New York to Dallas

girl wrapped in a blanket, the woman’s body shielding her.
    Melinda stared at her. Blinked.
    “Officer Dallas.” The words broke on a strangled sob. “Darlie, it’s Officer Dallas. I told you they’d come for us.”
    “It’s ‘Lieutenant.’ ” Her voice sounded distant and tinny to her ears. Eve looked at the girl, at Darlie. And another pair of shattered eyes etched themselves into her head. “You’re safe now.”
    Alive. She reminded herself what she’d told Tray Schuster on a morning that seemed years ago. Alive was better.
    “You’re safe now. They’re safe,” Eve said as Bree burst through the door.
    “Melly.”
    “I’m all right.” But she dropped her head on her sister’s shoulder and wept when Bree wrapped her arms around her. “We’re all right. I knew you’d find us.”
    Eve stepped back, shifted away as Detective Price pushed his way through to Melinda.
    “Let’s go outside.” Roarke took her arm. “There’s nothing for you to do here.”
    “Yes, there is.” Sweat, icy and thin, ran in a line down her back. “There is,” she repeated, and turned to Ricchio. “Your scene, Lieutenant.”
    “Ambulance is on the way. We need to get them out, Melinda and the girl. Get them medical attention before we take statements. I want this scene secured and every inch of it gone over. We’ve issued a BOLO for the vehicle he’s driving.”
    He won’t be driving it long, Eve thought, but nodded.
    “We’ve got agents at every transpo station in the city,” Nikos added. “If he ditches the vehicle and tries to get out of Dallas by other means, we’ll find him.”
    “He had to leave in a hurry.” Laurence glanced at the body. “He could’ve left something behind besides his dead partner. If he’s going to make a mistake, this would be the time. I’ll start on the scene with a couple of your men. Lieutenant Ricchio, continue when your CSU arrives.”
    “Good. I’m going to notify Darlie’s parents, get some people knocking on doors.”
    They watched as Detective Price lifted Darlie into his arms. He murmured to her, and she closed her eyes; he pressed her face to his shoulder as he carried her out.
    Didn’t want her to see the body, Eve thought, the blood. Spare her from that anyway. She’d have enough horror in her head already.
    Melinda came out, leaning on her sister. She looked at death, then at Eve. “Thank you. Again. He said to tell you to stick around. He said, ‘Tell Dallas to stick around. More fun to come.’ He’s . . .”
    “Later, Melinda.” Bree gripped her tighter.
    “I need to stay with Darlie. She needs me to stay with her.”
    “I’ll be around,” Eve told her. “We’ll talk later.”
    “Come on, Melly, come with me. We need to tell Mom and Dad you’re okay,” Bree said as she led her sister out.
    “Bad as it is,” Ricchio said, “it’s a good day.”
    But it wasn’t over, Eve thought. Not nearly over. “I’m Homicide. I’ll take the body if you have no objections.”
    “I’d appreciate it. We’ll inform the ME. Do you want an aide or assistant?”
    “Roarke’s done it before.”
    “Then I’ll leave it to you.” His glance at the body, the blood, held no pity. “It looks pretty straightforward.”
    “Yeah. Yeah, I guess it does.” She stepped over to the body again. “I’ll need a field kit,” she said to Roarke, then looked at him, held his eyes when he said nothing. She reached up, switched off her recorder. “Please. I need to do this. It’ll be easier if you help me do it.”
    “Then I will. But Eve, there’s a great deal to say when this is done.”
    “I know it.”
    “I’ll get the kit.”
    The room buzzed with cops, but she was alone, very much alone when she crouched by the body, the toes of her boots at the edge of a river of blood.
    What should she feel, she asked herself. She didn’t know, only knew what to do.
    Routine.
    She switched on her recorder.
    “The victim is female, Caucasian, approximately fifty-five. Facial bruises and contusions were incurred in a vehicular accident earlier on this date, and treated at Dallas City Hospital. Other injuries so incurred are on record. Initial visual shows a single deep gash across the throat, which severed the jugular. Blood-spatter patterns consistent with same.”
    She sat back on her heels, let her gaze scan the floor, the walls, the sofa.
    Work the scene, she ordered herself.
    “She was sitting on the sofa, facing out into the room. Pressure syringe