Ceremony in Death (In Death #5)(102)

“What is that?” Jamie demanded in a whisper. “Jesus, is that a jammer? I’ve never seen one worked into a pocket diary.”

“You’re not the only one who knows the tricks.” He began to play it over the wall, cursing it for being too slow, too inefficient. Abruptly, it emitted a low hum, beeped twice. “There’s the little bastard.”

As the door slid open, he crouched and, baring his teeth, prepared to spring.

She strained away from the injector, but it pressed against her upper arm, then just as quickly, was removed.

“No.” With a quick laugh, Alban, set it aside. “Not for sex. That would be unfair to you and a blow to my pride. Afterward, I’ll put you under deeply so you won’t feel the knife. It’s the least I can do.”

“Just kill me, you son of a bitch.” With a final vicious pull, she popped the strap, dragged one arm free, and shot her fist into his face. But when she reached for the knife lying beside her, it clattered to the floor.

Then, for just a moment, she thought the demons of hell had been loosed after all.

He came in like a wolf, with a snarl and a lunge. The force of Roarke’s attack sent Alban flying back, sent candles flying to gutter out in pools of blood.

Rearing up, Eve struggled to free her other hand, and panic left no room for shock as she spotted Jamie. “Hurry up, for Christ’s sake. Get the knife, cut me loose. Hurry!”

His stomach was heaving, but he stepped over Selina’s body, grabbed the knife. Keeping his eyes locked on her wrist, he hacked at the strap.

“Give it to me. I can get the rest.” Her gaze was locked on Roarke, the desperate struggle over the bloody floor. Fire was beginning to live in the corner, growing from upended candle to hungry flame. “There’s the cops,” she said when she heard the siren. “Go let them in.”

“The door’s unlocked.” He said it calmly, flatly, as he moved to her feet to cut her ankles free.

“Do something about that fire in the corner,” she ordered as she scrambled down.

“No, let it burn. Let the whole damn place burn to the ground.”

“Put it out,” she snapped again, then leapt like a madwoman onto Alban’s back. “You bastard, you son of a bitch.” Even as she dragged his head back, Roarke’s fist flew up and cracked against his face.

“Get the hell back,” Roarke demanded. “He’s mine.”

They rolled over in a violent tangle of limbs to discover only two of them were still conscious.

“Did he hurt you?” Roarke’s eyes were still wild when he grabbed her arms. “Did he put his hands on you?”

“No.” She had to be calm now, she realized, for he wasn’t. She wasn’t entirely sure what Roarke was capable of when he was in this state. “He never touched me. You took care of that. I’m all right.”

“You were taking care of yourself, as usual, when I got here.” He lifted her hand, stared at the blood seeping from the abrasions on her wrist, and lifted it to his lips. “I could kill him for that. Just for that alone.”

“Stop. It’s part of the job.”

He was struggling to accept that. His jacket was ruined, a bloody mess, but he took it off and wrapped it around her. “You’re naked.”

“Yeah, I noticed. I don’t know what they did with my clothes, but I’d just as soon be wearing something other than skin when the troops get here.”

She rose, discovered she wasn’t entirely steady on her feet. “They drugged me,” she explained, shaking her head to clear it as Roarke moved her away, eased her down to sit on a clear spot on the floor.

“Just get your breath back. I have to put out that fire.”

“Good thinking.” She drew a couple of cleansing breaths as he used one of the robes to smother the flames flicking along the floor. Then she shot to her feet, cried out. “No. Jamie, don’t.” She took the first running steps forward, but it was already too late.

Face white, Jamie got to his feet. The knife still wet with Alban’s blood was in his hand. “They killed my family.” His eyes were huge, the pupils pinpricks as he offered the knife to Eve. “I don’t care what you do to me. He won’t ever kill anyone else’s sister.”

She heard the footsteps rushing through the outside door, and following instinct, gripped the athame by the handle so that her own fingerprints were on it. “Shut up. Just shut the hell up. Peabody.” Eve turned as her aide rushed in, weapon drawn. “Get me something to wear, will you?”

Peabody’s breath came out in three unsteady puffs as she scanned the carnage. “Yes, sir. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Cross and Alban ambushed me, drugged me up, and got me here. They’ve both confessed to the murders of Frank Wojinski and Alice Lingstrom, Lobar, Wineburg, and conspiracy to murder Trivane. Alban killed Selina, for reasons I will detail in my report. Alban was killed during the struggle to contain him. It was confusing, I’m not sure exactly how it happened. I don’t think it matters.”

“No.” Feeney stood beside Peabody, scanned Jamie’s face, then Eve’s. And he knew. “I don’t think it matters now. Come on, Jamie, you shouldn’t be in here now.”

“Lieutenant, with respect. I think it would be best if you and Roarke went home and cleaned up. You’re a little too in tune with the season, so to speak.”