Apprentice in Death (In Death 43)

“He’s got it blacked out in here,” she murmured to Feeney. “Probably has night-vision goggles. We’re moving. Stay low,” she told Roarke, and combat crawled toward the door.

He stayed ahead of her again—he was longer, and he had the light. She’d have something to say to him about that later.

“Through the door, moving toward the stairs. Going silent.”

She moved into a crouch, slowly started up toward the third floor. Halfway up, she started to tap Roarke, have him turn off even that thin beam. But he tapped her first, kept his hand on her arm, cut the light.

When they reached the top, the mini motion detector aimed at the stairs set off a wild beep.

“He dropped! He’s moving toward you.”

“Take cover!” Eve shouted to Roarke, and rolled. She saw the streak from the strike whiz by, laid down a stream of suppressing fire. “Stay clear, you stay clear! Punch those holes, get me some light.” She rolled again, sprang up. “Move in, move in.”

A high whine had her dropping, a series of tiny holes punched through the barricades on the window. She felt more than saw Mackie hit the stairs.

“He’s going down to two. Roarke, are you clear?”

“Clear. You’re not wearing any armor. Stay behind me.”

“His aim’s crap,” she said, and bolted down. She heard Roarke cursing viciously behind her, heard the battering ram crashing, crashing against the door down below.

Felt her way along the wall until her hand came to a doorway.

“At your six!” Feeney shouted.

She dropped and rolled, heard the thud of something striking the wall, fired toward it.

“He’s moving past you, made a left.”

“Roarke, move left—hit the wall, stay down.” She did the same. “Mackie! It’s done, it’s finished. Throw out your weapons and surrender.”

He answered with a volley of strikes that whined and speared through the opposing wall.

She put her lips to Roarke’s ear. “Get the penlight. Stay out of range. Aim in at the doorway.”

“I can widen the beam.”

“Do that. Feeney, exact position?”

“Back wall, between the windows. Five feet east, ten feet north of your position. They don’t have a shot.”

“Copy that.” She squeezed Roarke’s hand. “In three, two.”

She moved on one, hurtling down the narrow hall, calculating distance as the light flashed.

She got a glimpse—hand lasers, full body armor, night-vision goggles.

With her stunner two cli

cks down from full power, she aimed for his eyes.

She felt the burn streak down her arm, heard him cry out, rolled clear. Laid down another stream as Roarke rushed to flank the doorway. His stream hit Mackie low, biting into his boots, hers went back for the goggles.

This time, he dropped.

“Suspect down, he’s down.” She rushed in, kicked away the weapon that dropped out of his shaking hand. “Get me more light, get me some damn light.” But she yanked Mackie’s arms back, snapped on restraints before she tested the pulse in his throat.

“He’s alive.” She felt the wet on her fingers, smelled the blood. “He’s bleeding. We need the MTs. We need a bus.”