J. Robb: Treachery in Death

He looked at her then. She could still see that stone, but with it a kind of grief. “How many are in it, Dallas?”

“One’s too many, and there are a lot more than one. Your focus will be on Palmer and Marcell, and not to alert Tulis. The e-boys will take care of Armand. Others are being or will be dealt with.”

“How do you want it done?”

His words to her echoed Marcell’s to Renee, she realized. And what a world of difference in meaning.

She told him how she wanted it done.

When he went out, she texted Peabody, updated the e-team. When her ’link signaled, she saw Louise on the readout.

“Is she alive?”

“She is,” Louise told her, and those pretty hazel eyes drooped with fatigue. “And her chances of staying that way are good. They’re finishing up the ortho work—that was the most extensive damage—then we’ll move her to recovery and onto ICU. Her recovery will depend, to a large extent on—well—how strong is Strong. The PT is going to be extensive, long, and painful.

“Now tell me why Peabody’s asked nobody tell her family.”

“I’ll get to that, but I need you to inform someone else, but with a few variations. You kept her alive through this part, Louise. Help me keep her alive through the next.”

Over the next hour, Eve learned she didn’t much care for running an op via ’link. She preferred looking into the eyes of the men she coordinated, seeing in their faces their determination, their humor, their willingness to put it all on the line.

When the end of shift came and went, she started counting down the clock.

Step One, she thought. Louise.

Renee, her face covered with weariness and worry, hurried toward the surgical desk. “I’m Lieutenant Oberman,” she told the nurse in charge. “I’m here to check on one of my people, Lilah Strong.”

“Lieutenant?” Louise, still in her scrubs, stepped over. “I’m Doctor Dimatto, one of the surgical team. Why don’t you come with me?”

“Is she out of surgery?”

“Yes.” Louise kept walking. “Why don’t we go in here and sit down?”

“Oh God. She didn’t make it? I was told she was very badly injured, but I’d hoped.”

“She came through very well.” Louise gestured Renee into a small office, shut the door. “Her age and physical condition were on her side. There’s no reason she shouldn’t make a full recovery.”

“Thank God.” Renee closed her eyes, sat. “We’ve all been so concerned. I’d hoped to get here sooner, but . . . doesn’t matter. Can I see her?”

“I’m sorry. She can’t have any visitors at this time. Not even family. There’s a serious risk of infection, so we’ve had to quarantine her. In any case, she’s in an induced coma. She did suffer very severe trauma, and we want to give her body time to heal. We have her in the East Wing, on the eighth floor. It’s quiet and closed off from the rest of the wing. Infection is her enemy at this point.”

“I understand. But is someone with her? If she wakes up—”

“We hope to try to bring her out of the coma in about twenty-four hours. Meanwhile an ICU nurse will check her vitals and progress every thirty minutes. Rest, quiet are what she needs most now. She should be able to have visitors by this time tomorrow, or the following morning.”

“Her room number? I want to tell her squad mates. And send flowers when she can have them.”

“Of course. She’s in Eight-C. I’d be happy to contact you when she’s cleared for visitors.”

“I’d appreciate that very much.” Renee rose. “Thank you for all you’ve done. Believe me, Detective Strong’s recovery is of deep concern to me.”

“I understand. I’ll walk you to the elevator.”

Louise walked her out, waited until the elevator door closed, then took out her ’link. “All right,” she told Eve, “I’ve finished my mix of lies and truth to this Lieutenant Oberman. If you’re done with me, I’d like to go check on my patient.”

“Thanks, Louise.” Eve clicked off, updated her team. And thought: Step Two. Renee to Freeman.

With a cat-smile of satisfaction, Renee slid into her car. When she was a block away from the hospital, she engaged her unregistered’link. “She’s in Eight-C, East Wing. Quarantined, checked every thirty by an ICU nurse. Critical condition, induced coma, outlook optimistic.”

“Not for long.”

“Finish what Bix started, and take her out quick and quiet, Freeman. I want it to look like complications from her injuries.”

“I’ve got something with me. I’ve already scoped out the locker room. I can get in as a medical, add this juice to her IV. She’ll just go under. Like putting a sick dog to sleep.”

“Get it done, then get over to Five-O. I want everybody alibied, just in case.”

“Just need to set up a distraction so I can ghost in there. If I can work it fast enough, I could come back, help out with Dallas.”

“No, do what I’m telling you to do. Nothing more, nothing less. Marcell and Palmer have Dallas. They should move on her soon. Contact me when it’s done. Text only. I don’t want to take a ’link call when I’m with my father.”

“Whatever you say, Lieutenant.”

W hatever you say, Eve thought, following the conversation through her feed. Add another count of conspiracy to murder on your plate, Renee. “You copy that, Dallas?” Feeney asked in her ear.

“Every word. I’m going to shut down here, start the next phase.”

“Keep your ass covered, Lieutenant.” Roarke’s voice sounded in her ear now. “I’m fond of it.”

“So am I.”

She shut down her comp, rolled her shoulders. Now, she got to play. Step Three, Dallas to garage.

“On the move,” she said into her mic.

She walked out of her office, through the bullpen, where Carmichael and two uniforms glanced up.

“Good night, LT.”

“Good night, Detective. Officers.”

She took the glides, giving Carmichael and the uniforms time to move into position, time for her shadow to report she was on the way.

She switched to an elevator for the ride underground, listened to Feeney.

“They tweaked the other cars, so they’ll stop two floors above your level. Anybody planning on coming down to yours will have to wait or take the stairs. We got the source. Roarke’s redirecting the glitch. Armand’s going to expect to be blind, to hold until Marcell or Palmer gives him the clear. But we’ll have you here.”

She nodded, and she walked into the garage when the doors opened.

They couldn’t move on her until she’d reached her vehicle, uncoded the locks. Then they’d hit her from behind. If she was wrong about any of it, she’d take a hit.

Hell, she’d probably take one anyway.

Her bootsteps echoed as she strode to her car, entered the code.

From behind, she thought again when she heard the faint, faint sound. Window going down, vehicle behind and just to the right.

It happened fast. It happened smooth, and exactly as she’d hoped.

Her men poured out from everywhere, weapons drawn. Now voices as well as bootsteps echoed. She took the hit—probably as much reflex as intent on the shooter’s part—and felt the spread of heat, the faint but annoying sting through the protective vest under her jacket.

Her own weapon was out as she pivoted and saw Jacobson stick his right in Marcell’s ear.

“Drop the fucking weapon, you fucking motherfucker or I’ll fucking scramble your fucking brains. Hands up! Hands where I can fucking see them, you fucking cocksucker. You fucking breathe wrong, you fucking blink wrong, and I will fuck you up.”

While Reineke and Peabody dragged Palmer out the other side, Eve stepped back, let Jacobson deal with Marcell.