In Death 14 - Reunion in Death

soldier."
    "They're perfect for you. Anything wrong?" He touched her cheek now, drew her attention back to his. "You seem a little on edge."
    "Gigs like this make me itchy. People are starting to drift toward the tables. We'd better snag our dates."
    "We're sitting together. We'll catch up with them at the table." He took her arm, was surprised to feel the muscles tense, almost vibrate. "You really are itchy."
    Short of knocking him down, she wasn't going to shake Charles. And shoving her way through the milling crowd wasn't the way to keep a low profile. But there was a buzz in her blood that told her to get to Roarke, and get there now.
    "There's something I need to tell Roarke, but I've lost his location."
    The underlying tone of urgency in her voice had Charles looking over sharply. "All right, Dallas, what's going on?"
    "Roarke's at three o'clock," Feeney told her. "Twenty feet from your position. Crowd's closed in, but Carmichael and Rusk still have him in sight."
    "Dallas?"
    "Not now," she hissed at Charles and pivoted to the right. It was raw instinct that pushed her forward. No logic, no reason, but a primal knowledge that her mate was threatened. She caught a glimpse of him through the spark and color. Of polite amusement on his face as he was cornered by a stick-thin society butterfly. She saw Carmichael get elbowed back by a tuxedoed couple who'd imbibed a bit too freely during cocktail hour. The annoyance on Carmichael's face as she jockeyed back into position.
    She heard the orchestra strike up with a bright, jazzy tune. Heard the trills of laughter, the gossipy tones as people dished dirt, the shuffle and click of feet as more went on the move.
    She saw Louise turn away to speak to someone, and block Rusk's easy path to Roarke.
    And she saw Julianna.
    It went fast as a heartbeat, slow as a century.
    Julianna wore the trim white jacket and slacks of the servers. Her hair was a soft, honey brown-a short, curly cap that was fashioned like a halo around her face. That face was carefully enhanced, carefully composed to nondescript.
    She could have passed for a droid, and was garnering just as much dismissal, as she walked easily through the polished bodies toward Roarke.
    In her hand she carried a single flute of champagne.
    Her gaze flashed up, met Roarke's. Whatever she saw there must have satisfied her, for she smiled, just the slightest curve of unpainted lips.
    "Target sighted." Though Eve spoke clearly, there was too much distance, too much noise between them for Julianna to have heard.
    And still she turned her head and looked at Eve.
    They moved at the same time, Eve forward, Julianna back. Eve had the small twist of satisfaction of seeing startled temper cross Julianna's face before she swung into the thickest part of the crowd.
    "Suspect is dressed as server. Brown and brown, moving west through the ballroom."
    She sprinted forward as she spoke, ducking, shoving, flinging herself through startled people. Feeney's relay rang in her ears, had her spinning to the right, knocking hard into a startled waiter. She heard the thunderous crash of his tray behind her.
    She caught another glimpse, saw Julianna pass the flute to an oblivious older man before she streaked up the curve of the floating staircase to the second level. People tumbled in her wake like tossed dolls.
    "Moving up," Eve shouted. "Close in from positions eight and ten. Now, now, now!"
    She ran straight into the man who was just lifting the flute of champagne to his lips. It splattered all over his suit as the glass flew out of his hand and crashed to the floor.
    "Well, really!"
    He was angry enough to make a grab for her arm, and got a hard stomp on the instep. He'd limp, Eve thought as she leaped up the stairs, but he'd live.
    "Inside this area, Lieutenant." One of the two cops who raced forward to flank Eve gestured toward a pair of double doors. "She nicked in. I couldn't get a stream off due to civilian safety. She's flipped the locks and caged herself in. There's no way out unless she decides to jump ten stories."
    "She'll have a way." Without hesitation, Eve aimed her weapon at the door and blasted the locks.
    The explosion came a second later. The hot gush of air punched like a fist and knocked Eve back a full five feet. She tumbled, head over feet, and her weapon spurted out of her hand like wet soap. Her earpiece went dead.
    Smoke belched out of the anteroom, choking and blinding. She heard the nasty crackle of flame, and the