In Death 20 - Survivor in Death

shut. “Why does he call her ‘Lieutenant’? Why doesn’t he call her ‘Dallas’ like most everybody else?”
    “It’s a kind of endearment between them.” He gave Nixie’s hand a little squeeze. “Why don’t we eat in the kitchen tonight?”
    It wasn’t rage. Eve wasn’t sure there was a word for what gripped the throat, the belly, the head, the bowels when you looked down at the slaughter of men you’d sent into battle. Men you’d sent to their death. Going down in the line was a risk they all took. But knowing that didn’t loosen the grip, not when she’d been the one to give them their last orders.
    The other cops were quiet, a silent wall. The scene had been secured. Now it was up to her.
    The safe house was a post--Urban Wars construction. Cheap, never meant to last. But it had stood, a narrow box of two stories, bumped up against a few more narrow boxes that were all dwarfed and outclassed by the sturdiness of the buildings that had survived the wars, and the sleekness of those built since the hurried, harried aftermath.
    She knew the city had bought this, and others, on the cheap. Maintained them on a shoestring. But the security was better than decent, with full-panning cams, alarms backed up by alarms.
    Still, they’d gotten in. Not only gotten in, but had taken out two seasoned cops.
    Knight’s weapon was still holstered, but Preston’s was drawn, lying useless at the base of the stairs while he was sprawled and bloody on them.
    Knight’s body was facedown, a full stride out of the kitchen. A broken plate, spilled coffee, a veggie ham on rye were scattered in front of him.
    The miserly entertainment screen was showing an Arena Ball game. The security screen was black as death.
    “Took Knight first.” Her voice was slightly hoarse, but she continued to record the scene and her impressions. “Took him coming out of the kitchen. Surprised him. If they’d taken Preston, Knight would’ve come out with his weapon drawn. Preston heads down, ready, but they take him.”
    She crouched, picked up the weapon. “Got a blast off, at least one, before he went down. Officer, start a canvass. I want to know if anyone heard weapons’ fire. If they heard shouts. If they saw a fucking cockroach pass this way.”
    “Lieutenant--”
    She merely turned her head, and the expression on her face had the uniform nodding. “Yes, sir.”
    “Cut their throats--their favorite game. But they didn’t cut two cops’ throats without a fight. Had to disable first. Long-range stunners,” she said, studying the faint singe on Preston’s shirt. “That’s what they had. No chances this time. Not just killing little kids. So they come in the front. God damn how did they get through? How did they compromise this system so fast two cops are caught with their pants down ?”
    “It’s a standard police system,” Roarke said quietly because he heard more than rage in her voice. He heard pain. “A good system, but standard issue for cop houses. If they had the kind of knowledge we believe, they could have set for this, taken it out, got through the door in under two minutes. Very likely considerably under two minutes with the equipment they must have at their disposal.”
    “These were good cops,” she reminded him. “Too good to sit still for a breach like this. Knight’s in the damn kitchen making a sandwich. There’s a security monitor in there. There are security monitors upstairs. Screen goes out, you go straight to Code Red. So it didn’t go out. Not at first. Why is Knight upstairs?”
    She stepped over the body, over the blood, and went up to the second floor.
    There were two bedrooms, one bath. All windows were privacy screened, barred, and wired. She looked at the ‘link in the first bedroom, crossed to it and replayed the last incoming.
    It was audio only, and it was her voice.
    “Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. The suspects are contained. Repeat, the suspects are contained and being transported. Stand down and report to Central.”
    “Fucking A.” Eve muttered.
    “Lieutenant?” There was puzzlement, but no alarm in Preston’s voice. “You’re on the house ‘link.”
    “I’m aware of that. Did you copy your orders?”
    “Yes, sir, but--”
    “Dallas out.”
    “Well, shit.” Preston’s voice was perturbed now, and he didn’t immediately end the transmission on his end. “Yo, Knight! Dallas collared the bastards. . . . How the hell do I know, she was her usual chatty self. Make me a