Betrayal in Death (In Death #12)(102)

"Dallas."

"Lieutenant, subject approaching target area, on foot. Heading south on Second Avenue, crossing on Twenty-fourth. Subject is alone, wearing a light brown overcoat, dark brown trousers."

"Positive ID?"

"That's affirmative. We have him in view, approaching Twenty-third. Should be in your target, thirty seconds."

"Stand by. Do not move in unless ordered. Peabody, McNab, you copy?"

"That's affirmative."

"All teams, keep communications open. Saddle up, Stowe," Eve said. "And let's take this bastard. I'm going out the back to circle, cut off his Second Avenue exit. Wait until he's in the shop. We'll back you up."

"I owe you." She kept an eye on the monitor, and a hand on the door.

Eve darted out the back, jogged around to the corner. She came up half a block from Yost, matched her pace to his brisk stroll.

When he reached for the shop door, she slid her hand inside her jacket.

And saw Jacoby race across the street, weapon drawn.

"FBI! Freeze!"

She didn't have time to swear. She kicked in, closed the distance, and was still three feet away when Yost whirled and met Jacoby head-on.

It was like watching a unibike plowed down by an airbus.

"Down! Police! Get down!" She mowed through pedestrians, her weapon snapping into her hand. She saw Jacoby hit the pavement, heard her communicator go wild.

With no chance for a clear shot, she ran in pursuit as Yost surged south, knocking bystanders aside, dodging his way into the street and into traffic.

"Hold fire! Hold fire!" One ill-aimed blast, and civilians would be hit.

For a big man, he moved fast, and he moved smooth. He swung west at the next corner, dragging a glide-cart over with brute strength. It tumbled into Eve's path, spilling its guts over street and sidewalk and causing its operator to shriek.

Rather than skirting it, she jumped on, took one running step over its side and, using it as a springboard, leaped.

The momentum bought her half the distance.

"Crossing to Third. Vehicular backup! Give me vehicular backup. I am in pursuit of suspect, and crossing Third at Twenty-second."

To free her hand, she jammed the communicator in her pocket, bore down, and made another leap.

She caught Yost mid-body. It was like hitting a slab of reinforced steel. She'd have sworn her bones rattled. But the tackle took him down to one knee. Before he could shove her aside and scramble up, she had her weapon pressed to the pulse in his throat.

Where it was lethal.

"Do you want to die?" she asked. "Want to die on the street like a sidewalk sleeper?"

Even as Yost raised his hands, she heard feet pounding behind her. McNab, sweat streaming down his face, chest heaving, moved into position, his weapon aimed at Yost's head.

"He's covered, Lieutenant."

"On your face, Sly. Spread them."

"There seems to be some mistake," Yost began. "My name is Giovanni -- "

"On the ground." She pushed up with her weapon. "Belly down, or my finger's going to slip."

He spread himself out on the sidewalk, arms twitching as she yanked them back to cuff his wrists.

It couldn't be, was all he could think. It couldn't end for him like this, facedown on the street like a common criminal. "I want an attorney."

"Yeah, I'm real worried about your rights and obligations right now." She dug in his pockets, came out with an empty pressure syringe. And a length of slim silver wire. "Well, well, look what I found."

"An attorney," he repeated in his high voice. "I insist on being treated with respect."

"Yeah?" She stood up, planted her boot on his thick neck. "You be sure to tell the guards and your fellow inmates at Penal Station Omega you insist on respect. They don't get a lot of laughs up there. Call for a cooler, McNab. I want this guy on ice."

"Yes, sir. Dallas? Your nose is bleeding."

"Bashed it into him with the tackle." She swiped at it with the back of her hand, looked down at the bright red in disgust. "Jacoby?"

"I don't know. I had to jump over him to pursue. I think Stowe stayed back with him."

"It's her collar, McNab."

"Aw, jeez, Dallas."

"That's how it is. You're out of shape, Detective. Start spending some time in the gym so you don't pant like a dog when you run a few blocks."

She nodded as black-and-whites screamed to the curb and members of the tactical team streamed down the sidewalk. "Here's your ride, Sly."

He looked up, saw her face, saw the faces of onlookers who tried to crowd in and stare. "I should have killed you first."

"Yeah, there's that hindsight thing. Hold this ass**le for Special Agent Karen Stowe. He's hers. I'm Mirandizing him on her behalf." She crouched down, waited until Yost looked into her eyes.

"Winifred Gates was a friend of Agent Stowe's. I'm doing this for her. You're under arrest for assault, battery, sexual assault, and the murder by contract of various individuals whose names will be listed at the time of your booking. And that's just in this state. I'm tossing in resisting arrest, assault on a federal officer, destruction of property, and fleeing the scene of a crime. Interpol and Global will be right behind me with their party favors. You have the right, you miserable son of a bitch, to remain silent."