In Death 15 - Purity in Death

useless. "
    She stepped forward. There was blood in his ears now. She kept her eyes locked on his as she lifted the syringe. "This will work faster."
    She set her thumb on the depressor.
    "Poison!" He screamed it, jerked away. "Poison! My head's exploding. I'll kill you. Kill all of you."
    She heard the rush at the door, pictured the sharpshooters taking aim. He was a cop, was all she could think as she leaped at him, deflecting his weapon an instant before the stream struck her.
    She brought the syringe down on his shoulder and pumped the tranq into him.
    "Hold your fire! Hold fire!" She shouted it as Halloway ran in circles around the room, screaming as he ripped at his hair. "I disarmed him. He's unarmed."
    The door burst open. She leaped between Halloway and the lasers. "I said hold your goddamn fire."
    She whirled around. It was taking longer than five seconds. Halloway was throwing himself against the wall. Shrieking, weeping. Then his body danced, as bodies do when a stream takes them down.
    Blood fountained from his nose as he pitched forward.
    "Get medical in here," Eve ordered as she rushed over to kneel beside Halloway.
    She'd seen death too often to mistake it. But still she checked his pulse.
    "Damn it. Damn it." She beat a clenched fist against her knee, looked over to meet the knowledge in Feeney's eyes. "We lost him anyway."

Chapter 5
    "He really caught you a good one." Eve crouched down to where Feeney sat under the ministrations of a medtech. She pursed her lips as she examined the long, shallow gash that scored his cheek. "Been a while since you took one in the face, huh?"
    "I don't stick my nose in the knothole as often as other people. You and me, we're going to go a round, Dallas. I taught you better than that. Adding a hostage-"
    "Do I look like a hostage? I don't recall getting locked to my desk chair with my own restraints lately."
    Feeney sighed. "Dumb luck that worked. And dumb luck-"
    "Is a nice bonus to solid police work. Somebody told me that once." She smiled at him, laid a hand over his. Under her touch, his hand turned so their fingers linked.
    "Don't think I owe you one. Not for dumb luck. And you make sure your man knows that - ah - business about banging and whatnot was just smoke."
    "I know he's seething with a black jealousy and planning on whomping on you, but I'll do what I can to calm him down."
    He nodded, but his grin faded as he looked away. "Caught us with our pants down, Dallas. Pants down around our goddamn ankles. I never saw it coming."
    "You couldn't have. Couldn't have," she repeated quickly before he could speak. "He was sick, Feeney. Some virus, some infection. I don't know what the hell. Morris is working on it. It's the same deal that happened to the guy Trueheart took out. It's in the computer. It's got to be in the computer."
    Jesus, he was tired. Sick and tired. All he could do was shake his head. "That's science fiction crap, Dallas. You don't catch anything but eyestrain from a unit."
    "You put Halloway on Cogburn's unit. By the end of the day he's exhibiting the same symptoms as Cogburn. Deduction 101, Feeney, science fiction or not. There's something in that thing, and it goes into quarantine until we've got some answers."
    "He was a good kid. He screwed off some, but he was a good kid, and a decent cop. I got on his ass this morning, but he needed a boot. Saw him sniping with McNab this afternoon and . . ."
    Feeney rubbed his temples. "Oh Christ."
    "They're taking care of McNab. He's going to be okay. He's tougher than he looks. He'd have to be, wouldn't he?" She worked up a smile when she said it and ignored the sick dread in her belly.
    "Four of my boys hurt, one of them dead. I've got to know why."
    "Yeah, we've got to know why."
    She glanced back at Halloway's cube, at the old, broken-down data center on his work counter.
    Absolute Purity, she thought.
    She went back into Feeney's office. Halloway's body was already bagged. The blood that had burst from him was splattered like some mad drawing on the industrial beige wall.
    She gestured to the MT who'd fixed her the tranqs. "What do you make of it?"
    He looked down, as she did, at the body bag. "Some sort of rupture. Damned if I know. I've never seen anything like it, not without severe head trauma first. You need the ME's take. Maybe a brain tumor, maybe an embolism, massive stroke. Awful damn young. Couldn't hit thirty."
    "Twenty-eight." He had a fiancee who was rushing back from a business trip in