In Death 25 - Creation in Death

thirsty.”
    “Yeah, Mr. Kolbecki let you have sodas. This is Lieutenant Dallas. She’s my boss. So now I have to do my job, and we’re all going to sit down and—”
    “You’d better not hurt my brother.” Going for the top of the authority ladder, Billy plucked Eve right off her feet, shook her like a rag doll. “You’ll be sorry if you hurt Jerry.”
    Cops grabbed for stunners. Shouts rang in Eve’s ears as her bones knocked together. She judged her mark, estimated the ratio of his face and her fist. Then spared her knuckles and kicked him solidly in the balls.
    She was airborne. She had a split second to think: Oh, shit .
    She landed hard on her ass, skidded, then her head rapped hard enough against a vending machine to have a few stars dancing in front of her eyes.
    Warning! Warning! the machine announced.
    As Eve reached for her weapon, someone took her arm. Roarke managed to block the fist aimed at his face before it landed. “Easy,” he soothed. “He’s down. And how are you?”
    “He rang my bell. Damn it.” She reached around, rubbed the back of her head as she glared at the huge man now sitting on the floor, holding his crotch and sobbing. “Carmichael!”
    “Sir.” Carmichael clipped over, leaving the uniforms to restrain Billy. “Lieutenant. Jesus, Dallas, I’m sorry about that. You okay?”
    “What the fuck?”
    “Vic was found by this guy and his brother this morning when they reported for work. Vic owned a little market on Washington. It appears the vic was attacked before closing last night, robbed and beaten to death. We brought the brothers in for questioning—we’re looking for the night guy. We don’t believe, at this time, the brothers here were involved, but that they may have pertinent information regarding the whereabouts of the night clerk.”
    Carmichael blew out a breath. “This guy, Billy? He was fine coming in. Crying a little about the dead guy. He’s, you know, a little slow. The brother, Jerry, told him it was okay, to go on with us to get a drink, to talk to us. But he got worked up once we separated them. Man, Dallas, I never thought he’d go for you. You need an MT?”
    “No, I don’t need a damn MT.” Eve shoved to her feet. “Take him into Observation. Let him see his brother’s not being beaten with our vast supply of rubber hoses and saps.”
    “Yes, sir. Ah, you want us to slap Billy with assaulting an officer?”
    “No. Forget it.” Eve walked over, crouched down in front of the sobbing man. “Hey, Billy. Look at me. You’re going to go see Jerry now.”
    He sniffled, swiped at his runny nose with the back of his hand. “Now?”
    “Yeah.”
    “There was blood all over, and Mr. Kolbecki wouldn’t wake up. It made Jerry cry, and he said I couldn’t look, and couldn’t touch. Then they took Jerry away. He takes care of me, and I take care of him. You can’t take Jerry away. If somebody hurts him like Mr. Kolbecki—”
    “Nobody’s going to do that. What kind of soda does Jerry like best?”
    “He likes cream soda. Mr. Kolbecki lets us have cream sodas.”
    “Why don’t you get one for Jerry out of the machine? This officer will take it to him, and you can watch through the window, see Jerry talking to the detective. Then you can talk to the detective.”
    “I’m going to see Jerry now?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Okay.” He smiled, sweet as a baby. “My nuts sure are sore.”
    “I bet.”
    She straightened, stepped back. Roarke had retrieved her disc bag, and the discs that had gone flying as she had. He held it out now. “You’re late for your briefing, Lieutenant.”
    She snatched the bag, suppressed a smirk. “Bite me.”

14
    IT WAS FASCINATING, ROARKE THOUGHT, IN SO many ways to watch her work.
    He’d wandered out of the conference room when he’d heard the commotion, in time to see the erupting mountain of a man lift her a foot off the ground. His instinct had been, naturally, to rush forward, to protect his wife. And he’d been quick.
    She’d been quicker.
    He’d actually seen her calculate in those bare seconds her head had been snapping back and forth on her neck. Punch, gouge, or kick, he remembered. Just as he’d seen more irritation than shock on her face when she’d gone flying.
    Took a hell of a knock, he thought now, but temper had been riper than pain. He’d seen that, too. Just as he’d seen her compassion for the distress and confusion of a scared little boy inside a man’s body.
    And here she was,