In Death 12 - Betrayal in Death

today? Did she have to be wearing a soft-looking dress and pink lip dye? Was she trying to kill him? "Forget it."
    "If we forget it, we'll do it again. You're Feeney's man, and I'm Dallas's. That means we'll be working together a lot. Maybe we made a mistake and started doing more than working together, but there's no point in having that screw up both of us on the job."
    "You figure it was a mistake. Just like that?"
    His tone made her want to snipe back, but she reined herself in. "No, not really. I don't think it was a mistake, it just worked around to one." One she wished she could fix more than she'd expected. How could she have known she'd miss the skinny jerk? "I'd like to try to get past it, and go back to where we can be professional."
    He'd have liked to go back, too. Back to that storeroom so that he could make it all come out different. "Okay, fine. I can chill with that."
    "Good. That's good." But it didn't feel all that good. "Look maybe we could..." She trailed off as a customer walked in.
    McNab took a moment to swear under his breath, then straightened to begin the practiced rap about a new hair reconstructive serum.
    Eve checked her wrist unit. Eleven thirty-eight. The civilian clerk was holding up well. Apparently Peabody and McNab had negotiated a truce.
    She hoped things were going as smoothly for Feeney and Roarke at the hotel. She pulled out her communicator to check on the status there, and it beeped in her hand.
    "Dallas."
    "Lieutenant, subject approaching target area, on foot. Heading south on Second Avenue, crossing on Twenty-fourth. Subject is alone, wearing a light brown overcoat, dark brown trousers."
    "Positive ID?"
    "That's affirmative. We have him in view, approaching Twenty-third. Should be in your target, thirty seconds."
    "Stand by. Do not move in unless ordered. Peabody, McNab, you copy?"
    "That's affirmative."
    "All teams, keep communications open. Saddle up, Stowe," Eve said. "And let's take this bastard. I'm going out the back to circle, cut off his Second Avenue exit. Wait until he's in the shop. We'll back you up."
    "I owe you." She kept an eye on the monitor, and a hand on the door.
    Eve darted out the back, jogged around to the corner. She came up half a block from Yost, matched her pace to his brisk stroll.
    When he reached for the shop door, she slid her hand inside her jacket.
    And saw Jacoby race across the street, weapon drawn.
    "FBI! Freeze!"
    She didn't have time to swear. She kicked in, closed the distance, and was still three feet away when Yost whirled and met Jacoby head-on.
    It was like watching a unibike plowed down by an airbus.
    "Down! Police! Get down!" She mowed through pedestrians, her weapon snapping into her hand. She saw Jacoby hit the pavement, heard her communicator go wild.
    With no chance for a clear shot, she ran in pursuit as Yost surged south, knocking bystanders aside, dodging his way into the street and into traffic.
    "Hold fire! Hold fire!" One ill-aimed blast, and civilians would be hit.
    For a big man, he moved fast, and he moved smooth. He swung west at the next corner, dragging a glide-cart over with brute strength. It tumbled into Eve's path, spilling its guts over street and sidewalk and causing its operator to shriek.
    Rather than skirting it, she jumped on, took one running step over its side and, using it as a springboard, leaped.
    The momentum bought her half the distance.
    "Crossing to Third. Vehicular backup! Give me vehicular backup. I am in pursuit of suspect, and crossing Third at Twenty-second."
    To free her hand, she jammed the communicator in her pocket, bore down, and made another leap.
    She caught Yost mid-body. It was like hitting a slab of reinforced steel. She'd have sworn her bones rattled. But the tackle took him down to one knee. Before he could shove her aside and scramble up, she had her weapon pressed to the pulse in his throat.
    Where it was lethal.
    "Do you want to die?" she asked. "Want to die on the street like a sidewalk sleeper?"
    Even as Yost raised his hands, she heard feet pounding behind her. McNab, sweat streaming down his face, chest heaving, moved into position, his weapon aimed at Yost's head.
    "He's covered, Lieutenant."
    "On your face, Sly. Spread them."
    "There seems to be some mistake," Yost began. "My name is Giovanni -- "
    "On the ground." She pushed up with her weapon. "Belly down, or my finger's going to slip."
    He spread himself out on the sidewalk, arms twitching as she yanked them back to