“Waylan. He cropped up on my watch, too.”

“Damn embarrassment to the state,” Will began. “Karen’s the one who gets
into politics. Don’t get her started on Waylan.” For the first time, he grinned, and his face looked abruptly younger.
“In this house, we hate him. Anyhow, I figured there was something there, too. What the hell does he care—except
he’s got relatives in the AMA. I’m starting to check it out, then I’m blind-sided, flat on my back, and the
goddamn droid’s got a laser at my throat.”

He sighed, rose to pace. “I was going to tell my boss, put it in the report, but on my next shift, I get
called upstairs. Commander tells me that there’s more complaints about the tone of my investigation. I’m not getting
support from the brass; instead, they’re warning me to watch my step, don’t step on the wrong toes. Ease back, it was
only scum that got taken out, anyway. Don’t hassle nice people. Rich, powerful people,” McRae said, turning back.
“Pissed me off. That’s when I decided to send my family away and dig in deeper. Until I got the pictures, then I
folded. Faced with the same choice, I’d do the same thing again.”

“I’m not going to beat you up over it, Will. I don’t have what you have to risk. The
way I look at it, you took it as far as you could, for as long as you could.”

“I gave up my badge.” His voice cracked, and she watched him suck it in. “They
took yours.”

He needed something, she thought, and worked up a smile for him. “We got fucked either way,
didn’t we.”

“Yeah. We got fucked royal, Dallas.”

“I’m going to ask you to give me anything you can, and maybe we can return the favor. Did
you copy any of your files?”

“No. But I remember a lot of it. I’ve been going over the details in my head for months.
I’ve written some of it down for myself.” He glanced over his shoulder as he
heard his
wife’s voice. “Karen doesn’t know anything about this. I don’t want her upset.”

“Give me the name of somebody you put away who’s been sprung.”

“Drury. Simon Drury.”

“I’m here about Drury.” She glanced over, lifted a brow as Roarke strolled in
carrying a tray loaded with cups, plates. Coffee and cookies, she mused, then struggled with a scowl as she noted the cream pitcher in
the shape of a cheerful white kitten.

The man never lost a damn bet.

“Looks great.” She helped herself to a cookie, mildly fascinated by the way Karen had to
maneuver her body, shift her spectacular belly in order to sit down. How, Eve wondered, did a woman function on any level hauling all
that bulk around?

Noting where Eve’s gaze had focused, Karen smiled and stroked a hand over the mound.
“I’m due today.”

Eve choked on the cookie. If Karen had whipped out a laser on full and blasted it in her direction,
she’d have felt less panic. “Today? Like now?”

“Well, not this minute, apparently.” Laughing, Karen sent Roarke an adoring look as he
served her tea. Quite obviously, they’d bonded between cookies and kittens. “But I don’t think she’s
going to wait much longer.”

“I guess you’ll be glad to—you know—get it out of there.”

“I can’t wait to meet her—hold her. But I love being pregnant.”

“Why?”

She laughed again at Eve’s obvious puzzlement, then shared a tender look with her husband.
“Making a miracle.”

“Well.” Since that dried up her pregnancy conversation, Eve turned back to Will.
“We don’t want to take up any more of your time. I appreciate the help. If you could get me any of your old notes on
Drury, I’d be grateful.”

“I can dig them out.” He rose, paused by his wife to lay a hand over hers, linking them over
their child.

• • •

At Eve’s request, Roarke drove aimlessly while she filled him in on her conversation with Wilson
McRae.

“Do you blame him?”

She shook her head. “Everyone has their own, what do you call it, Achilles’ heel. They
found his and put the pressure on. Guy’s got a kid, another on the way, a pretty little wife in a pretty little house. They knew
just where to jam him.”

“She’s a teacher.” Roarke cruised the freeway under the flood of safety lights and
kept the speed steady. “She’s been working on-screen for the last six months and plans to continue that way for at
least another year or two. But she misses the personal contact with her students. She’s a very sweet woman who’s
worried about her husband.”

“How much does she know?”

“Not all, but more, I believe, than he thinks. Will he go back when you close the case?”

Not
if,
she noted, but
when.
It bolstered the heart to have someone with so much faith in her.
More faith, she realized, than she had in herself just now. “No. He’ll never get past giving it up. They stole that from
him. And sometimes you never get back everything.”

She closed her eyes a moment. “Will you drive downtown? I need to look. I need to see if I
remember.”

“There’s no need to take on more now, Eve.”

“Sometimes you never get rid of everything, either. I need to look.”

Another city, she thought, with some of its old stone and brick desperately preserved, and so much of it
crumbled to dust to make room for sleek steel and quick prefab.

There would be snazzy restaurants and clubs, slick hotels and glittering shops in the areas where the power
board wanted the tourists, and their I’m-on-vacation money, to congregate. And there would be sex joints, dives, scarred
units, and alley filth in others where only the doomed and the foolish gathered.

It was there Roarke drove the gleaming silver car
through the narrow streets, where
the lights pumped in hard colors and promised all the darker delights. Street LCs shivered on corners and hoped for a trick to take
them out of the wind. Dealers prowled, angling for a mark, ready to do business at discounted rates because the cold kept all but the
desperately addicted inside.

Sidewalk sleepers huddled inside their cribs, drank their brew, and waited for morning.

“Stop here,” she murmured it, squinting at a corner building with bricks pitted and laced with
graffiti. The lower windows were barred and blocked with wood. It called itself Hotel South Side in a sign that blinked jerkily in watery
blue.

She got out, staring up at the windows. Some were cracked, all were blackened with cheap privacy screens.
“Too much the same,” she said quietly. “All these places are too much the same. I don’t
know.”

“Do you want to go in?”

“I don’t know.” As she dragged a hand over her face, through her hair, a lanky man
with icy eyes moved out of the shadows.

“Looking for action? Need a boost? You got some jingles, I got what you need. Prime Zeus,
Ecstasy, Zoner. Mix or match.”

Eve flicked him a glance. “Back off, creep, or I’ll pop your eyes out of your head and make
you eat them.”

“Hey, bitch, you’re on my turf, you get some manners.” He’d already tagged
the car, and figured his marks as stupid, rich tourists. He flipped out his pocket blade, grinning as he tipped the killing point.
“Let’s have the wallets and jewelry and all that good shit. We’ll call it even.”

She took a second to debate whether to kick his teeth in or restrain him for the beat cop. A second was all
Roarke needed. With her mouth pursed, Eve watched his fist flash out, a fast flurry of movement that had the knife skittering down the
sidewalk. She didn’t have time to blink before he had the dealer by the throat two inches off the ground.

“I believe you called my wife a bitch.”

The only response was a wheezing gag as the man struggled like a landed trout. Merely shaking her head,
Eve strolled over, scooped up the knife, folded the blade back in place.

“Now,” Roarke continued in a mild, amazingly pleasant voice, “if
I
pop your
eyes out, I get to eat them. If I still see you, say, five seconds after I toss your pitiful ass aside, I’m going to have a hell of an
appetite.”

He bared his teeth in a grin, heaved. The dealer hit the sidewalk with a rattle of bones, scrambled up, and
took off in a limping sprint.

“Now.” Fastidiously, Roarke dusted off his hands. “Where were we?”

“I liked the part about you eating his eyes. I’ll have to use that one.” She slipped the
knife into her pocket, kept her hand over it. “Let’s go in.”

There was a single yellow light in the lobby, and a single burly droid behind the smeared security glass. He
eyed them balefully, jerked a thumb at the rate sign.

For a dollar a minute, you got a room with a bed. For two, you got the additional amenity of a toilet.

“Third floor,” Eve said briefly. “East corner.”

“You get the room I give you.”

“Third floor,” she said again. “East corner.”

His gaze lowered to the hundred dollar credit Roarke flipped into the tray. “Don’t mean a
shit to me.” He reached behind, took a key code from a rack. His fingers snagged the credit, then tossed down the key.
“Fifty minutes. You go over, you pay double.”

Eve took the key for 3C, relieved to see her hand was still steady. They took the stairs.

It wasn’t familiar, yet it was painfully familiar. Narrow steps, dirty walls, thin sounds of sex and
misery seeping through them. Cold, from the wind battering the brick and glass, reached down and froze the bones.

She said nothing as she slipped the key into the slot, pushed the door open.

The air was bitter and stale, with echoes of sweat and
sex. The sheets on the bed
shoved into the corner were stained with both and the rusty shadows of old blood.

With the breath strangling in her throat, she stepped inside. Roarke closed the door behind them,
waited.

A single window, cracked. But so many were. The old floor, slanted and scarred. But she’d seen
hundreds like it. Her legs trembled as she made herself walk across it, stand at that window and stare out.

How many times, she wondered, had she stood at windows in filthy little rooms and imagined herself leaping
out, letting her body fall, feeling it smash and break on the street below? What had held her back, time after time, made her face the
next day and the next?