Betrayal in Death (In Death #12)(108)

He went through the doors first, heading for the target at a jog.

"Move out," Eve ordered. "Feeney, prepare to jam on my signal."

"Copy that." His voice spoke in her ear. "They're at the doors, working on outer security. Second from the rear's antsy. He's sweating. Hey, Dallas, I got an ID on him. Looks like Gerade wanted to be in on the kill."

"Beautiful."

"And they're through. E-guy's adjusting his jammer. It's flipping through levels, backtracking. He's keying in another code manually. Must've gotten it from one of the inside men. He's got a thirty-percent clearance."

Eve stepped onto ballroom level, held up her hand. From the other direction, her secondary team leader mirrored her move. At her nod, they moved forward. Fast.

"Jam it!" she ordered and swung through the door. "Police! Hands in the air. Up!" she shouted, then sent out a warning blast that nipped the toes of the woman's boots as she reached down.

Return fire whizzed past her ear. Even as she pivoted, she saw one of the figures in black jerk back from the stun shot out by one of her team.

Someone shoved over a huge glass display. It boomed and shattered like cannon fire. Through the shouts and scrambles for cover or escape, she saw Mick send Roarke a sunny grin.

Then she was too busy to be amused or baffled as the woman in black hurled a two-foot vase at her head, and followed the toss with a screaming leap.

Eve had a half-second to decide. The undoubted satisfaction of a good, bloody hand-to-hand, or... With some regret she fired her weapon and dropped her opponent into an unconscious heap.

"Too bad," Roarke commented. "I would have enjoyed watching that."

He turned toward Mick and, since there was little left to do, slipped the weapon he wasn't supposed to have back into his pocket. "I'd like a look at that jammer of yours."

"Well now, I have a feeling it'll be going into police custody. A terrible waste." Mick glanced about as his former associates were rounded up. In a slick move, he palmed the jammer to Roarke, then stepped away, raising his hands cooperatively in the air.

There would be times, countless times later, when Roarke would look back and remember that moment. How he'd stood there, amused, exhilarated. And unguarded.

He'd remember the laughter in Mick's eyes, and how it had switched over, in a flash, to alarm.

He'd turned, rounded on the balls of his feet, one hand digging out the weapon. Fast. Christ, he'd always been fast.

But this time, this one time, not fast enough.

Gerade had the knife at waist level, the blade a hard glint in the brilliant lights. His eyes were wild, mad, terrified. Roarke heard Eve shout, saw the stream from her weapon hit. Even that, too late.

At the same instant Mick leaped in front of him, and took the knife in the belly.

"Well, hell." Mick sent Roarke a bemused look as he went down.

"Ah, no." Roarke was on his knees, pressing a hand to the wound. Kill blood, deep and dark, gushed through his fingers.

"Little f**ker," Mick managed through hideous waves of pain. "I never gave him the guts for it. Never knew he was carrying. How bad he get me?"

"Not so bad."

"Damn, you used to be handier with a lie."

"I need an ambulance, surgical MTs." Eve rushed over, took stock, and continued to shout into her communicator. "I've got a man down. Knife wound to the belly. Get me medical assistance in here."

Then she stripped off her shirt without a thought, and tossed it to Roarke so he could staunch the wound.

"Now, that was a pretty thing to do." Mick's face had already gone from white to gray. "Am I forgiven then, Eve darling?"

"Stay quiet." She crouched down to check his pulse. "Help's on the way."

"I owed him that, you know." Mick shifted his eyes to Roarke. "I owed you that, though I didn't expect to pay so dear. Christ, doesn't anybody have any f**king drugs for a man?" He fumbled out, gripped Roarke's hand desperately. "Hold onto me, won't you? There's a lad."

"You'll be all right." Roarke squeezed as if he could make it so by will alone. "You'll come round."

"You know I'm done." A trickle of blood bubbled through his lips. "You got my signals, didn't you?"

"Yes, I got them."

"Just like old times. Do you remember..." He moaned, had to fight for a breath. "When we took the mayor's house in London, cleaning out his parlor while he was upstairs ramming it to his mistress while his wife was visiting her sister in Bath?"

He couldn't stop the blood. Couldn't hold back the stream of it. He could smell death creeping close, and could only pray Mick could not. "I remember you snuck up the stairs and took videos of it with his own bloody camera. And later we sold them back to him, and fenced the camera as well."

"Aye, aye, those were good times. Happiest of my life. Jesus, what a flaming shame it is that my mother, bless her black heart, should be right after all. At least I got the knife in my belly in a fine hotel and not a second-rate pub."

"Quiet, Mick, the MTs are coming."

"Oh, screw 'em." He sighed hugely, and for one moment his eyes were clear as crystal. "Will you light a candle for me in St. Pat's?"