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He opened his mouth again, then whatever he read on Eve’s face had him nodding. “I have.”
“Any trauma? Bruises, bites, cuts?”
“No, none. Nor any sign of forced sexual activity.”
“Was she sodomized?”
“No.” He laid a hand, almost protectively over Moniqua’s. “What are we dealing with, Lieutenant?”
“Don Juan, with an attitude. Who’ll know he didn’t finish the job once this hits the media. I’m putting a guard on her, twenty-four–seven and I don’t want any visitors. None. No one gets into this room except authorized staff and cops.”
“Her family—”
“You clear them through me first. Me personally,” she added. “I need to know if and when there’s any change in her condition. I need to know the instant she wakes up. And I don’t need any bullshit about her not being able to answer questions. He meant her to die, and she didn’t. Two others have. He’s having too much fun to stop now.”
“You wanted to know her chances? Less than fifty percent.”
“Well, I’m betting on her.” Eve leaned over the bed, spoke quietly, spoke firmly. “Moniqua? You hear that? I’m betting on you. If you give up, he wins. So you’re not going to give up. Let’s kick this bastard in the balls.”
She stepped back, nodded at Michaels. “You contact me when she wakes up.”
Chapter 11
By the time she left Central it was nearly four A.M., and exhaustion was wrapped around her like a damp blanket that smothered the senses. Rather than trust her reflexes, she programmed for auto. And hoped the jokers down in Maintenance hadn’t played any pranks with the mechanism.
Still, she was too tired to care if she ended up in Hoboken. There were bound to be beds in Hoboken.
The recycle trucks were already out, limping along with their monotonous whoosh-bang-thump, and their teams moving like shadows to dump contents of sidewalk receptacles and bins and prepare the city for another day’s garbage.
A utility crew in their ghostly white reflector suits was tearing up a half block section along Tenth. The nasty, tooth-drilling buzz of their hydrojack competed with the headache spiking into her left temple.
A couple of the guys gave her the once-over from behind their safety goggles as she idled at the light. One smooth customer grabbed at his crotch, grinning with what she imagined passed for charm in his limited world while he jerked his hips.
The pantomime had several of his cronies laughing uproariously.
She knew she was past her personal threshold when she couldn’t drum up the irritation to step out of the car and bust their balls while she cited them for sexual harassment.
Instead, she let her head lay against the seat, closed her eyes as the sensors picked up the light change and the car cruised through.
Mentally, she took herself through Moniqua’s apartment again. Champagne this time. Eve had recognized the label as one of Roarke’s and knew the bubbly could go for upwards of a grand a bottle. A hell of an outlay, in her opinion, for some pop and fizz.
He’d taken glasses into the bedroom this time, but the rest of the setup was identical to the others.
Creatures of habit, she thought, drifting a little. Taking turns.
Keeping score? Most games were competitions, weren’t they? The goal hadn’t been reached with Moniqua. Would they try to finish it? Or just sit back and hope she did the job for them and coded out?
She shifted in the seat, seeking comfort.
Call Michaels in the morning, check status. Brief guards at change of shift. She’d put the dependable Trueheart on the first shift. He’d be solid. Process data on Allegany and J. Forrester. Follow through with Dr. Theodore McNamara. Nag Feeney re cutting through blocks on the account number Charles had provided. Continue to nag re data search on unit impounded from cyber-joint.
So far, she’d gotten nowhere on the roses. Take another push at the flowers.
Take dose of goddamn Awake, and swallow a stupid pain blocker before your head explodes.
She hated drugs. They made her feel stupid or weak or overcharged.
Drugs would be trickling into Moniqua’s system now. Sliding inside her, working to bolster her heart, clear brain channels, and God knew. If the tide turned the right way, she’d wake up. And remember.
