Connections in Death (In Death, #48)- J. D. Robb Page 0,91
we’re amplifying. You might hear something useful.”
“Zone in on where we talked to Jones.”
“Just ahead of you.” He tapped his headphones. “Basketball game on-screen, from the sound of it. Background noises.” Tilting his head, he made some adjustments on his controls, closed his eyes. “Voices, a number of them. Some music, either at a lower volume or farther away.”
“Got visual. One behind the door, sitting down. Moving on up,” Marley continued. “Looks like a party. Got multiples.”
“That’s Jones’s space.” Eve edged closer, tracked the heat-generated images herself. “We’ve got a dozen in there.”
“Got a couple over—Oooh, getting it going. Got sex, two on it. Got empty, empty, empty, got a sleeper.”
She covered the floor, giving Eve a count of fifteen. Then moved up.
“Six. Two horizontal—sleeping likely. Four working, maybe eating. Sitting, but hands moving. Up one more. Nobody home. Uh-uh-uh.” Lifting a hand, she wagged a finger back and forth. “Sneaky. Filtering there. Hold. You can’t hide from the Marlimator. Cha-cha, gotcha. Three, standing, moving. And that’s the wrap. Twenty-five human types from the door to the top.”
“Can you get me ears in that top room?” Eve asked Roarke.
“Working on it,” Roarke mumbled. “Filter—and some soundproofing’s my guess. Reinforced doors and walls, I’d wager. Bits coming through. Give us a boost here, Ian.”
“I’m giving her all she’s got, Cap’n!” McNab said in a thick burr and made Roarke laugh.
“Star Trek,” Peabody murmured. “McNab’s total on it.”
“‘Take him the fuck out. Fuck him up . . .’ Response unclear. ‘Ain’t no leader. Time for Bangers to bang.’ More indistinct. ‘Fuck that shit, Bolt.’”
“That’s it. Keep on it.” Eve stepped back, contacted the team leaders. “We’ve got twenty-five inside this location. One at the door, fifteen on the next floor, six above, and three over that. Strong?”
“In position. Eighteen inside. Four just walked out.”
“Go when you’re ready. Helmet, Peabody.”
“Here’s yours.”
“Helmets e-geeks,” Eve ordered as she strapped on hers. “And stay alert. If any get through us, they could spot the van, try for it.”
Marley flipped one strap of the bib, patted her weapon. “We’re good here.”
Eve gave her a nod, looked at Roarke. “We’re go. Move, move!”
Take care of my cop, Roarke thought as she pushed out the cargo doors.
She ran hard, weapon in hand. Signaled to the takedown team to hit the door with the battering ram.
The guard inside—the one from the first night, who now sported a black eye and swollen lip—jumped to his feet. His PPC hit the floor as he reached behind his back.
“Pull it, you go down. Hands up!” Eve ordered. “Now! Take him,” she snapped, and charged up the stairs. “Take the sex room,” she told Peabody. Baxter, Trueheart, this floor. Next team up, up.”
Someone fired a stream, then another out of Jones’s flop. Eve returned fire to cover her men as they raced by.
“Marcus Jones, this is the police. You and your people are surrounded. Put down your weapons, and come out with your hands up.”
The answer came in a shouted “Fuck you!” and more streams. Some idiot ran out with a knife and a war cry. Jenkinson dropped him with a mid-body stun.
“Dumb-ass,” was Jenkinson’s opinion.
Eve saw the homemade boomer fly out. She dived for it, then heaved it back.
On the explosion, the clouds of smoke, the ensuing screams, she and her team charged the room. In the chaos, she stunned two, shoved aside a shrieking, half-naked woman, dodged a knife swipe.
Some wild-eyed woman with biceps like soccer balls rushed her with a bat as the knifer tried again.
Tank, Eve thought. In the really big flesh.
Eve stunned her, which barely slowed her down, then slammed her boot into the kneecap of the knife-wielder behind her, which took him down.
A bat glanced off of Eve’s helmet—and boy, did that make the ears ring. The fist Eve slammed in Tank’s face had blood spurting, but the woman only grinned around it, swung again.
Tank—and she damn well fit the bill. Serious muscle, Eve thought as she ducked. Serious muscle on Zeus. She slammed her free hand to the floor, braced, and kicked up and back. The blow knocked her opponent back enough for her to spring up, fire another stream. Then wail in.
She took a few. More than a few, but the blows and the stuns took some of the juice out of those biceps. Leading with her helmet, she rammed her head into Tank’s midsection, slammed down with the heel of her boot on the woman’s instep.
The bat slapped Eve’s shoulder, and though the force behind