The In Death Collection Books 16-20 - J. D. Robb [724]
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Hold on to your fizzy.”
She’d gone as far east as Second, and now at an intersection, whipped the wheel, slapped into a steep vertical lift, and executed a rapid and airborne three-sixty.
“Hit the sirens,” she snapped at Trueheart. “Call it in now! Street and air support. Black panel van, New York plates. Abel-Abel-Delta- 4-6-1-3. And up they go.”
The van shot into vertical, then blasted like cannon shot down Second. A white light exploded in front of Eve’s windshield and shook the air like thunder.
“Shit on a stick. They’ve got laser rifles. Fricking armed and fricking dangerous, heading south on Second at Seventy-eight. Make that west on Seventy-seven, approaching Park. Look at that bastard move.”
“Juiced up.” Trueheart’s voice was even as he spoke, as he gave dispatch a rapid-fire report of their direction. But it had gone up a full octave.
The van shot out another blast, then dropped to street level, punching up speed in a shower of sparks as they streamed onto Fifth and aimed south.
She saw two black-and-whites cut over from the west at Sixty-fifth, move to intercept. Pedestrians scattered, and some of them went airborne as the next blast boomed out. One of the black-and-whites was flung into the air to spiral like a top.
Eve was forced to slap vertical again to avoid collision and panicked civilians. She lost nearly half a block before she could set down and increase speed. Then she screamed downtown after the building-block red squares of the van’s taillights.
Another blast knocked her back, had her fighting to keep control. Icy red liquid splattered over the dash.
She was gaining. The shops of midtown were a colorful blur as she careened south. Lights and animated billboards were nothing but sparkle.
Overhead, one of the ad blimps boomed out about a buy-one-get-one-half fall sale on winter coats.
She stayed on him, weaving, dodging, matching maneuver to maneuver as he swung west again. She heard the scream of sirens, her own and others.
She would tell herself later she should have anticipated, should have seen it coming.
The maxibus was lumbering in the right-hand lane. The blast from the van rolled it like a turtle, had it skidding over the street. Even as she switched to a straight lift, the maxi’s spin caught a Rapid Cab, flipped it into the air like a big yellow ball.
On an oath, Eve whipped right, dived down, managed to thread between the bus, the cab, and a pocket of people on the sidewalk who were standing with eyes and mouths wide open at the free show.
“Abort standard safety factors!” she shouted and prayed the computer would act quickly enough. “Abort cushioning gel, goddamn it!” An instant later, she landed with a bone-crunching slap of tires to pavement.
Safety factors aborted. Please reset.
She was too busy swearing, shooting into reverse. But when she pulled out on Seventh, she saw nothing but chaos. And no sign of the van.
She yanked the harness clear, shoved out of the door, and slammed a fist on the roof. “Son of a bitch! Tell me air support’s still got him. Tell me one of the black-and-whites still has him.”
“That’s a negative, sir.”
She studied the overturned bus, the wrecked cars, the still screaming pedestrians. There was going to be hell to pay.
She looked over at Trueheart, and for one moment her heart stopped. His face, his uniform jacket, his hair were covered with red.
Then she let out a breath. “Told you to hold on to that damn fizzy.”
20
SUMMERSET GLANCED UP FROM HIS BOOK WHEN Roarke tapped on the jamb of his open parlor door. It was rare for Roarke to come into his private quarters, so he put the book aside, rose.
“No, don’t get up. I . . . have you got a minute?”
“Of course.” He looked over at the monitor, saw that Nixie was in bed, sleeping. “I was about to get a brandy. Would you like one?”
“Yes. I would, yes.”
As he picked up the decanter, Summerset pondered over the fact that Roarke continued to stand, trouble written on his face. “Is something wrong?