Desperation in Death (In Death #55)(103)

“Good. Who punched you in the eye?”

“Elbow jab. Jenkinson took a double stream to the chest. Even with the vest, it knocked him on his ass. He is pissed. But we kicked their ass a lot harder.”

“We kicked their ass. Start processing those kicked asses, and get some muscular uniforms up here to haul her out. She’s no lightweight.”

“You’re going? You sure you don’t want me to go with?”

“Need you at Central. Long Island team,” she said into her comm. “We’re a go in … five,” she said when Roarke held up five fingers. Then she pointed at the stunner on the floor. “Make sure that gets bagged and taken in, Peabody. Good work, and put an ice pack on the eye.”

“You’ve got a bruise on your jaw.”

“Shit.” She rubbed at it. “Well, all in a day’s.”



* * *



She hated this part, but knew the timing mattered too much to indulge herself. When she reached the roof, she took one look at the waiting jet-copter and sucked it up.

She got in, strapped in as the others—Feeney, McNab, Lowenbaum, and two of his men along with two uniforms—did the same.

Roarke took the pilot’s chair while she took out her ’link and notified the Long Island PSD currently watching the estate that they were on their way.

A lot of manpower, she thought—because she wanted to think of anything but the sound of the damn flying machine roaring to life—for one rich, middle-aged pervert, but they didn’t know how many they’d come up against.

The copter lifted off the roof, then shot like a bullet from a gun over the city. She sucked it up harder and turned to Feeney.

“You’re sure you can do this from the air?”

“Got a few extra toys.” He flicked a glance at Roarke but didn’t elaborate on those specifics. “We get close enough, we’ll jam up their alarms, their cams, their comms.”

“Somebody’s going to notice that.”

“Yeah, they are, so you’re going to have to move fast.”

“We can and will neutralize any targets outside,” Lowenbaum said when she shifted to him. “It’s what we do, Dallas.”

In theory, she thought, all she, the uniforms, McNab—if Feeney didn’t need him—had to do was get inside, take down any guards posted in the house, get to Devereaux, and arrest his ass.

It remained a possibility, one she considered a likelihood, he had innocent civilians inside.

Maybe it was just a business to him, but wouldn’t he want some of the fringe benefits?

“On approach, Feeney.”

“We’re ready.”

Eve sucked up more and looked. She saw the estate—the high white walls framing it, the green lawns, the gardens where everything lined up like soldiers, the sparkling blue waters of a swimming pool, and the glass-walled house beside it.

She saw the greener-than-green nine-hole golf course, a small orchard, a gatehouse, another two outbuildings, the frigging jet-copter pad.

And the main house, as white as the walls that separated it from the world. Some stone terraces spread on the top three levels with wide stone steps leading up or down, all graced by lavish urns of flowers or dwarf trees.

Tall windows shined like diamonds.

“Going silent,” Roarke said, and Eve resisted the desperate need to close her eyes.

The roar snapped off—how could she know how much she’d miss it?—and though she braced for the crash, the copter glided, as Roarke had assured it could and would, over the sparkling blue water, the greener than green.

“You’ve got your window, Feeney.”

“And we’re going through it. Jamming now. Alarms down.”

“Touchdown in ten.”

“Cams down.”

“In five.”

“Comms down. This baby is sweet!”

They didn’t land on the pad like a feather, but neither did they experience the bone-jolting shock she’d expected.

Rather than bless her luck, she shoved out. “Get the gates open for backup from the locals.”

“Smooth ride,” Lowenbaum said as he jumped out after. Then he was all business as he and his men fanned out.

Like the bone-jolt, she’d expected a flood of quick-responding opposition, but she covered the ground nearly halfway to target before she saw a single male step from an outbuilding.

He looked annoyed, then spotted her. Even as he drew his weapon, the stun struck, took him down.

“McNab, heat sources interior, how many and where?”

“Two in the kitchen area, two in the smaller dining room—one sitting—one in the entrance hall, all main level. Two on the second floor, none on the third. Cap’s taking it from here, I’m moving out.”

She paused, backtracked, and with the floorplan in her head, angled toward what had to be the window of the smaller of two dining rooms.

“Son of a bitch is having breakfast. A woman with him, standing. She’s wearing a collar, and not much else.

“McNab, use the outside steps, take the second floor with the officers, secure it.” She glanced over as Roarke stepped up beside her. “We’ve got the entrance and dining. Lowenbaum?”

“Only two, both in the gatehouse. Secured.”