In Death 12 - Betrayal in Death

how you got it. Now we're both empty, and odds are someone else is going to die."
    Eve paused, seeing the quick wince in Stowe's eyes. "Yeah, you've figured that much out, haven't you? As much as I'll enjoy seeing you and your partner's butts fry over this foul up, it doesn't make up for another hit. Nothing does."
    "All right," Stowe said as Eve turned away. She reached out, grabbed Eve's arm. Her voice was low, her eyes miserable. "You're right. You're right, straight down the line."
    "Being right doesn't mean shit just now, does it? Keep away from me, Stowe. You and that moron you work with keep away from me, my team, and my investigation. Otherwise, neither of you will have enough ass left to fry when I'm finished with you."
    She strode, out, heading for the door. Before she could pass through, Jacoby stepped in front of her. "Did you have that recorder on?" he demanded.
    "Get out of my way."
    "You aren't authorized to record this scene," he began and made a grab for her lapel unit. Fast and vicious as a snake, she snatched his wrist, pushing her thumb into the pulse point and twisting.
    "Keep your hand off me. You don't, I'll snap it off at the wrist and make you eat it."
    Pain radiated up his arm, paralyzing him. But his other hand bunched into a fist, lifted. "You're assaulting and threatening a federal officer."
    "Funny, I thought I was assaulting and threatening a federal asshole. You want to take a shot at me, Jacoby" -- she tilted her chin up in invitation -- "go ahead, right here in front of all your friends and associates. Let's see which one of us walks out on two feet."
    "Lieutenant."
    "Sir." She acknowledged Whitney, but kept her eyes on Jacoby's. His were starting to water.
    "Your presence is required at Central to finalize the formal complaint against Agents Jacoby and Stowe. Let that idiot go," he said mildly. "He's not worth it."
    "Affirmative," Eve murmured, then released Jacoby's wrist and stepped back.
    Perhaps it was embarrassment, or perhaps he was simply a moron. But he lunged at her. She didn't think; she didn't hesitate. With a half-pivot, she shot her elbow up, caught him just under the chin. She heard his teeth snap together an instant before he went down.
    She had a moment to hope he'd bitten off a chunk of his tongue before he scrambled to his feet, eyes dazed. She finished the pivot, planted her feet. And supposed it was probably for the best when Whitney stepped between them.
    "I'm filing charges." Blood trickled out of Jacoby's mouth as he fumbled for his communicator.
    "I wouldn't advise that, Agent. You came at my officer, a violent action, when her back was turned. She defended herself. That's on record." With a fierce grin, he patted his own lapel recorder. "Make that call and I'll have you up before your own disciplinary committee before your tongue stops bleeding. You're not just taking on my officer, you're taking me on, and my whole goddamn department. So back off before I see that what's left of your career is flushed down the toilet."
    He held Jacoby's eyes another testing moment, signaled to Eve to go, then followed.
    As they walked toward the elevator, Feeney examined his fingernails. "Shoulda followed through with a knee to the balls."
    "I would have, but he doesn't have any." Then she sobered, straightened. "Commander, I apologize for -- "
    "Don't spoil it." He stepped into the elevator, rolled his shoulders. "I have to get out in the field more often. I forgot how much fun it could be. I want your observations and analysis of the scene on disc as soon as possible, Lieutenant. Run a probability on his still being in or near the city, and if that comes through positive, run one on where he might hole up. Contact -- "
    He broke off, looked down into her face. "You show admirable restraint, Dallas, in not telling me you know how to do your job."
    "The thought never crossed my mind, sir." Since decking Jacoby had brightened her mood, she worked up a smile. "Hardly."
    "Since you do know I'll let you get on with it." He walked off the elevator. "I have a number of calls to make. A number of ears to burn."
    "He's revved up," Feeney murmured when Whitney left them.
    "Is he?"
    "Yeah. You didn't know him when he worked the streets. Got cold blood, Jack does. Heads'll be rolling by end of shift, and he won't have broken a sweat." Feeney pulled his bag of nuts from his pocket. "I'll gather up McNab. You taking this into Central?"
    "For now." She pulled out her communicator,