Thankless in Death (In Death 37)

“It has a sadistic streak, so as it says that, it’s aware it’s fully shielded and armed.”

“Good thing.” She walked to the entrance, started to buzz Nuccio’s apartment, changed her mind.

“Don’t want her to know you’re on your way up?” Roarke asked when she used her master for access.

“Not exactly.”

“You are worried.”

“Bad feeling’s sticking. Let’s take the stairs.” Her fingers danced lightly over her weapon as they climbed. “Are you shielded and armed like your latest toy?”

“Always.”

She could hear the throbs from entertainment screens, and someone’s bright laughter before a door cut it to a muffle.

She nodded at Nuccio’s door, stepped to it, pressed the buzzer.

The locks remained engaged; the peep remained shielded.

She buzzed twice more, then banged on the door with the side of her fist. “Lori Nuccio, this is the NYPSD. We need to speak to you.”

The door stayed shut; the one across the hall opened. “You’re back.”

“Yeah. Ms. Crabtree, do you know if Ms. Nuccio’s in?”

“Yeah, she got home about quarter to seven. Thereabouts anyway. I gave her your card.”

Her gaze shifted over to Roarke as she spoke, and Eve saw the look in Crabtree’s eyes she’d seen in a variety of women’s eyes when they got an up-close load of him. She thought of it as a kind of ocular sigh.

“Anyway. I figured you’d come by before this or wait until tomorrow.”

“She didn’t contact me.”

“Damn it.” Crabtree’s gaze zipped back to Eve. “She said she would. She was pretty upset, wouldn’t let me fix her tea or anything. Just wanted to be alone and quiet, she said. I guess she needs to brood some.”

“She’s not answering.”

“I didn’t hear her go out. The elevator makes a racket, but she could’ve taken the stairs. She didn’t look like she wanted to do anything but hunker down. Maybe she took a sleeping pill.”

“I’m going to access this apartment. I don’t have a warrant, but—”

“Wait, wait. I don’t think that’s right. She wouldn’t like that.”

Then she should’ve contacted me, Eve thought.

“I’m concerned for her welfare. I’m accessing it.” Eve nodded at Roarke, then shifted to block Crabtree’s objections—and view—while he picked the locks.

“She’s just hunkered down,” Crabtree insisted. “You can’t just walk into her place like this. It’s not right.”

“Then you can file a complaint.”

“Done,” Roarke murmured.

Eve turned. “Record on.” Though her fingers itched for her weapon, she simply opened the door, called out.

“Lori Nuccio, this is the NYPSD. We’re entering this apartment.”

She barely crossed the threshold when she smelled it—blood and death.