Salvation in Death (In Death #27)(116)

“I could go around you, Feinburg, but I don’t want her smelling even a whiff of the game. She’ll believe it’s from you, because it is from you. And she’ll believe the contents because, hey, eight point three mil. Get it done.”

“Do you do mail by keyboard or voice?” McNab asked him.

“Ah, voice.”

“Okay. Just do what you do, but don’t authorize the send. I’ll take care of it. Anytime,” McNab added.

“All right.” Feinburg sat, blew out a breath. He recited the recipient’s name, account name, then began the text.

Eve nodded as he spoke. Yeah, he lawyered it up, she thought, used ten words when one would do. She knew exactly what he was saying and still barely understood half of it.

She signaled McNab to send.

“What now?” Feinburg asked.

“We move the station to portable. She doesn’t have the address or the codes. She’ll want them. We’ll be in place when she gets them. Let’s move it out, set it up, take it down.”

At the duplex, Roarke let Eve and Peabody in the westernmost door. He glanced over as the two detectives entered the second. “You’re banking on her coming to this side first.”

“I want to give them a shot at taking her. But yeah, I figure she’ll come to this one first. Aren’t you assigned to the e-machine?”

“I’d sooner hang with you and Peabody.” He glanced around the short foyer, down the hall, into the room on the left. “It needs a bit of polish yet, but should be quite nice.”

“The trim’s original, isn’t it? And wow. My brother would pee his pants.”

“Gee, Peabody,” Eve began, “if you’d like a tour, why—” She broke off, pulled out her communicator. “Dallas.”

“She bit,” Feeney told her. “McNab’s ready to work the lawyer through the response.”

“Wait twenty. Let her sweat. Then give it to her. Give it all.” She contacted the other members of the team. “Now we wait,” she said. “And it won’t be long.”

The streetlights blinked on. Eve could see their glow against the dim when Baxter beeped her an hour later. “Suspect is approaching from the west, on 95th. On foot. Red shirt, black pants, black handbag. Moving fast. Your location within one minute.”

“Copy that. Maintain position. Nobody moves in until she’s inside the building. Come on in,” Eve coaxed. “Come on in.”

“Dallas, she’s at the door. You’re a go.”

“Hold positions.” Come on, bitch, she thought. She saw, from her position, the security light blink from red to green as the locks opened. She waited, holding, as Penny came in, closed the door quickly behind her.

Penny looked toward the stairs as a wild grin spread on her face. And Eve hit the lights.

“Surprise.”

“What the f**k is this?” Penny edged back toward the door.

“It’s a little party I call You’re Under Arrest—for fraud, for falsifying official documents, for utilizing forged identification, and practicing said fraud over the Internet. For accessory to murder. Multiple charges on that. And we’re just getting started.”

“This is bullshit. You’re bullshit.”

“If you try to go out that door, you’d be resisting.”

“You tried that shit before, didn’t you? Got squat.” Penny turned, whipped open the door. As Eve moved forward, she whirled back, hacked out with a knife.

It caught Eve’s sleeve, and the tip broke skin. She hacked again, and Eve merely stepped back to evade. “You tried that shit before,” Eve reminded Penny.

Behind her, Roarke put a hand on Peabody’s shoulder. “No,” he told her when Peabody reached for her weapon. “She’ll want this one on her own.”

“Jesus, you really are that stupid.” Eve drew her own weapon. “Knife. Full-power stunner. You be the judge. Drop it, or I drop you. And I’d love to.”

“I don’t need a goddamn knife to take you down, bitch.” Penny tossed it aside where it skidded across the floor. “Bitch like you needs a stunner.”

“Is that a challenge? I love a challenge. And what the hell. Roarke.” Barely glancing over, Eve tossed him her weapon. “Try me,” she invited.

Hate and excitement merged on her face as Penny charged. Eve felt the blood rush to her heart, her head. The sting of the wound in her arm focused her. She deflected Penny’s fist, but gave the woman credit for what had been behind it. She took a kick—a glancing blow on the hip—and felt the quick heat of fingernails as they swiped at her jaw.

Eve maneuvered, evaded, took a blow here, another there. And saw the violent light of pleasure in Penny’s eyes.

“You can’t fight worth shit,” Penny yelled out. “* cop.”

“Oh. We were fighting? I didn’t realize we’d started. Okay then.”

And she moved in. A shorthand jab knocked Penny’s head back like a ball on a string. A roundhouse kick doubled her over when it plowed into her gut. An uppercut brought her up again. And a right cross took her down.

“That last one?” Eve bent over her as Penny lay unconscious at her feet. “That was for Quinto Turner. Get a wagon,” Eve ordered, then gave Roarke the come-ahead sign for her weapon.