so the score stays tied. Your trigger, my blade. Let’s say on three.”
Moriarity leaned in, let his lips caress her ear. “Who’s the asshole now?” he said to Eve.
“That would be you.”
She knocked Moriarity’s weapon hand with an elbow strike, slammed the sharp point of her left shoe into his instep. As she pivoted, Dudley charged. The blade skipped lightly over her biceps, jerked as she finished the turn. And ran Moriarity through.
Eyes wide, Moriarity looked down at the blood seeping through the snow white of his shirt. “Winnie, you killed me.”
As he fell, Dudley let out a howl, a wild combination of grief and rage. While cops flooded the room, weapons drawn, she indulged herself with one short-armed, vicious punch to his face.
Roarke barely glanced at Dudley as he stepped over the man. “That’s two jackets ruined this week.”
“It’s not my fault.”
“Whose then, I’d like to know? And look here, you’ve bruised your knuckles.”
“Don’t—” She hissed it when he lifted her hand, and winced when he kissed her knuckles.
“You deserved that,” he said, “for knocking him out when you knew I wanted to.”
“Bus and wagon on the way.” Peabody glanced back at Moriarity. “That was a nice move. It’s too bad about the jacket.”
Eve pressed a hand to the tear, in the cloth and her arm. “It was worth it. All right, people, let’s finish this up. Peabody, book an interview room. Oh, and tell the MTs to try to keep that one breathing. It may be poetic if it turns out his pal killed him, but I’m not looking for poetry. I’m going back to Central to change, and update the commander.”
“Not until the MTs have tended that wound,” Roarke corrected.
“He barely nicked me—and he wouldn’t have done that if I hadn’t had to deal with these idiot shoes.”
“Two choices. Sit and wait for a medic, or I’ll embarrass you in front of your men and kiss you.”
She sat.
Since Dudley demanded a lawyer with his first conscious breath, Eve had time to shower and change, update Whitney, debrief, and dismiss her team.
She stood in the conference room, alone, in front of the board, in front of the faces of the dead. She thought of Jamal Houston’s wife, of his partner and friend, of Adrianne Jonas’s weeping parents, the trembling control of her assistant, and of all the others she’d had to crush with news of death.
She would speak to them, all of them again, tell them the men who’d taken those lives, shattered those worlds had been stopped. Would, she was determined, pay for their actions.
She had to hope it would help the living, and continued to believe, for reasons she didn’t fully understand, it gave solace to the dead.
“Eve.”
“Doctor Mira.” Eve turned from the board. “What are you still doing here?”
“I wanted to see this through.” She stepped beside Eve, and studied those faces in turn. “So many. Such utter selfishness.”
“There would be more. We stopped them tonight and we’re sealing that cage door. A lot of that’s because of you. If I’d clicked to them targeting me earlier, there might not be so many faces on this board.”
“You know that’s wrong, both in reality and in thinking. It could just as easily be said there would be more if you hadn’t intuited the pattern so quickly. You worked the case, and tonight you’ll close it. I’d like to observe your interview with Dudley.”
“It may be a while yet. He’s conferring with his bevy of lawyers.”
“I can wait. I’m told you were hurt.”
“Just a scratch, seriously. It was the shoes. They screwed up my balance. Still.” She tapped her arm. “It was an antique Italian fencing foil. That’s pretty frosty.”
Peabody stepped in. “Hey, Doctor Mira. Dallas, Dudley’s head lawyer’s asking to talk to you.”
“This ought to be good. I’ll meet him outside the interview room.”
An imposing man with white wings flowing back from his mane of black hair, Bentley Sorenson nodded curtly to Eve.
“Lieutenant, I’m informing you that I intend to file formal complaints over your treatment of my client, and your use of excessive force, entrapment, and harassment. Additionally, I’ve already contacted the governor, who will be speaking with the prosecuting attorney about falsifying information for an improper search of my client’s residence, business, and vehicles. I want my client released until these matters can be fully resolved.”
“You can file all the papers you want. You can call the governor, your congressman, or the freaking president, but your client’s not walking out of here. You can