He whirled, then froze.
“Some might call me that,” the voice ground out, like rocks beneath a boot heel. “But I prefer Chaos. Dr. Chaos.” The creature issued a deep, cape-swishing bow. “At your service.”
“What kind of sick joke is this?”
“My kind. Sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, aren’t you, Billingsly? Well, we’ll just have to take care of that.”
“I have every right to . . .” But he backed up as he spoke, with his heart hammering in his dry throat. “I’m contacting Security.”
“Wanna bet?”
As Billingsly began to run, the creature let out a delighted laugh. Strength, speed, excitement poured through him as he leaped. Billingsly went down under him, screaming.
Chaos used the knife. But before the knife, he used his teeth.
And continued long after the screaming stopped.
The signal of her communicator pulled Eve out of a dream where she chased her killer while he danced down an empty street juggling an ear, an eye, and a tongue.
“Gross,” she mumbled, then called for the lights at ten percent before she answered. “Dallas.”
Dispatch, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. Report to the Whitwood Center. See building security and officer on the door for access to Laboratory Six.
“Justin Rosenthall’s area.”
Affirmative. Possible homicide.
“Acknowledged. Inform Peabody, Detective Delia. Request that she meet me on scene as soon as possible. Has the victim been ID’d?”
Victim identification is not confirmed.
“I’m on my way. Dallas out.”
She shoved at her hair, saw Roarke was already up, getting dressed. “Shit. Shit. You don’t have to come. That’s hovering, isn’t it?”
“In this case it’s sheer curiosity. The likelihood is it’s your man, and since I’m awake now in any case, I’d like to see for myself.”
It was quicker not to argue. Besides, he had an eye as good as most cops she knew. And drove faster and better.
“Inside job, what did I tell you?” She watched buildings whiz by on the way downtown. “It’s one thing to break into the place on Twelfth, but it takes a lot more to get through the security they have at the Center.”
At his noncommittal sound, she gave Roarke a narrowed stare. “For most people. Rosenthall’s lab. He works late a lot. Shit, shit, shit.”
She was out of the car the instant Roarke parked, flashing her badge at the NYPSD uniform and the building security officer.
“Lieutenant. Security Officer Tweed will take you to the scene. My current orders are to remain on the door.”
“Has Detective Peabody arrived?”
“No, sir.”
“Send her in when she gets here. She knows the way. Tweed?”
“This way.”
“I know the way, too. Who found the body?”
“I did. I was doing a standard cam sweep, and I saw . . . a figure.”