Treachery in Death (In Death #32)(111)

“He won’t betray her,” Mira put in.

“He won’t have to. She’ll betray him. They’ll get their collar, and Garnet will get more justice than he deserves. I’ve got to go be visible. I’ll keep in contact via ’link. Peabody, give me two minutes, then head to the bullpen. I want you at your desk until end of shift.”

“We’re moving close to that now.”

“Two minutes,” Eve repeated, but when she got to the door, Roarke put a hand on her arm. “I’ve really got to get going on this. Timing’s crucial.”

“They don’t need me here. I’d prefer to be in the garage.”

“I need you here because whatever they can do you can do faster.” Now she put a hand on his. “I’m going to be covered in the garage. I trust my men, every one of them.”

“Yours against hers.” Oh yes, he understood his wife, his cop. “Another form of you against her.”

“Maybe. It makes a point. It makes the kind of point that will resonate in the department, in the media. That’s a matter of politics and morale, and those things matter. But it matters, too, that we show, without a shadow, not only that she gave the orders, but the ones under her had no compunction following them.”

“You’re very cool for someone who just heard her own death warrant.”

“Because my men are better than hers. In every possible way. If you trust me, you trust them.”

He touched her cheek. “The drinks are on me, for the house, when this is over and done.”

“Free drinks? That guarantees no-fail. I’ll keep in touch.”

She walked out, picked up her pace. Cop in a hurry, she thought. Records to check. When she stepped into the bullpen, Jacobson hailed her.

“Lieutenant, can I have a minute?”

“Do I look like I’ve got a minute?” Then she cursed, shrugged. “My office.” She strode in, waited for him to follow, then shut the door.

“Okay, I interrupted you. Why am I interrupting you?”

“Long story, full details to follow,” Eve told him. “For now ...” She turned to her computer, called up pictures and data on Marcell, Palmer. “These two men are planning to ambush me in the garage in a couple hours. Their orders are to stun me, toss me in my own vehicle, take me to my crime scene and kill me very dead.”

As Jacobson studied the images, his eyes went hard as stone. “Is that f**king so?”

“It is.”

“They’re soon going to be having a really bad day.”

“Yes, they are. Lieutenant Renee Oberman gave them that order, and has ordered this man—Tulis—to keep an eye on me, and this one, Armand,” she added as she brought the next image up, “to hack my comp, to provide their cover re garage security.”

He looked at her then. She could still see that stone, but with it a kind of grief. “How many are in it, Dallas?”

“One’s too many, and there are a lot more than one. Your focus will be on Palmer and Marcell, and not to alert Tulis. The e-boys will take care of Armand. Others are being or will be dealt with.”

“How do you want it done?”

His words to her echoed Marcell’s to Renee, she realized. And what a world of difference in meaning.

She told him how she wanted it done.

When he went out, she texted Peabody, updated the e-team. When her ’link signaled, she saw Louise on the readout.

“Is she alive?”

“She is,” Louise told her, and those pretty hazel eyes drooped with fatigue. “And her chances of staying that way are good. They’re finishing up the ortho work—that was the most extensive damage—then we’ll move her to recovery and onto ICU. Her recovery will depend, to a large extent on—well—how strong is Strong. The PT is going to be extensive, long, and painful.

“Now tell me why Peabody’s asked nobody tell her family.”

“I’ll get to that, but I need you to inform someone else, but with a few variations. You kept her alive through this part, Louise. Help me keep her alive through the next.”

Over the next hour, Eve learned she didn’t much care for running an op via ’link. She preferred looking into the eyes of the men she coordinated, seeing in their faces their determination, their humor, their willingness to put it all on the line.

When the end of shift came and went, she started counting down the clock.

Step One, she thought. Louise.

Renee, her face covered with weariness and worry, hurried toward the surgical desk. “I’m Lieutenant Oberman,” she told the nurse in charge. “I’m here to check on one of my people, Lilah Strong.”

“Lieutenant?” Louise, still in her scrubs, stepped over. “I’m Doctor Dimatto, one of the surgical team. Why don’t you come with me?”

“Is she out of surgery?”

“Yes.” Louise kept walking. “Why don’t we go in here and sit down?”

“Oh God. She didn’t make it? I was told she was very badly injured, but I’d hoped.”

“She came through very well.” Louise gestured Renee into a small office, shut the door. “Her age and physical condition were on her side. There’s no reason she shouldn’t make a full recovery.”