Faithless in Death (In Death, #52)(79)

“You’ll be up before dawn anyway.” Another ah as she curled into him. “Organizing world domination and cop consultant duties. Wake me up.”

“All right. Sleep now.”

And she did, curled between him and the cat at the small of her back, until her communicator signaled. Blown fully awake, she snatched it from the bedside table.

“Block video. Dallas.”

Rather than the flat-voiced Dispatch she’d expected, the voice was hesitant.

“Lieutenant Dallas, this is nine-one-one operator Harris. I realize this is irregular, but there’s a woman on the line who insists on speaking only to you.”

“Who is it?”

“She won’t give her name, sir, and her number’s blocked. She sounds desperate. I can attempt to trace her location if you can keep her on the line.”

“Put her on.”

Roarke called for lights at ten percent before he got out of bed.

“Ma’am, I have Lieutenant Dallas for you. Lieutenant?”

“This is Dallas. Who’s this?”

“Oh God, thank God.” This voice wasn’t hesitant. Desperate, yes, but Eve recognized terror with it. “Will you help me? Something terrible’s happened. I know something terrible happened.”

“What happened?”

“I need to get away. I have a little boy, and I need to get him away. I’m pregnant, I need to get us somewhere safe. Please help me.”

“I will help you.” She took the coffee Roarke offered. “But I need to know where you are, what happened. What’s your name?”

“You can’t come here. They watch, I know they do—and I know how that sounds. I’m going to get my little boy and what I can carry and leave, but I don’t have anywhere to go. I waited until all the lights were off, but I’m afraid someone will see us when I leave. I saw you today. I saw you and I recognized you, and … It was like a sign. I need your help.”

“I’m going to help you. Are you in immediate danger?”

“No. My husband’s not here. He’s at the retreat. But Marcia, next door—they took her away. Do you have somewhere safe I can take my son?”

“Yes. Tell me where you are. I’ll take you both somewhere safe.”

After a quick sob of relief, the voice rushed on. “Please don’t come here. They’ll know if you do, and I’m afraid they’ll find me. I’m going to walk out with Gabriel, he’s only ten months old. I already packed some things, and I waited, and I’m going to carry him and get out. It’s the only way, believe me.”

“Okay. Walk two blocks west.” Shutting her eyes, Eve brought the Tribeca neighborhood back in her head. “Then walk a block north. It’s going to take me about twenty minutes to get to you, but I’ll meet you and I’ll take you to a safe place.”

“Thank you. Thank God.”

“Keep your ’link open. Operator Harris?”

“Lieutenant.”

“Stay on with the caller. Ma’am, what’s your name?”

“I’m Zoe.”

“Zoe, Operator Harris will stay on.”

Roarke, already dressed in jeans, a thin gray sweater, brought clothes out of Eve’s closet.

As she spoke, Eve wiggled into underwear, soot-gray trousers. “Stay calm. Take only what you absolutely need. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Please hurry. I’m so scared.”

“Talk to Operator Harris. You’re not alone.”

“I’m right here, Zoe,” Eve heard Harris say as she shrugged into the shirt Roarke handed her.

She muted the comm. “Tribeca,” she told him.

“The car’s already around front. I contacted Dochas while you spoke with her. They’ll be ready.”

“Great.” She hooked on her weapon harness, grabbed her badge, her ’link, the rest of her belt and pocket debris.

He’d ordered a black, four-door sedan. However sedate it looked, Eve knew he could make it move.

“Something happened to Marcia Piper. I need to get this woman and kid to safety, to Dochas before we check on that. She’s probably right about people watching. That block had that kind of feel.”

He made the sedan move.

“It’s near to four in the morning,” Roarke commented as he punched speed out of the sedan. “It seems her best chance to leave unnoticed. Christ Jesus, she sounded terrified.”

“Harris will keep her steady. She’s trained for it. If Zoe follows through, she should be on the corner of Moore and Greenwich. But at the rate we’re going, we may beat her there.”

New York hit its quiet pocket. Some cars zipped now and then. A block-long white limo streamed by with a couple of women standing, arms outstretched, in the sunroof.

Eve heard their “Wooooo-hoooo!” carry boozily on the night air.

As Roarke barreled south, she saw a man in sweatpants walking a dog about the size of a large rat. The man had a poop-scoop sticking out of his pocket and shuffled behind the dog like a sleepwalker.

Roarke avoided the endless party at Times Square and kept to the quiet, nearly empty streets where he could let the car fly.

When he circled to the corner, no one waited.

“Stay in the car,” Eve told him. “I’m going to walk in her direction.”