Immortal in Death (In Death #3)(104)

“You’re a humanitarian, Casto.”

“No, Eve, I’m a selfish man looking out for number one. And I’m not ashamed of it. I’ve got twelve years on the streets, wading through blood, vomit, and come. I’ve paid my dues. This drug’s going to give me everything I’ve ever wanted. I’ll take my captaincy, and with that kind of connection, I’ll feed profits from the drug into a nice numbered account for four or five years, then I’ll retire to a tropical island and sip mai tais.”

He was winding down now, she could tell it from the tone of his voice. The excitement, the arrogance had cooled to practicality. “You’ll have to kill me first.”

“I know that, Eve. It’s a damn shame. I all but handed you Fitzgerald, but you just wouldn’t let it be.” With what might have been affection, he brushed a hand over her hair. “I’m going to make it easy on you. I’ve got something here that’ll take you down gently. You won’t feel anything.”

“That’s damn considerate of you, Casto.”

“I owe you that much, honey. Cop to cop. If you’d let it lay, after your friend got off, but you wouldn’t. I wish things had been different, Eve. I had a real taste for you.” He leaned close, so close she felt his breath waft over her lips as though he were indeed about to taste her.

Slowly, she lifted her lashes, looking through them into his face. “Casto,” she said softly.

“Yeah. Just relax now. Won’t take long.” He reached for his pocket.

“Fuck you.” She brought her knee up hard. Her depth perception was still slightly skewed. Rather than connecting with his groin she knocked solidly into his chin. He went backward off the bed, and the pressure injector in his hand skittered over the floor.

They both dived for it.

“Where the hell is she? She wouldn’t have walked out on her own party.” Mavis tapped her spiked heels impatiently as she continued to scan the club. “And she’s the only one of us still sober.”

“Ladies’ room?” Nadine suggested, half-heartedly tugging her blouse over her lacy bra.

“Peabody’s checked twice. Dr. Mira, she wouldn’t have made a run for it, would she? I know she’s nervous, but — “

“She’s not the running kind.” Though her head was still revolving, Mira struggled to keep her speech coherent. “We’ll look around again. She’s here somewhere. It’s just so crowded.”

“Still looking for the bride?” Grinning widely, Crack lumbered up. “Looks like she just wanted a last ride. The dude over there saw her slip into one of the privacy rooms with a cowboy type.”

“Dallas?” Mavis snorted at the thought of it. “No way.”

“So, she’s celebrating.” Crack lifted his shoulders.

“Got plenty more rooms, ladies, if you got an itch.”

“Which room?” Peabody demanded, sober now that she’d thrown up everything in her stomach including, she was sure, a good portion of the lining.

“Number five. Hey, you want a gang bang, I can round up some nice young boys for you. All sizes, all shapes, all colors.” He shook his head as they marched off, and decided that he’d better go along to keep the peace.

Eve’s fingers slipped off the injector, and the elbow to her cheekbone sent pain grinding down her face and into her teeth. Still, she had first blood, and the shock of finding her ready to fight had shaken him.

“You should have given me a bigger dose.” She followed up the statement with a short-armed punch to his windpipe. “I wasn’t drinking tonight, ass**le.” She managed to roll him over. “I’m getting married tomorrow.” She punctuated this by bloodying his nose. “That was for Peabody, you bastard.”

He caught her in the ribs and winded her. She felt the injector pass over her arm and heaved up by the hips to kick. She would never know if it was blind luck, her lack of depth perception, or his own miscalculation, but he dodged to avoid the gut thrust, and her feet, coming up like pistons, caught him square in the face.

His eyes rolled back in his head; his head hit the floor with an ominous and satisfying thud.

Still, he’d managed to get more of the drug into her. She crawled, drifting in the sensation of swimming through thick, golden syrup. She made it to the door, but the lock and its key code appeared to be twelve feet above her grasping hand.

Then the door burst open and all hell broke loose.

She felt herself lifted, patted down. Someone was ordering in no-nonsense tones that she be given air. Giggles bubbled up in her. She was flying now, was all she could think.

“Bastard killed them,” she kept saying. “Bastard killed them all. I missed it. Where’s Roarke?”

Her eyelids were pulled back and she would have sworn her eyeballs rolled like fiery little marbles. She heard the words “health center” and began to fight like a tiger.

Roarke descended the stairs, a grim set to his mouth. He knew Feeney was still upstairs, huffing and blowing, but he was convinced. A business deal of the size of Immortality’s potential required an expert and an inside connection. Casto filled both those bills.

Eve might not want to hear it, either, so he wouldn’t mention it. Yet. Feeney would have three weeks to poke around while they were on their honeymoon. If there was indeed going to be a honeymoon.