In Death 19 - Visions in Death

quickly myself as with this ram. And with more finesse, and considerably less noise." "Not looking for finesse." She nodded when Feeney's voice came through her earpiece. "Move in! Go, go, go!" Still crouched, she dashed across the street, noting the movements of her team out of the corners of her eyes as she charged up the steps. "Take it down!" He reared back, slammed it twice, then let it fall as the door crashed open. They were through, weapons drawn.
    Every light blared on full, and she could hear the fast and heavy rush of feet. She veered right toward the sound and caught sight of Blue streaking up the stairs.
    "Police! Stop where you are." She was already running up behind him. "You're surrounded. You've got nowhere to go.
    Stop or I will fire." He swung back, his face red with exertion and what she took as panicked temper. She knew, though she couldn't see his eyes, she knew in that instant from the stiffening of his body, he recognized her.
    And he lunged.
    She fired a stream midbody that crossed with the stream Roarke fired. The combination knocked Blue back three staggering steps.
    To her amazement, he shook it off like a man hyped on Zeus. Lunged again. "Bitch! You hurt me!"
    She didn't question herself, the need, the motive, but rather than firing on him, she got a running start, pumped her legs, and slashed into a flying kick that landed both feet in his face.
    Blood erupted from his nose, spilled out of his mouth, but he was still on his feet when she dropped back to hers. "Don't fire," she shouted at Roarke, and whoever was pounding up the steps behind them.
    "Screw this," she muttered as he came for her again. "Let's see how you like it." And she curled down, locking her hands around her weapon. Brought them up with as much force as she could muster, into his balls.
    He screamed, a high-pitched sound that made her heart sing. He dropped to his knees and rolled.
    That seems to have done it. Subject is secured! I need extensions for these restraints," she called out as she pressed her weapon to his cheek. "You're a big boy, Blue, big, strong boy, but if I fire this weapon from here, you're going to lose a chunk of your face. While I might consider that an improvement, you may not."
    "See if these work." Feeney stepped over Blue, muscled his arms behind his back, and fought extended restraints into place as the man began to cry like a baby. "Barely. Maybe hurts a little, but gee, what can you do?"
    "Get him in the tank, read him his rights."
    When she started to get to her feet, she winced, crouched down again.
    "Give you a hand, Lieutenant?"
    Thanks." She took the one Roarke offered, and stretched her left leg. "Might've pulled a little something on that kick.
    It was a little high for me." "Well placed, though I did enjoy the second maneuver." "First was for Peabody. Second was . . ." "I know. For all of them." He knew it embarrassed her, but he couldn't help himself. He leaned down, kissed her. "You are my hero." "Get out." "Lieutenant?" One of the team called out from below.
    "You're going to need to see this. Basement level." "On my way."
    It was a horror she'd never forget. No matter how many she'd already witnessed, how many were yet to come.
    The basement had been converted, some years before from the look of it, into a small warren of rooms. His primary living space, Eve concluded, with some recent adjustments.
    His office was tidily and efficiently set up. Three complete d and c units, a wall of discs, minifridgie, miniAutoChef.
    And lights so bright they almost burned the eyes.
    He'd set up a personal fitness center, equipment, mirrors, a sparring droid nearly as big as he was. The lights seared.
    In the third room, the walls were also mirrored, and the lights burned bright, bouncing their reflections everywhere.
    She could see the fitness area from that position.
    It was his bedroom a young boy's room with toys on a shelf, Space Invaders paper on one of the walls. The bed was narrow and neatly made with a cover that boasted interplanetary warriors in full battle.
    There was a chair, child-sized, fit with restraints. Wrist and ankle shackles. Tied on one of its arms was a bright red cloth.
    She'd cast him into the basement, Eve thought. And despite the toys, the touches of youthful decor, had made it his prison.
    He'd kept it as one.
    But he'd made an addition.
    There was a single long shelf bracketed into the wall. New from the looks of it, and the metal brackets shone clean and silver.
    On