The In Death Collection Books 6-10 - J. D. Robb [80]
She inched forward, ignoring the bad-tempered honks and shouted curses of other drivers similarly situated.
A teenage couple riding tandem on an airboard surfed through the snarled traffic in a bright flash of color. The driver beside her resigned herself to a long wait by turning up her music system to an ear-splitting pitch and singing along in a loud, off-key voice.
Overhead an airbus blatted. There was something smug in the sound, Eve thought. Yeah, yeah, she mused, scowling up at it, if more people took advantage of public transpo, we wouldn’t be in this fix.
Bored, Eve pulled out her communicator and tagged Peabody.
“You might as well call it a night,” Eve told her. “I’m in a vehicle jam here and my ETA is anyone’s guess.”
“There’s this rumor about pizza.”
“Okay, enjoy then, but if you’re still there when I get in, you’re going to have to give me a full report on the day’s work.”
“For pizza, Lieutenant, I would face much worse.”
She watched it happen. It was perfectly choreographed for disaster. Three cars ahead of her, two Rapid Cabs shot into vertical lift at the same time. Their fenders brushed, bumped. The cabs shimmied. Even as Eve was shaking her head over idiocy, the cabs lost their lift and hit the street with resounding thuds.
“Well, damn.”
“Problem, Dallas? Thought I heard a crash.”
“Yeah, a couple of brain dead cabbies. Oh yeah, that’s going to help. Now they’re out of their rides and screaming at each other. This’ll get traffic moving, all right.”
Her eyes narrowed as she saw one of the cabbies reach through his window and pull out a metal bat. “That tears it. Peabody, call for a couple of black-and-white floaters, assault with deadly in progress, Tenth Avenue between Twenty-fifth and -sixth. Tell them to make it fast before we have a riot. Now I’m going to go give these assholes a lesson in driving courtesy.”
“Dallas, maybe you ought to wait for backup. I’ll have—”
“Forget it. I’m sick of idiots.” She slammed her door, took three long-legged strides. And the world erupted.
She felt the hot fist of air punch her in the back, scoop her up like a doll, and fling her forward. Her eardrums sang with the force of the explosion as she flew. Something sharp, twisted, and flaming shot past her head. Someone screamed. She didn’t think it was herself, as she couldn’t seem to draw in air to breathe.
She bounced headfirst off the hood of a car, dimly saw the shocked, white face of its driver gaping at her, then hit the street hard enough to scrape flesh and rattle bones.
Something’s burning, something’s burning, she thought, but couldn’t quite place it. Flesh, leather, fuel. Oh God. With wobbly effort, she pushed with her hands, managed to lift her head.
Behind her, people abandoned their cars like rats running from doomed ships. Someone stepped on her, but she barely felt it. Overhead, the traffic copters zoomed in to shine security beams and blast out cautions.
But eyes were dazzled by the fierce light, the shooting flames coming from her vehicle.
She wheezed in a breath, let it out. “Son of a bitch.” And passed out cold.
chapter thirteen
Roarke muscled his way through crowds of people, lines of emergency vehicles. Airlifts hovered above, shooting out their streams of lights amid the shriek of sirens. There was a smell of sweat and blood and burning. A child was screaming in long, gulping wails. A woman sat on the ground, surrounded by sparkling, fist-sized diamonds of Duraglass, and wept silently into her hands.
He saw blackened faces, shocked eyes, but he didn’t see Eve.
He refused to allow himself to think or to feel or to imagine.
He’d been in Eve’s office, tinkering with McNab, when the hail for Peabody had come in. He’d continued to work, amusing himself by listening to Eve’s voice, the irritation spiking it, then the