Her hand shook a little as she brought the glass up to drink, then steadied again.
“I’ve been thinking about moving, better building, higher security, but I haven’t taken the time to figure out where and what I want. That one went through my head, too, because if the chain didn’t hold . . .”
She drew a breath, let it out. Focusing on getting air in and out now that her chest no longer felt crushed.
“I had my lighter in my pocket. I remembered I had it—had myself two herbals while I was working because I’m still officially vacationing. I burned her. It’s got a wicked flame on high, and I burned her, Dallas. Stuck it through, got her wrist, I think, maybe more, or her arm. I’m not sure. But she pulled back, screamed, so I know I hurt her. I got the door shut, and locked. And I tagged you.”
Eve rose. “Which arm did she catch with the stream?”
Nadine rubbed her left arm. “It’s better.”
Eve punched Nadine’s right biceps—she pulled it, considerably, but she punched it.
“Ow!”
“Does ‘don’t open the goddamn, motherfucking door’ mean open the goddamn, motherfucking door with the stupid, nearly worthless chain on?”
Nadine narrowed her eyes, took a long, slow drink of bourbon. “Bitch.” Then another long, slow drink. “I’m sorry. You’re a bitch, but you’re right, and I’m sorry and stupid. And I’m moving. You could find me a new place,” she said to Roarke.
“I could give you some options. I’d be happy to give you some options if you give me the idea what you’d like.”
Eve bared her teeth at both of them. “Do you think we could wait until whenever is not now for a real estate discussion?”
Eve paced away.
“Maybe you should get her a soother,” Nadine murmured—very quietly. “Or a stiff double of bourbon.”
Roarke only patted Nadine’s shoulder.
“She changed her look, her approach. So she’s adaptable. And she didn’t run at the first sign it wasn’t going as planned. A little more aggressive, and desperate. I think desperate,” Eve decided. “Pissed, too. Seriously pissed. She’s had two strikeouts now. She’s going to be running on rage. And she’s hurt. You not only aren’t dead, you hurt her.”
“Yay me.”
“Bollocks to that. Pack up what you need. You’ll stay at our place until we have her. I’ll have a uniform transport you. Roarke, you’d better let Summerset know she’s coming.”
“Do you think she’d come back?”
“Low probability on that,” Eve told her. “But I think she needs a kill tonight, and I’d rather you’re not here in case she tries for a second shot at you.”
“I’d rather not be here, too. Thanks. But if you hit me again, I’m calling a cop.”
“Funny. Get moving. I want you out of here while I—” She yanked out her ’link. “It’s the alarm McNab set up. She just tried the master.”
She pulled out her communicator.
“Dispatch, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve.
“All available units, 963 Ludlow. Attempted break-in. Female suspect is wearing a dark peacoat, dark hat with bill and earflaps. She is armed and dangerous.”
“Who lives there?” Nadine demanded. “Do you know who lives there?”
Even as Eve started to shake her head, Roarke spoke. “Jamie. His mother’s place.”
“Wait.” She grabbed his arm as he turned toward the door. “We’re too far out. Cops’ll be there, in minutes, and she can’t get in with that master. Tag him, tag him now. Tell him to stay wherever he is, locked in. I’ll tag his mother.”
Jamie, she’d never thought of Jamie. He was a kid—no more than twenty. Not even twenty, she corrected, as she called up the contact. Feeney’s godson, a kind of Roarke protégé. A kid who wanted to be a cop. And his mother . . . not a friend, not an enemy. Just Jamie’s mother.
“Ms. Wojinski.” Eve felt a small flick of relief when the sleepy voice answered. “This is Eve Dallas. Listen to me carefully.”