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The next boom of thunder shook the floor under her feet as she rushed to 5-B.
Her weapon was in her hand, her blood cold, her head clear.
“I go in low,” she stated, rocking onto her toes as Roarke finessed the locks.
He worked fast, elegant fingers flying. She kept her eyes on them, focused, focused, and watched them lift clear.
“Go.”
She kicked it open, surged through, and had her weapon trained dead between Gerry’s startled eyes.
“Police. Drop it. Drop it now and step back, or I will shut your lights down permanently.”
“You don’t understand.” His voice remained reasonable as he clutched the long, thin knife. “I’m going to make him live forever.”
“Drop your weapon,” she repeated, and refused to let herself be distracted by the sight of Trueheart, shirt open, as he stood unconscious, at parade rest.
“But—”
“Screw this.” Baxter was already rushing across the room. To save them all the trouble, Eve lowered her weapon. And shot a stunning stream into Gerry, mid-body.
The knife hit the floor seconds before he did. The clever lights and shadows streamed over him on the white floor.
“Okay, kid, okay.” Baxter’s hands trembled visibly as he pressed his fingers to the pulse in Trueheart’s throat. “He’s breathing. We’re going to get you down from here.” His voice thickened as he fought with the wires. “I need some wire clippers. Goddamn it—”
“Here.” Roarke handed him a tool. “Let me help you.”
“Scene and suspect secure,” Eve announced into her communicator and set her boot on Gerry’s back in case he came out of it before she had him restrained. “Officer Trueheart appears to be unharmed. Where’s my medic?”
She turned, found the loft full of cops. She gave it a minute, catching her breath, letting the adrenaline rush dissipate. She understood their need, wanted to give them this moment.
But . . .
“Too many cops in here. This scene is now secure, Code Red is ended. I need this area cleared. Officers, I imagine there’s some crime somewhere in the city that needs dealing with. Good job,” she added. “Thank you.”
“Damn go
od job,” Feeney told her and laid a hand on her shoulder as they watched Roarke and Baxter lay Trueheart on the floor. “You okay, kid?”
“A little shaky in the knees now. That was awful damn close.”
“Close don’t mean shit.” He swiped at his forehead with his arm. “I’m getting too old to run up five flights of stairs. Want me to take this asshole in for you, book him?”
“Yeah. Appreciate it. I want first crack at him, though. So put him in one of the cages, and if he says anything about lawyers—”
“I’ve been having a little trouble with my ears. Gotta get them checked.” He grinned viciously, then crouched down and pulled out his restraints.
She walked over to kneel by the medic.
“Just buzz juice,” she was told. “Pulse is strong, bp’s low, but not dangerously. He’s going to need a lot of fluids, and he’ll have one bitch of a headache, but he’s young, strong, and fit.”
“He’s coming around.” Baxter pushed a hand through his still dripping hair. “Look at that. Hey, kid, come on back. Can’t have you lying down on the job, making me look bad.”
Trueheart’s lashes fluttered. His vision was blurry and his mind confused. “Sir.” He tried to swallow, coughed a little. “Lieutenant? Am I dead?”
“Not even close.” She couldn’t resist, and took his hand. Baxter already had his other one. “You did the job, Officer Trueheart. You did good. Suspect is in custody.”
“ ’Kay. Pretty tired now,” he said, then conked out again.
