New York to Dallas (In Death #33)(68)

So many questions, Eve thought, but they had nothing to do with now. With Melinda or Darlie. With McQueen.

“You left a child with a monster.” Again, she thought, but this time it was different because . . . “A child whose parents love and care for her. A child who’ll never be a child again because of what you’ve done. You left her and a woman who tried to help you with this monster. In my book that makes you worse than he is.”

Pale, bruised face coated in a light sheen of sweat, the woman who called herself Sylvia bared her lips in a sneer. “You’ve got me mixed up with somebody else.”

“I know you,” Eve repeated, leaning close so the woman could see the truth on her face. “You’re done. We know Stibble sent you to McQueen in prison. We know you’ve been in contact with McQueen for more than a year. We know you bought the van under your Sister Suzan Devon ID.”

Eve leaned back, kept eye contact. “We know as Sarajo Whitehead you worked at the Circle D bar, faked a rape to draw in Melinda Jones for McQueen.” She saw the blows land, turn the pale face sickly gray. “We know you rented the duplex as Sandra Millford—a slight variation on your New York Sandi Millford. Oh, Civet says hey. We know you rented and outfitted McQueen’s apartment.”

Stella—Sylvia—moistened her lips. “If you know so much you wouldn’t be wasting time hassling me.”

“We’re going to do more than hassle you. I see you as worse than McQueen, but the law looks at you as the same. You’re going down for the kidnappings, for accessory to rape, enforced imprisonment. You’re going down as accessory to murder, aiding and abetting. It’s a smorgasbord of charges that’ll keep you in a cage for the rest of your life.”

“You’ve got nothing.” But fear lived in those unearthly green eyes now.

“We’ve got it all. We’ve got Stibble and Lovett. We’ve got Civet. We’ve got your fake IDs, and witnesses. We’ve got you on the security discs at the mall with Darlie Morgansten—Sandra.

“He used you, left your ass swinging in the wind. And he doesn’t give a rat’s ass what happens to you.”

Fury burst over fear. “You don’t know anything about it.”

“I know everything about it, and him. I know all the others he used before, and what he did when he was finished with them. I know what he planned to do to you. He’s sitting in the apartment you found for him, furnished for him right now, counting down the hours till he slits your throat.”

The nausea rolled again; Eve forced it down. “You’ve got a chance to help yourself, make a deal so maybe you do your time on-planet, maybe you deal down some of the charges so you see the light of day again.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. And you’re the one going down. Believe me, you’re going to pay.”

“For what?” Rage spurted through her so she white-knuckled the safety guard as she leaned closer. “I don’t owe you. I don’t owe you a goddamn thing but pain and misery. You believe me, nobody wants to see you go down, all the hard way down, more than I do. I’m giving you a chance, and the door’s closing. We’ll have him in a matter of hours anyway, we’re that close. Tell me now, tell me where he is, where he’s keeping Melinda and Darlie, and I’ll help you deal it down.”

“You’re a liar, just like all cops. You’ve got jackshit.”

“We found his accounts. All that money, and neither of you will ever see it now. That’s right,” she said when she saw the flicker in her mother’s eyes. “You’ll be tapped out. And tapped out in prison, with nothing to deal with. Did you know he’s pulled out a nice pile for his running money once he ditches you?”

“Liar.”

“He’ll kill you, just like all the others, when he’s done. You’re the one being used now, after all the years of using. With him, you’re dead. With me, you’ve got a chance to live. Where are Melinda and Darlie?”

“Fuck them. Fuck you.”

“He killed his own mother, and all the substitutes who came after. He’ll do the same to you. Slit your throat and toss you in the nearest river.”

“He loves me!”

It shocked Eve to hear that passion, that desperation. Just for a moment she felt something close to sympathy.

“Who’s doing all the work, taking all the risks? Not him. Who’s strapped to a hospital gurney jonesing for a hit? Not him. He won’t even let you stay with him, and if he touches you, it’s just another way to use you. He likes little girls. You know about that, don’t you? About men who like little girls.”

“Get the hell away from me.”

“What made you this way?” Desperation scraped at her. God, how she wanted that single answer. “Does it go back even further? Your mother, your father? Is all the blood just poisoned?”

“You’re crazy.” Despite the pain, Sylvia pushed up, strained against the restraints. “He’s going to make you pay, you and that Irish bastard you married. Pay and pay and pay.”

She panted, rearing up, bucking, face contorted. Withdrawal, Eve concluded. Withdrawal, fear, pain, fury.

“How? How will he make me pay?”

“You won’t get to him. But he’ll get to you. Roarke will pay a lot to get you back, but he won’t get you back whole. And I’ll watch while Isaac makes you scream, while he makes you beg.”