Obsession in Death (In Death #40)(97)

“His face! His face! Total caution!”

“I know, right? Ultramazing. We abso have to tag Flo-lo, give her the deal and the deets.”

They clambered on the elevator with her in their thick-soled boots and hats with bouncing puffy balls, smelling of sugar and strawberry shampoo.

“I’m just twee!”

“You are? I’m twee-squared. Flo-lo’s going to completely pop. Screwed she’s under house arrest. We need her to trio like now.”

“Her mom’s down, so no chance.”

She could kill them, she thought. The squealing girls with their strawberry hair and shining faces.

Stun them both, cut their throats, leave their bodies smelling of blood and strawberries.

It’s what happened to girls who weren’t careful. Girls who weren’t respectful.

Didn’t they see her standing here?

Her ears rang with pressure, her chest ached with it. Fingering the stunner, just brushing her fingertips over it, eased the pressure. As the elevator climbed, and the girls’ voices squealed and shrieked in her head, she started to draw the stunner out.

The elevator doors opened; the girls clumped out, laughing like hyenas.

Not the plan, she reminded herself, annoyed her fingers trembled. Focus was essential. Nadine.

But girls that age made her so angry, so full of grief and despair and rage.

Had to put them, all of them, out of her mind. Work to be done.

And when it was done, the happiness would come again.

To settle, she brought Eve’s face into her mind, and understood, like a light blooming, she was doing exactly the right thing. For Eve, for herself. For their friendship.

Some part of her had always planned to do this – just not on a fully conscious level. Otherwise she wouldn’t have taken all that time, put in all that effort to learn about all these distractions, these obstacles.

Removing them was key to their partnership, their happiness. Their unity.

How could Eve understand she was the true friend if there were others trying to push her aside?

People always pushed her aside.

All her life, they’d pushed her aside, put her into corners, told her to be good, to be quiet. Behave.

No more.

Steady again, focused again, she walked off the elevator. Face angled away from the camera, tipped down.

She slipped her right hand in her pocket, pressed the buzzer with her left.

Nadine, she thought, would never shunt her aside in Eve’s affections again.

Inside, Nadine rolled her eyes at Eve’s last e-mail. Who’d have thought the tough, kick-your-ass-to-next-Tuesday cop would be such a fussy mother hen?

But she studied the latest sketch with interest. She’d check, be sure it was cleared – because she really didn’t want her ass kicked to next Tuesday – and if so she could go in tonight, do a special bulletin, get herself a nice scoop on the competition.

“Yeah, yeah,” she called at the sound of the buzzer. “Just hang on.”

She went to the door, looked through the security peep, saw a bit of profile and a big winter hat, some messy strands of brown hair poking out the bottom.

She reached for the locks, and Eve’s last e-mail sounded in her head.

Do not, under any circumstances, open the door to someone you don’t know. Do not, under any circumstances, open the door to anyone you’re not expecting.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, it’s just a messenger.”

But Eve’s flat, cop’s eyes seemed to bore into her brain.

“Fine, fine.” Nadine pushed the intercom. “Yes?”

“Yeah, Mercury Messengers. Package for Nadine Furst.”

“Let’s see it. Hold it up to the peep.”

“What’s the problem, lady?” But prepared, always prepared, she reached in the messenger bag, pulled out a thick envelope. “For Nadine Furst, from Bing Corbett, Channel Seventy-five. You want it or not? I’m on overtime here.”

Dallas had her spooked, Nadine thought, and reached for the locks again. So she’d compromise and leave the thick chain on, open the door just enough to get whatever her producer had sent her, and be done with it.

She clicked off the locks, let the door open two inches. “Pass it through.”

The brief hesitation had her angling back to look through the peep again.

“You gotta sign.”

“Pass it through,” she repeated, and this time felt a chill along her skin.

She called herself a nervous idiot when the envelope started through the gap. She shifted again, started to reach for it, then stumbled to the side as the stunner followed.

The stream blasted heat on the chill, left her left arm tingling numb from the edge of the jolt. She half fell against the door as the stunner fired again, and whoever fired it threw their body weight on the door.

The next stream angled lower, skimmed along her calf, took her down to her knees.

She told herself the chain would hold, she could crawl away, out of range, get to her ’link. Get help.

But she wasn’t sure the chain would hold.

Why had she put off moving?

Her body trembled, not just fear, but a reaction to the stream swipes. She put her back against the door, drew her legs in thinking another hit, even a glancing one, might be enough to put her down.

A weapon, she told herself as the door vibrated and the chain thunked from another body blow. Any weapon would do.