Leverage in Death (In Death 47)

een. Contact Baxter, tell him it’s going down here.”

“Ten minutes, Dallas.”

She clicked off. “Roarke.”

“Four in the room directly above, with the lights on. One has to be the child from the size of the heat read. One is sitting, one is lying down. One’s standing—moving, back and forth.”

“Get us in there, quiet.”

“Scanning first. Because if it’s wired, it won’t be quiet at all. The door’s clean. Another moment or two on the rest.”

“Be ready. We get upstairs—quiet. If I can take him out without endangering the civilians, I will. I need you to hang back in case I can’t. Let him think I’m alone. If and when I lower my weapons, it’s a signal you’ve got a shot. Take it.”

“All right, we’re clear. I’ll be scanning as we go. He may have set booby traps.”

She went in low, Roarke high. The moment they crossed the threshold, a light in the wide foyer flashed on.

She swung around, back-to-back with Roarke, weapon sweeping.

“Motion lighting,” he whispered. “Fuck me. It’s not to do with the alarm. It’s set up so if someone comes in late, or goes down in the night, the light comes on for them.”

“If he sees it—”

A scream, agonized, ripped out. As Eve bolted toward the stairs, a woman’s terrified voice shrieked, “No! No! Please, don’t hurt my baby!

A man’s voice joined it, and a child’s desperate calls for his mother.

She caught the sound of running footsteps, and the child’s sobs overhead, swung first to the right and the master.

The woman struggled desperately against the binds that tied her to the bed. Blood seeped from her nose; her right eye was blackened, swollen closed. The man, equally bloodied, twisted against the ropes as he tried to worm his way across the floor to his wife.

He wore a suicide vest.

“Help us!” The woman wept as she scraped her wrists and ankles raw. “He has my baby. He took our son. Help us.”

“Get her out.” On the floor, the man stared up at Eve with pleading eyes. “Get my wife out, save our boy. He’s got the detonator. There’s no time.”

“Get her out,” Eve ordered Roarke, punching her comm to give Salazar and the backup the green. “If you can do anything about the vest, do it. Otherwise, just get her out, wait for Salazar.”

She rushed the steps, weapon sweeping—heard a door slam. On the third floor, she paused, checking right, left. Family area, she noted, but two doors to the left, one to the right, all closed.

She drew a breath, held it. Listened while trying to tune out the weeping, begging rising up from the second floor.

She heard it, muffled, distant, but she heard the boy call out, again, for his mother.

Up, she realized. Roof garden.

She sidestepped left, angled to the first door, went in low.

Bathroom, clear. Moved to the next.

Another set of stairs, straight up with a door at the top. She eased her way up, thinking of the man with the detonator. Nothing to lose now, no way out now. He’d press the button if she played this wrong.

She hit the door, swept, and caught sight of him through the denuded branches of ornamental trees, the kid flailing against him. He swung around, laid a combat knife against the boy’s throat.

“I’ll slice him. You hit me with a stream, I’ll still slice him.”

All in black, but he hadn’t bothered with the mask this time. Why bother? she thought as she set. He’d intended to kill them all anyway.