She heard breaking glass, the booming crash of the door and barricade giving out, then the rush of boots.
“He’s down,” she repeated. “Hold your fire. Get the damn lights on.”
“He cut the power.” Lowenbaum dropped down, pulled a flashlight out of his belt. “They’re working on it.” He trailed the light over Mackie. “Goggles shattered. Looks like he got shards in his eyes. Let’s get a medic!” he shouted.
“He can wait. The lieutenant’s hit.”
At Roarke’s terse statement, Eve glanced at her arm, saw the blood seeping down her sleeve. “Grazed me is all.”
“Bollocks to that.” So saying, Roarke hauled her up, dragged the jacket off.
“Look, simmer. I know when I’m really hurt.”
“More bollocks. If you knew so bloody much, you’d be wearing your armor.”
“I had it—the coat.” She hissed when he ripped off her sleeve, used it to staunch the blood.
“You aren’t wearing the shagging coat, are you?”
“I—”
“And I didn’t think of it until it was too late.” He bound up the wound, then caught her face in his hands. When her eyes fired out a warning—Don’t even think about kissing me—he nearly smiled. “You’ll have that tended to properly.”
“Yeah, yeah. Nice field dressing, thanks for that. Now I’m going to make sure my suspect stays alive.”
She turned as Peabody hurried in. “Civilians?”
“Secure—still in their own residence. Magly cute dog. MTs on the way—ETA one minute. The house is being cleared, and Feeney’s working with McNab and Callendar to get the power up again. You got hit!”
“Grazed.”
“But—but—you had my magic coat.”
“I took it off. Don’t,” Eve said before Peabody could harass her as Roarke had. “When the power’s up, get EDD to check out any and all electronics. Then—”
“Dallas, you want to take a look here.”
She looked back as Lowenbaum played his light around the room.
Or, more accurately, the armory. A battered worktable held more than two dozen weapons—long and short range, knives, boomers. More body armor hung on pegs, along with other goggles, field glasses.
“He must’ve been stockpiling for a while, maybe even before his wife died.”
“There’s another knife stuck in the wall out there,” Peabody said.
“So that’s what that was.” Eve looked down at Mackie. “You’re going to find that funk, too. I could see the tremor in his hands.”
She stepped back as the MTs came in. “Patch him up, bring him around. I need him in Interview.”
To keep Roarke off her back, she let the MTs treat her arm while she, Lowenbaum, and Feeney had their roundup.
“He had a two-level barricade on the doors and windows,” Lowenbaum told her. “If we’d tried storming, he’d have picked some of us off.”
“Maybe—didn’t want to risk it—but he’s not the marksman he was. My team found two kegs of funk hidden in the closet of his room. Probably hiding it from the daughter, but she’d have been blind and deaf not to see the effects.”
“Prided himself on his exceptional vision and steady hands.” Lowenbaum shook his head. “But he goes on the funk, goes on what takes those away.”
“Ever known a funky-junkie who didn’t think they’d beat the effects until they didn’t? I’m going to the hospital—I’ve got four cops on him. Unless he’s fricking dying, he’ll be in a cage tonight.”