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As she jogged down the stairs, pulled her jacket on, Nixie came out into the foyer. “You’re supposed to come to dinner now.”
“We have to go out.” There was a firestorm raging in Eve’s head she’d yet to be able to shut down to cold.
“Out to dinner?”
“No.” Roarke stepped to Nixie, brushed a hand lightly over her hair. “The lieutenant has work. I’m going to help, but we’ll be back as soon as we can.”
She looked at him, then focused on Eve. “Is somebody else dead?”
She started to fob it off, even to lie, but decided on truth. “Yes.”
“What if they come while you’re gone? What if the bad guys come when you’re not here? What—”
“They can’t get in.” Roarke said it so simply it could be taken as nothing less than fact. “And look here.” He took a small ’link out of his pocket as he crouched down to her level. “You keep
this. If you’re afraid, you should tell Summerset or one of the police we have in the house. But if you can’t tell them, you push this. Do you see?”
She moved closer, her blonde hair brushing his black. “What does it do?”
“It will signal me. You can push this, and my ’link will beep twice, and I’ll know it’s you, and you’re afraid. But don’t use it unless you really have to. All right?”
“Can I push it now, to see if it works?”
He turned his head to smile at her. “A very good idea. Go ahead.”
She pressed her finger on the button he’d shown her, and the ’link still in his pocket beeped twice. “It works.”
“It does, yes. It’ll fit right in your pocket. There.” He slipped it in for her, then straightened. “We’ll be back as soon as we can.”
Summerset was there, of course, hovering a few feet back in the hall. Roarke sent him their own signal as he put on his coat. “Lieutenant,” he said, turning. “I’m with you.”
When Summerset stepped forward to take Nixie’s hand, she waited until the door shut. “Why does he call her ‘Lieutenant’? Why doesn’t he call her ‘Dallas’ like most everybody else?”
“It’s a kind of endearment between them.” He gave Nixie’s hand a little squeeze. “Why don’t we eat in the kitchen tonight?”
It wasn’t rage. Eve wasn’t sure there was a word for what gripped the throat, the belly, the head, the bowels when you looked down at the slaughter of men you’d sent into battle. Men you’d sent to their death.
Going down in the line was a risk they all took. But knowing that didn’t loosen the grip, not when she’d been the one to give them their last orders.
The other cops were quiet, a silent wall. The scene had been secured. Now it was up to her.
The safe house was a post–Urban Wars construction. Cheap, never meant to last. But it had stood, a narrow box of two stories, bumped up against a few more narrow boxes that were all dwarfed and outclassed by the sturdiness of the buildings that had survived the wars, and the sleekness of those built since the hurried, harried aftermath.
She knew the city had bought this, and others, on the cheap. Maintained them on a shoestring. But the security was better than decent, with full-panning cams, alarms backed up by alarms.
Still, they’d gotten in. Not only gotten in, but had taken out two seasoned cops.
Knight’s weapon was still holstered, but Preston’s was drawn, lying useless at the base of the stairs while he was sprawled and bloody on them.
Knight’s body was facedown, a full stride out of the kitchen. A broken plate, spilled coffee, a veggie ham on rye were scattered in front of him.
The miserly entertainment screen was showing an Arena Ball game. The security screen was black as death.
“Took Knight first.” Her voice was slightly hoarse, but she continued to record the scene and her impressions. “Took him coming out of the kitchen. Surprised him. If they’d taken Preston, Knight would’ve come out with his weapon drawn. Preston heads down, ready, but they take him.”
She crouched, picked up the weapon. “Got a blast off, at least one, before he went down. Officer, start a canvass. I want to know if anyone heard weapons’ fire. If they heard shouts. If they saw a fucking cockroach pass this way.”
“Lieutenant—”
