Treachery in Death (In Death 32)

She let his disgust roll off her back. All the better if he thought her weak and useless. “Look, I’m a good cop. I just have some trouble with tight spaces. I’ll take the glide down, meet you in the garage.”

“We’ll take the glides.” He curled a hand around her arm, steered her toward a down glide.

Duck into a bathroom, she thought, call for backup. And if he followed her in, he’d have her trapped. She jerked her arm, but his grip only tightened. “Hands off, Bix. I can stand on my own.”

“Probably faint at the sight of blood.”

“Up yours.” Lilah elbowed her way down the glide, trying to put space between them. Bix stuck with her like Velcro.

They’d have to switch to one of the garage elevators soon, she calculated. Or the stairs. Where did he plan to do it? Not in Central. But once he got her out ...

So she wouldn’t let him get her out.

“Hey.” She whirled on him. “Keep your hands off my ass.”

“I never—”

She slapped him, hard enough the crack of flesh on flesh drew as much attention as her shouted protest. “Goddamn asshole!” There were plenty of smirks as she shoved down the glide.

He made a grab for her, might have yanked her back, but a couple of cops—one a female uniform who looked like she could bench-press a maxibus—blocked his way.

She heard the shouts, the curses behind her, glanced back. His eyes were absolutely calm as he bulled his way through and closed the distance she’d gained.

She went with instinct and ran.

She leaped on the next glide, slithering and coiling through other passengers like a snake. Lose him, lose him, find a hole, call for help. Sprint straight out on the next level, she told herself. She’d always been fast.

When another check behind told her so was he, she shifted to push through. She broke clear, took one quick heartbeat to gauge the best direction. The roar behind her came an instant before someone plowed into her, propelled by Bix’s violent forward progress. Lilah threw a hand out to catch herself, but her legs shot from under her.

For one breathless second she watched the dull silver steel of the glide rushing toward her. Her arms came up, an instinctive attempt to shield her face, but her shoulder took the first vicious hit. For an instant the world revolved—ceiling to floor—then it exploded when her head struck the ridged steel.

She went tumbling, tumbling, bonelessly to the unforgiving floor below.

Nearly ready to close it down at Central, Eve snatched at her signaling’link. She’d hoped Peabody, struggled against annoyance when she saw Webster on the display.

“Dallas.”

“Detective Strong just took a header off a down glide between three and four.”

Eve shoved to her feet. “How?”

“Not yet determined, but Bix is being held.”

“He fucking pushed her—in Central?”

“Not yet determined. Conflicting accounts.”

“Is she alive?”

“Unconscious, beat up from the fall. On her way to Angel’s. IAB gets a shot at Bix. Renee’s already running interference. We’ll review the security discs, keep him under wraps for now.”

“Is Strong covered?”

“She was in the bus and away before I got word.”

“I’ll cover her.” Eve slammed out of the office, zeroed in on Baxter. “I want you and Trueheart at Angel’s ten minutes ago. You cover a Detective Lilah Strong who’s being transported there with injuries from a fall. You cover her like skin on bone. No medicals alone with her, no other cops near her. This is a direct order, and I don’t care if God Himself countermands it, you will follow it.”

“Yes, sir.”