Delusion in Death (In Death #35)(118)

“You want me to take you? You want to be the hero? Get out of the booth. You, cop, out and on your knees, hands behind your head. Move your ass,” she ordered Weaver, sliding out to stand, shielded from the narrow glass door by Roarke.

“What are you doing, Eve?” Mira demanded. “Tell her you’ll start arrangements for the grandson.”

“I don’t want anybody hurt. That’s priority.” Slowly Eve eased out of the booth. “That’s why I had nearly everyone taken out of the restaurant. Look around, Gina. We’ve only got about twenty people left in here, and oops, they’re heading out the front.”

“Then this is on you.” She pulled the trigger. Nancy let out a scream, then stared, open-mouthed.

“I guess I forgot to mention I disengaged that one.” Eve reached for the weapon in her pocket. “But not this one.”

“Stun me!” Gina shrieked it. “Go ahead, and these vials hit the floor. You’ll turn that weapon against your own man.”

“It’s done, Gina. Drop them and my buddies outside will see to it we all take an enforced nap. Not pleasant, but I can live with it.”

“Speak for yourself,” Roarke commented.

“Try it. See if it’s fast enough. Try it! Stun me and find out who lives with it.”

Eve had a quick flash from her dream, of her mother’s face, of that same vicious hate. “I’m not going to stun you. Let’s try this way.” She turned her weapon around, as if to offer it. In the instant Gina glanced down, Eve used her left—a quick, hard, bare-knuckled jab. And found it satisfying to see blood spurt from Gina’s nose.

As she fell back, her hand opened. The vials slipped out. Braced for it, Roarke made the dive, caught them an inch from the floor.

“Just in case,” he said.

“Nice fielding.”

“Thanks. Now I have a bit of a headache. Kidding,” he said quickly when she swung her weapon in his direction. “Just kidding.”

“Ha ha. Move in! Lowenbaum,” she continued as she stepped to Gina, rolled the dazed, moaning woman over to restrain her. “Target’s secured.”

“So I see. All teams, target’s down and secure. Stand down.”

“Thanks for the assist, Doctor Mira.”

“You might’ve given me a clearer picture.”

“Some of it was spur. It was her eyes. I played off her eyes.” Eve turned Gina over again, hauled her up to sit. And looked in her eyes again. “You’re old, and you’re slow—physically and mentally. You lost your way—maybe all those years of living off the fat—the fat you claim to despise. You’d have infected kids, and kids were the new hope, the foundation, the beginning. But you’d have infected them to get to your own. It was never about vengeful gods or Revelation with you. It was about the blood and the death, and your twisted revolution. You let me see that, and gave me the edge.”

“Your end-time will come.”

“Yeah, it will, but you won’t be part of it. Odds are, given you’ve got about a half century on me, yours’ll come first. Whatever time you’ve got left, you’ll spend in a cage. Just like your grandson. Just like Menzini’s legacy.”

“There’ll be others.”

“You keep thinking that. Baxter, you and Trueheart can take the old lady in.”

“Happy to serve.”

“She knows the formula,” Roarke murmured.

“Yeah, which is why Agent Teasdale and HSO will arrange for very special accommodations for her. I think Menzini left a vacancy.”

“Harsh.”

“I imagine it will be.”

“And what would you like me to do with these?” He held out the vials.

“Christ. Let’s get that biohazard team in here, asap! Peabody, alert Teasdale re our new prisoner. The NYPSD gratefully passes her, and the processing of her properties, to HSO.”

“Got that, all over the place. But … can I have my boots back?” Eve sat to pull them off. “Ouch. I’m hungry,” she realized. “Punching crazy old ladies makes me hungry.”

“I’ll wager they have very nice cannolis.” Roarke smiled at Peabody as she pulled on her boots.

“Hot damn!”

“I’d like to buy you dinner.” Weaver sat, huddled against Marty, while an MT checked her out.

“Rain check. You were right about being good in a crisis, when it counts. You handled yourself, both of you.”

“I was terrified. I thought I was dead.”

“You’re not, and you handled it. We’ll need you to come in, make a statement. Tomorrow’s soon enough.”

“We’ll be there,” Marty assured her.

“Was Lew—was he always what we know he is now, or was it that woman? Did she make him what he is?”

“I’d say some of both. Go on home.” She left them to walk to Lowenbaum, shake hands—and take the boots he carried from him. “Thanks.”

“I had the shot.”

“Too many civilians in potential harm’s way, and I wanted to maneuver her so we had at least a chance of getting the vials.”

“Nice left jab.”

“It’s a favorite.”