J. Robb - Born In Death

Circling, Eve thought. Not parked, leaving no record.

“She sat in the back with me while the driver started on. She gave me a bottle of water, and we chatted about London. And then… I felt so strange, and I can’t remember. Until I awoke in that room.”

“You’re out of it now,” Eve said when Tandy trembled again. “You’re out, and they’re the ones locked up.”

“I’m out. Yes, we’re out, and we’re safe. They were there, both of them,” she continued in a steadier voice. “And that horrible droid, sitting there, staring at me when I woke up. And they told me how things would be. The baby wasn’t mine, I’d signed it away. I was only the means to its birth.”

She shifted now, to look behind her and meet Eve’s eyes. “They said this to me, all so calm, even when I was screaming and trying to get away, and the droid forced me back on the bed. They said I’d be treated well, have proper nourishment, rest, stimulation, and they expected me to deliver a healthy baby boy within the week.

“I said they were mad, they couldn’t force me to give up my child. He said – the son – he said they had wealth, power, position. I had nothing but a fertile womb. They left that music playing day and night. Good for the baby. Everything in the room was bolted down. I couldn’t even throw anything. I beat against the windows, but no one could see. I screamed until I hadn’t a voice left, but no one could hear me.

“What day is it?”

“It’s early Monday morning,” Eve told her.

“Only Monday,” Tandy said and turned to rest her head again. “It felt longer. So much longer. You saved my baby. You saved me. If I live two hundred years more, I’ll never forget it.”

The lights were on, gleaming against the windows, flooding the grounds where the snow lay like white mink. Tree branches were heavy with it as it continued to fall in a hushed whisper.

“Oh. It’s like a palace.” Tandy’s voice shook. “Like a winter palace. I feel as though I’m the princess who’s been rescued. You’re my knights in shining armor,” she said, rubbing fresh tears from her cheeks.

Even as they pulled up in front, the door to the house burst open, and Mavis, dwarfed in one of Eve’s robes, ran out. Summerset and Leonardo rushed behind her.

“Mavis, you promised you’d wait.” Summerset reached for her arm.

“I know, I’m sorry. I can’t. Tandy!” She wrenched open the door. “Tandy! Are you all right? The baby?”

“They saved us.”

On cue, Eve thought, both women burst into tears and fell into each other’s arms.

“Let’s get you inside now, out of the cold, sweetheart.” Leonardo wrapped his big arms around both of them. “Come inside now, Tandy.”

“Take them straight up to the room I prepared,” Summerset ordered. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

As they walked toward the house, sheltered by Leonardo, Mavis looked back at Eve. “I knew you’d find her. I knew you would.”

“They’re yours now.” Eve pointed at Summerset. “I’ve got work.”

“Lieutenant.”

She turned, scowled at him. “What?”

“Well done.”

“Huh. Thanks.” She raised her eyebrows at Roarke as they went inside. “I’ve got to tag Peabody, make sure the prisoners are secured, check in with Baxter on-scene, and round it out with Reo and Smith.”

“Yes, of course. After you’ve had some sleep.”

“Loose ends dangling.”

“That can be tied up later. Whatever you got from the booster and your own adrenaline is washed, Lieutenant. You’re pale as the moon, and your words are starting to slur.”

“Coffee.”

“Not a chance in hell.”

He must have been right because when she managed to focus, she was standing – barely – in the bedroom. “One hour horizontal,” she said as she took off her weapon harness.

“Four – which gives you enough time to put some fuel in your system in the morning and get downtown to grill your suspects.”

“Not just grill.” She sat to yank off her boots. “I’m gonna fry ’em. Aren’t you gonna carry me to bed?”

“You’re still dressed.”

“’S’ okay. I can sleep in my clothes.” She smiled sleepily, held up her arms to him.

He got her up, staggered a little as he carted her to the bed, then dumped both of them onto the duvet. “Best I can do.”

“Good enough.” She curled into him, he wrapped around her, and they both tumbled into sleep.

He’d been right about the four and the fuel, Eve decided. She was going to have a long and tricky day, and needed to charge up for it.

As expected, Bullock and the rest had called in a fleet of lawyers. Eve was letting them all stew while she and her team gave complete reports to Whitney and Reo.

“The Feds and Global are going to want to take over the fraud, the baby-for-profit op, and whatever else the foundation had its fingers into,” Reo told her.

“They can have it.”

“And a field day with it. The London law firm is also going to be on the hot seat. You’ve got yourself an international incident, Dallas.”

“I’ve got three DB’s. Those are mine. As for the abduction and held-against-will of Tandy Willowby, that’s a share with Lieutenant Smith in MPU.”

“How’s she doing? Willowby?”

“Good, I’m told. She was sleeping when I left the house.” She turned to Whitney. “I want to start with Cavendish on this, sir. He’s the weak sister.”

“Your call.”

Reo got to her feet. “Got them cold on the kidnapping, and the evidence is there for Global. The three homicides, that’s the sticker.”

“I’ll get them.”

Reo nodded. “Mind if I watch?”

Cavendish was in Interrogation, looking pale and sweaty and flanked by two sharp-looking suits. The one on the left got immediately to his feet. “My client was held overnight without bond, and kept waiting in this room nearly an hour. We intend to file complaints, and when you’ve finished this ridiculous charade, demand an internal investigation on you.”

“Charade?” Eve said to Peabody.

“It’s like that game where you can’t talk, but you have to use your hands and body language to get the other person to guess the word or phrase.”

“No kidding? That’s good, because while Mr. Cavendish is entitled to his representation, and may speak with same, I’m not obliged to speak to lawyers. Record on. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, and Peabody, Detective Delia, in formal interview with Cavendish, Walter, and his two representatives. I’ll just read off the charges.”

When she had, she sat, kicked out her legs. “You’ve already been read the Revised Miranda, Mr. Cavendish – ”

“My client is a citizen of Great Britain – ”

“God save the King. Do you understand your rights and obligations in this matter?”

“I understand. I have nothing to say.”

“Okay, I’ll do the talking. We’ll start with accessory to murder, three counts. That’s good for three consecutive life sentences in the good old U.S. of A. Now, the Brits may want you, and we may agree to deport you into their custody, which would make me sad. Still, they’d lock you up for the rest of your natural life there, too – and save the taxpayers money.”

“You have nothing to link my client to any murder, or any crime.”

“I have enough not only to link you,” Eve said, speaking directly to Cavendish, “but to chain you head to foot and throw you overboard. Randall Sloan kept private records, Cavendish. Chase didn’t get them. I did. Your name’s on them.”

She smiled when a line of sweat beaded over his top lip. Yeah, the weak sister.

“You were aware of the operating practices of the Bullock Foundation, which included the sale of infant human beings for profit and fraudulent tax reporting to boost the profit on that operation. You were also aware that Chase intended to murder Natalie Copperfield and Bick Byson, who had discovered at least part of those practices. You knew he was going to do this to them.”