The In Death Collection Books 6-10 - J. D. Robb [121]
“I’m not waiting for the backup,” she told Roarke, pulling both her weapon and her master code. Then she reached down, tugged a stunner from her boot. “Take my clinch piece—and make sure it disappears when the uniforms get here.” Her eyes held his for one quick moment. “You take the left.”
Wild light and wilder music met them when they went through the door. Eve swung right, sweeping. Then sprinted forward with a shout of warning for the man clinging to the ladder on the side of the show tank.
“Stop! Keep your hands where I can see them.”
“I’ve got to get him out.” Summerset’s knuckles scraped metal as he slid down a rung. “He’s drowning.”
“Get the hell out of my way.” She all but dragged him off the ladder and threw him at Roarke. “Find the drain switch, for God’s sake. Hurry.” Then she was scrambling up, and diving in.
Strings of blood swam in the water like exotic fish. The man who was bolted to the floor of the tank was blue around the lips, his single eye open and staring. She could see both his fingers and ankles were raw from fighting the shackles. She grabbed his battered face, fit her mouth over his, and gave him her breath.
Lungs burning, she pushed off, fought her way to the surface, and sucked in more air. Without wasting the breath on words, she dived again. Her gaze flicked briefly to the face of the Madonna, its carved eyes watching tortured death with absolute serenity.
Eve shuddered once, then fought for life.
On her third trip up, she thought the surface was closer, and swimming down, she turned her head and got a watery view of Roarke coming up the ladder.
He’d taken time to pull off his shoes and jacket. When he reached the floor of the tank, he yanked her arm, jerked a thumb for her to go up. So they worked in tandem, one drawing in air, the other giving it while the water swirled down.
When she could stand, her head above water, she coughed violently. “Summerset,” she managed.
“He won’t go anywhere. For God’s sake, Eve.”
“I haven’t got time to argue about it. Can you pick the locks on the restraints?”
Dripping, still gasping for air, he stared at her. Then he dug in his pocket for his penknife. “Here come your men.”
“I’ll deal with them. See what you can do down there.”
She flipped her wet hair out of her eyes as four uniforms charged inside the club. “Dallas,” she shouted. “Lieutenant Eve. Get some med-techs here, fast. Resuscitation equipment. Drowning victim. I don’t know how long he was under, but there’s no pulse. And someone turn that goddamn music off. Glove up. I want this scene preserved as much as possible.”
The water was down to her knees now, and the air was making her shiver in her wet clothes. Her muscles ached from supporting the dead weight of the victim. She saw Roarke finesse the lock on the first shackle and shifted to adjust.
The minute the second ankle was free, she laid the body down in the few remaining inches of water and, straddling it, began pumping his chest.
“I want a CPR kit in here, some blankets.” The last word echoed as the music shut abruptly off. Now she could hear her ears ringing. “Come on, come on, come back,” she panted, then leaned forward and forced air into his mouth.
“Let me do it.” Roarke knelt beside her. “You’ve got a crime scene to secure.”
“The MTs.” She continued to count the chest pumps in her head. “They’ll be here any minute. You can’t stop until they get here.”
“I won’t stop.”
At her nod, he placed his hands over hers, picked up her rhythm. “Who is he, Roarke?”
“I don’t know.” He glanced up briefly as Eve got to her feet. “I just don’t know.”
It was a great deal harder climbing out of the tank than it had been getting in, Eve realized. She was winded by the time she reached the lip. She took a moment to catch her breath, to draw it into lungs that felt seared and scraped. Then she swung her leg over and started down.
Peabody was waiting at the bottom. “The MTs were right behind me, Dallas.”
“He’s pretty far gone. Don