In Death 08 - Conspiracy in Death

parties." She tossed it carelessly back on the desk. "I need to check the equipment in the next room. Wait here a moment."
    Well, Eve thought when the door closed, that invitation was clear enough. What the hell, she decided and nipped the disc off the desk, stuffed it into the back pocket of her jeans.
    She wanted to pace, wanted to find a way to keep herself loose before she snapped. But she forced herself to sit again, to wait, to blank her mind.
    They wanted you to think, she reminded herself. To worry and to sweat. The more you did, the more open and vulnerable you were to everything that was beyond that door.
    They would, she thought, use their equipment, their scans, their injections, to strip your control and dig into your mind. Your fears.
    The less you took in with you, the less they had to exploit.
    Mira opened the door again. She didn't come back into the room, didn't so much as glance at the desk, but nodded at Eve. "We're ready to start."
    Saying nothing, Eve rose and followed Mira down one of the corridors that formed the maze of Testing. This one was in pale green, the color of hospitals. Others would be glassed with techs and machines lurking behind them like smoke.
    From this point, every gesture, expression, and word and every thought would be documented, evaluated, analyzed.
    "This Level One procedure should take no more than two hours," Mira began. Eve stopped short, grabbed her arm.
    "Level One?"
    "Yes, that's all you're required to take."
    "I need Level Three."
    "That's not necessary; it's not recommended. The risks and side effects of Level Three are too extreme for these circumstances. Level One is recommended."
    "My badge is riding on this." Her fingers wanted to tremble. She wouldn't allow it. "We both know it. Just like we both know passing Level One is no guarantee of getting it back."
    "Positive results and my recommendation will weigh very heavily in your favor."
    "Not heavily enough. Level Three, Mira. It's my right to demand it."
    "Damn it, Eve. Level Three is for suspected mental defectives, extreme violent tendencies, murderers, mutilators, deviants."
    Eve drew in a long breath. "Have I been cleared of any suspicion regarding the murder of Officer Ellen Bowers?"
    "You're not a prime suspect, nor is the investigation pointing in your direction."
    "But I'm not clear, and I intend to be." Eve drew a breath in, let it out. "Level Three. It's my right."
    "You're making this harder than it has to be."
    Eve surprised them both by smiling. "It can't be. It already bites."
    They passed through a set of clear, reinforced doors. She had no weapon to be surrendered here. The computer politely requested she enter the door on the left and remove all articles of clothing, all jewelry.
    Mira saw Eve close her fingers protectively over her wedding ring. And her heart broke a little. "I'm sorry. You can't wear it during the scans. Would you like me to keep it for you?"
    "They've only taken your symbols."
    She heard Roarke's voice in her head as she tugged off his ring. "Thanks." She moved into the room, closed the door. Mechanically, she removed her clothes, keeping her face impassive for the techs and machines who were monitoring her even now.
    She despised being naked in front of strangers. Hated the vulnerability and lack of control.
    She refused to think.
    The light blinked over the opposing door, and another automated voice told her to step through for the physical exam.
    She went in, stood on the center mark, stared straight ahead while the lights blinked and hummed and her body was checked for flaws.
    The physical was quick, painless. When she was cleared, she tugged on the blue jumpsuit provided, followed the directions into the adjoining room for the brain scan.
    She lay flat on the padded bench, ignoring the faces behind the glass walls, letting her eyes drift closed as the helmet was lowered onto her head.
    Just what game would they play? she wondered, bracing herself as the bench glided silently up until she was sitting.
    The VR session plunged her into the dark, disorienting her so that she gripped the sides of the bench to keep her balance.
    She was attacked from behind. Huge hands shot out of the dark, hauled her off her feet, and tossed her high. She hit the hard floor of what she saw now was an alley, skidded on something slimy. Her bones jarred, her skin burned as it was scraped away. She sprang up fast, one hand reaching for her weapon.
    Before she could free it from its holster,