Survivor in Death (In Death 20)

She merely turned her head, and the expression on her face had the uniform nodding. “Yes, sir.”

“Cut their throats—their favorite game. But they didn’t cut two cops’ throats without a fight. Had to disable first. Long-range stunners,” she said, studying the faint singe on Preston’s shirt. “That’s what they had. No chances this time. Not just killing little kids. So they come in the front. God damn how did they get through? How did they compromise this system so fast two cops are caught with their pants down?”

“It’s a standard police system,” Roarke said quietly because he heard more than rage in her voice. He heard pain. “A good system, but standard issue for cop houses. If they had the kind of knowledge we believe, they could have set for this, taken it out, got through the door in under two minutes. Very likely considerably under two minutes with the equipment they must have at their disposal.”

“These were good cops,” she reminded him. “Too good to sit still for a breach like this. Knight’s in the damn kitchen making a sandwich. There’s a security monitor in there. There are security monitors upstairs. Screen goes out, you go straight to Code Red. So it didn’t go out. Not at first. Why is Knight upstairs?”

She stepped over the body, over the blood, and went up to the second floor.

There were two bedrooms, one bath. All windows were privacy screened, barred, and wired. She looked at the ’link in the first bedroom, crossed to it and replayed the last incoming.

It was audio only, and it was her voice.

“Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. The suspects are contained. Repeat, the suspects are contained and being transported. Stand down and report to Central.”

“Fucking A.” Eve muttered.

“Lieutenant?” There was puzzlement, but no alarm in Preston’s voice. “You’re on the house ’link.”

“I’m aware of that. Did you copy your orders?”

“Yes, sir, but—”

“Dallas out.”

“Well, shit.” Preston’s voice was perturbed now, and he didn’t immediately end the transmission on his end. “Yo, Knight! Dallas collared the bastards. . . . How the hell do I know, she was her usual chatty self. Make me a damn sand—”

There was a blasting sound, a shout, then the sound of running feet.

“Voice simulator,” Roarke said from behind her. “There was a tinny quality to it, and the lack of inflection in your tone. I suspect, if he had another moment or two, he’d have considered that, and checked in with you.”

“One working the simulator, two coming in. Pull one of them up here with the ’link call, keep him occupied just long enough. Good surveillance equipment, maybe body heat sensors. Knew where they were. One up, one down. Took Knight before he could blink, but Preston got a stream off. They’ve homed in on him, though, so he’s down before he can signal there’s trouble.”

“If they had sensors, they’d have known there were only two people here. Both adults.”

She tagged the ’link for EDD. “Some of the safe houses have cold rooms, just to screw with that kind of surveillance. Subject under protection can be in the cold room. No point in not checking that out, once you’ve got the locations.”

She headed out, and down. Whitney came in the front as she reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Commander.”

“Lieutenant.” He nodded at Roarke, then crossed to the first body. He said nothing. Then, continuing to look at his fallen men, spoke in a voice dangerously soft. “They don’t yet know the wrath. But they will. Report.”

She went through the steps, reporting, recording, collecting, and repressed the storm inside. She stood over Morris as he conducted his on-scene exam. “Stunned first. Midbody hit on both.”

“Preston would have been four or five steps down. He got off a stream,” Eve added. “Might’ve caught one of them. There’s no sign of a hit on the walls, anywhere in the room. Crime Scene ran over it. No residue. No wasted shots here,” she noted. “Everyone who fired hit something they were aiming at.”

“My guess would be he crumbled more than fell. I’ll know more when I get him in, but the bruising, the position of the body indicates he was thrust back by the stream, then folded, slid. His throat slit where he lay.”

“They had to lift Knight’s head to cut him. Blasted back, plate and cup flying. Hits the floor and rolls facedown.”

She walked back to the front door. “Came in together, one high, one low. It’s low guy who takes Knight, from the angle of the hit. High hits Preston. Moving fast, moving smooth.”

She simulated, weapon drawn, heading forward. “One takes Knight.” Blood cold, she moved straight to the body, lifted the head by the hair, mimed drawing a knife over the throat. “Left-handed this time. Versatile bastards. Had the stunners in the right, knives in the left.”

Morris said nothing, only watched.

“Second moves straight to Preston, bends down, slices. Combat grip, one quick stroke. Then he heads up, his partner takes the first floor. Place this size, they can confirm it’s empty in under ninety seconds.”