The in Death Collection Books 11-15 - J. D. Robb [567]
She saw the men storming down the glide over Eve’s shoulder. Heard the shouts and rushing feet from behind. In that moment, her body alive with a pain she’d never experienced, she cursed herself for falling into a trap, cursed Eve for outmaneuvering her.
But the war wasn’t over. Couldn’t be over. Retreat, her mind ordered. And following it she jumped from the glide, springing hard to clear the three feet to the open-air restaurant.
Those who dined were already goggling. Several screamed when the bloody woman, her face blackened with soot, her eyes wild, her teeth bared, landed among the charming glass-topped tables and glowing candles.
Two women and one man fainted when the second woman, equally torn, flew down, feet first, and slammed into the dessert cart.
There were splashes and shouts as a few diners fell into the pool.
Cornered by the cops who burst through the restaurant’s doors and the others that ranged on the now-disabled glide, Julianna focused on the only one who mattered. She grabbed a bottle of superior merlot, smashed it against a table. Wine splattered like blood as she turned the jagged edge toward Eve.
“I’m going to kill you.” She said it calmly, though tears tracked through the filth on her face.
“Hold your fire,” Eve ordered as one of the cops took aim. “Hold your goddamn fire. This is my op. This is my collar.” She sensed rather than saw Roarke land behind her. “Mine.” She all but growled it.
“Then finish it.” He spoke quietly, for her alone. “You’ve given her enough of your time.”
“Let’s see if you’ve got the guts, Julianna, to try to slit my throat with that. You’ll have to come in fast. It’s going to be messy. Not neat, not delicate like poisoning some poor slob.”
She circled as she spoke, gauging her ground, planning her moves. “What’s the matter, Julianna? Afraid to try the direct kill?”
On a scream of rage, of insult, of loathing, Julianna charged. Eve felt the rush of facing death stream cool into her body. She sprang off her toes, one leg pistoning out, then the other. The two rapid kicks, both dead in the face, had Julianna flying back, landing without grace on one of the glass-topped tables.
She smashed through it, landed hard in an ugly shower of glass. “Basic rule of combat,” Eve said as she reached down, dragged Julianna up by her curls. “Legs are generally longer than arms.”
She leaned in, whispered in Julianna’s ear. “You shouldn’t have gone after what’s mine. Big mistake.”
Though in a daze Julianna managed to bare her teeth. “I’ll be back, and I’ll kill both of you.”
“I don’t think so, Julianna. I think you’re done. Now I’m going to give you your civil right to remain silent.” So saying Eve punched her full in the face and knocked her cold.
Eve flipped her over, clapped on the restraints, then straightened, stepped back. “Peabody.”
“Ah, yes, sir. Right here.”
“See that this prisoner is read her rights, transported to the proper holding facility, and given all required medical attention.”
“You bet. Lieutenant?”
Eve turned her head, inelegantly spat out blood. “What?”
“I just want to say, you are my god.”
With a half-laugh, Eve limped to a chair. Sat. Pain was beginning to leak through and promised to be awesome. “Get her out of here so they can start cleaning up this mess. I’ll be in to file the reports and debrief the team after I clean up some.”
“She won’t be in before morning,” Roarke corrected. He lifted a large, unbroken bottle of water, opened it, handed it to Eve.
“Two hours.” Eve tipped back her head and drank like a camel.
Wisely Peabody opted to stay out of this particular battle as well.
“Sorry about messing up your pretty hotel.”
“You did quite the job on it.” He pulled up a chair, sat in front of her. Her face was bruised, bloody, filthy, her knuckles raw and swollen. A gash among the many scratches on her arm would require treatment. But for now he took out a handkerchief, plucked one of the linen napkins from the table, and tied on a quick field dressing.