Текст книги "Eve"

Автор книги: Iris Johansen

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Текущая страница: 1 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

CONTENTS

Title Page

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Also by Iris Johansen

Copyright

CHAPTER

1

Malua, Samoa

Present day

TWO MINUTES.

The explosive was in place beneath the back veranda of the house. The charge set.

Agent Art Benkman slid behind the garden wall that surrounded the pool and house and waited.

No mistakes this time. His superior wouldn’t tolerate another near miss. It had been made clear that Black must be destroyed. He was a monster who knew too much.

No, he’d seen Paul Black go into the house an hour ago. It was the best time for the kill. Only one person in the house besides that son of a bitch. A housekeeper who occupied the end bedroom of the rambling bungalow. He’d seen her light go out two hours ago. She’d be asleep by now.

Good night.

And good-bye.

No one would survive this blast. He’d had to be sure.

One minute.

The flames from the blast would probably reach the top of those palm trees hovering over the roof.

“I’ve got you, Black,” he murmured. “Burn in—”

Pain.

He was flipped over and was looking up at the man who had sent the needle-sharp stiletto deep into his back.

Black. But it couldn’t be Paul Black. He was in the house.

No, he was here. That dark, devil’s face …

“Who sent you?” Black asked. “Who told you I was here?” He was searching in Benkman’s pockets, pulling out his wallet and the e-mail that he’d received two days ago. He glanced at it and smiled. “Very explicit. And you obeyed blindly like a good agent? Never mind. You don’t have to answer. I don’t need you now.”

“Kill you…” Benkman whispered. “I have to—”

“Die,” Black supplied as he picked up Benkman as if he were a child. “That’s all you have to do.” He was carrying him over to the house. “How do you feel about cremation?”

“No!” He started to struggle as panic overcame pain. “Don’t leave me here. It’s going to—”

“Blow?” Black dropped him on the floor of the great room. “In about forty seconds.” He looked down at him. “Why don’t you see if you can make it through the French doors and out onto the terrace? You might survive then.” He turned and strolled out of the house.

Bastard.

Benkman rolled over and started to crawl toward the French doors.

Pain.

The blood was pouring out of the wound as he moved.

Weak.

The blood was slippery …

He was dying.

No, he’d be okay. He was always okay. He just had to get out of this damn house.

So slow. He was moving so slow.

He reached the French doors. Now crawl out onto the veranda. He was almost there …

And then he saw Black standing by the garden wall and watching him. He was smiling.

He tapped his watch.

Too late, Benkman realized frantically. He was too late. Time had run out.

“Don’t leave me!” he howled. “Get me out of—”

The house exploded and became an inferno.

*   *   *

“HERE’S THE REPORT, SIR. Shall I call Atlanta and give it to her?”

Venable scowled as he looked down at the report that Agent David Harley had put in front of him. This inquiry was shaping up to be a king-size headache. Why had he become involved in this mess?

He knew the answer. He liked Joe Quinn and Eve Duncan, and they had helped the CIA on many occasions. When Catherine Ling had asked him to pull strings and get this report concerning the death of Eve’s daughter, he’d thought it might be a way to pay back.

He wasn’t sure that would be true any longer. Eve Duncan was very fragile where anything connected to her murdered daughter, Bonnie, was concerned.

“Is anything wrong?” Agent Harley asked. “I used three sources. It all checked out. And Catherine Ling is usually very accurate.”

And Harley would be careful, Venable thought. He was new, but he was eager and conscientious.

“No, I’m sure you verified it correctly.” He shrugged. “I can just see a blowup looming on the horizon.”

“But Catherine Ling’s e-mail said that—”

“I know.” Venable held up his hand to stop him. Harley had met Catherine Ling only once, but he had been dazzled by her. Most men had the same response to Catherine. She was not only a top CIA agent, but she was part Caucasian, part Asian, and was one of the most gorgeous and exotic women Venable had ever met. “Catherine may be accurate, but that doesn’t mean she might not trigger an explosion. She’s ramming her way through every source I have to get that information, and she’s not going to stop.”

“Eve Duncan,” Harley repeated tentatively, glancing at the report. “I’ve heard of her. I saw some photos. Skulls and stuff. She’s a forensic sculptor, isn’t she?”

“Have a little respect. She’s the forensic sculptor,” Venable said. “She’s probably the best forensic sculptor in the world. Every police department in the country is standing in line to get her to work on their cold cases involving skeletal remains. Totally dedicated.”

“Not totally.” Harley smiled. “I read that report. She’s been living with her lover police detective, Joe Quinn, for a number of years. In real life, she obviously prefers a warm body to those skeletons.”

“He’s a good guy,” Venable said. “And tough as hell. He’s an ex-SEAL. As I said, have a little respect, or you might regret it. He’s been with Eve since her daughter Bonnie was kidnapped by a serial killer years ago. The kid was only seven years old, and it nearly destroyed Eve.”

“I can see how it might be traumatic. Was she murdered?”

“Almost certainly. Though Bonnie’s body was never recovered and the real killer never arrested. That’s why Eve went back to school to become a forensic sculptor, to help bring other lost children home. But Eve’s been on the hunt for Bonnie’s killer all these years.”

“My wife’s pregnant and should be delivering my son any day,” Harley said. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to him.”

“Go on the hunt,” Venable said. “As Eve Duncan is doing. As Joe Quinn is doing.”

“What about you, Agent Venable? Do you have any children?”

Venable shook his head. “Divorced. No kids. I have a job. A family would get in the way.” He tapped the report. “And Eve Duncan is a prime example of why I should stay that way. Finding her daughter’s killer has become an obsession that’s dominating everything and everyone around her. Including me.” He swore beneath his breath. “Catherine Ling should have stayed out of it. But no, she thinks that she can straighten out the entire world if she puts her mind to it.”

“She’s very clever,” Harley said. “It could happen, sir.”

“Are we expecting any more info?”

Harley shook his head. “Those are the only sources you asked me to tap.”

And the sources Catherine Ling had asked Venable to tap. She had known exactly what she’d wanted. He’d asked her to wait for these reports before she went to Eve Duncan with the information, but he couldn’t be sure that she’d do it. Catherine marched to her own drummer and had been so on edge that she’d wanted to get the confrontation over. That was always Catherine’s way. Bold, up-front, on the attack.

That had been Eve’s method of handling problems, too. It was one reason why the two women had become close friends.

“I’ll be glad to call Agent Ling and give her the information on this report for you,” Harley offered.

“I bet you would,” Venable murmured. “But I think I’d better handle this myself. You can’t expect a straightforward response from Catherine on this particular matter.”

“It seems pretty cut-and-dried to me.”

“Does it?” He was tempted to let Harley contact Catherine and have her interrogate him. If he thought she would become his new best friend, he was going to be sadly disappointed. She was going to want every detail so that she could mull the pros and cons, and she would be firing questions like a machine gun. It wasn’t often that Catherine formed a friendship with anyone, but she genuinely liked Eve Duncan, and she wanted every detail to be absolutely correct. “No, I’ll talk to her.”

Harley looked disappointed, but he shrugged and left the office.

All right, Catherine. Venable took out his phone. Here’s your ammunition to blow Eve out of the water. You may mean well, but it could go either way. I hope to hell both you and Eve manage to survive it.

*   *   *

THERE WAS SOMETHING WRONG WITH EVE.

Joe Quinn had glanced casually up to the porch from where he was standing at the barbecue grill near the lake. Eve had been sitting on the porch swing, but was now standing beside Catherine Ling, and Joe could tell that every muscle of her body was taut with tension.

What the hell?

Maybe he was mistaken. The sun was going down, and it was almost dark. Perhaps those nuances of unrest he thought he was seeing weren’t really there. Catherine Ling had become a good friend to Eve, and there was no way that she would deliberately upset her.

Dammit, he wasn’t mistaken.

He had lived with Eve so long that he knew every mood, every flex of her body as if it were his own. Whatever Catherine was saying to Eve, it was disturbing her. He’d better go up to the porch and—

His cell phone rang, and he glanced at the ID.

Venable. CIA.

Joe was tempted to let it go to voice mail and call back later. No, Catherine Ling was also CIA. Joe had an idea it might be a good idea to take the call before he barged up those stairs in protective mode.

“What do you want, Venable?” he asked as he pressed the button.

“Is Catherine Ling there? She’s not answering her phone.”

“She’s here. She’s been here all afternoon. Maybe she doesn’t want to talk to you. The jobs you send Catherine on aren’t always pleasant. It could be that she wants a vacation.”

“Catherine?” He added testily, “I told her to take a vacation after Russia, but she dove right into this inquiry and pulled me in with her.”

“What investigation?”

“Just an inquiry. Tell Catherine I need her to call me. I have the final report.”

“Venable, what’s this all about?”

“Ask Catherine. I’m supposed to be discreet. You’d think that she was my superior.” He hung up.

Joe gazed up at the porch. It was fully dark, and they hadn’t turned on the porch light. He could barely discern the two women standing by the rail. But what he couldn’t see, he could feel. His instincts toward Eve had been honed to sharpness, and he could sense the emotional disturbance that was swirling about her.

Ask Catherine.

There was no doubt that he’d ask Catherine. He didn’t like any of this. He felt closed out.

He started toward the porch, then stopped.

What could he do? His instinct was to join them, become part of whatever was going on between them. But Eve wouldn’t appreciate his interfering. She was an independent woman. It wasn’t as if Catherine was a threat. She was Eve’s friend.

But even a friend could become a threat if circumstances warranted.

Not Catherine. He trusted Catherine.

He slowly turned and went back to the barbecue pit.

Keep cool. Eve would tell him what was going on eventually.

Ignore that uneasiness.

Until he couldn’t stand it any longer.

*   *   *

EVE ASKED CATHERINE, “BUT why not leave in the morning?”

“… I don’t want to inconvenience you any more than I have to. You’ve done enough for me, Eve.” Catherine’s gaze was on Joe standing below them at the barbecue pit. “We’ve done nothing but talk about my problems. Let’s talk about you and Joe. Is everything all right between you?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I just thought I caught some vibes from him today.” Her gaze was still on Joe. “You’re very lucky, you know. He’s pretty fantastic.”

“Yes, he is.” Eve added, “And I know you think he’s special. You’ve told me.”

“Yes, I’ve always been honest with you.” She paused. “I always will be.” She turned to face her. “I’m no threat to you, Eve.”

“You could be if you wanted to be. You’re an incredibly magnetic woman, Catherine.” She gazed steadily at her. “But in the end, the threat would come only from Joe. He’s the only one who can hurt me.”

“I’d never hurt you.” Catherine’s voice was passionate. “I’ve never had a friend like you before. At first, I was only concerned about what you could do for me, but that changed. You changed my life. I felt … close to you.”

“And I feel close to you.” Eve smiled. “So stop agonizing about it, Catherine.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

Eve’s smile faded. “Are we still talking about Joe?”

“No. Yes. I guess in a way we are.”

“Speak up. It’s not like you to be inarticulate.”

Catherine turned back to look down at Joe. “Did you finish the reconstruction on Cindy?”

Cindy was the reconstruction that Eve had been working on weeks ago before she had gone to Russia at Catherine’s request. It had been very difficult, and Catherine had been a great help. “Of course, she was done a week after I came home from Russia. It wasn’t that difficult.” She smiled. “Not after I had a little help from my friends during the initial prep work.”

“Was she a pretty little girl?”

“Yes.”

“Like your Bonnie?”

A tiny disturbance rippled through Eve. She didn’t look at all like Bonnie. “Why are you talking about Bonnie, Catherine?”

“Because I think Joe is jealous of your obsession with Bonnie. Not of your daughter. Just of your feelings for her. He’d have to be a saint not to feel a little put in the shade by the way you feel. Isn’t that true?”

She didn’t speak for a moment. “Yes. But friend or not, I don’t want to discuss this with you, Catherine.”

“I have to discuss it with you. Do you think I want to do it? I was even thinking of walking away and forgetting about it. But I can’t do that, Eve.”

Eve frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“You and Joe have a giant problem, and I don’t want to make it any bigger.”

“How could you do that?”

“Easily.” Her lips twisted. “I’m good at what I do. I’m an expert. I just set my mind to it and cause the sky to fall.”

Eve slowly rose from the swing and went to stand beside Catherine. “Talk to me.”

Catherine looked away from her again. “I told you I’d pay you back, remember? I was so grateful I wanted to give you what you wanted most in the world.”

Eve gazed at her with exasperation. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t convince Catherine to accept what Eve had done as a gesture of friendship and let it go. Catherine had come to her to ask her to do an age progression on her son Luke, who had been kidnapped when he was two and had been missing for nine years. Eve had been inevitably drawn into the search for Luke that had culminated in a deadly race to save him from his kidnapper in Russia. “And I told you to forget it.”

“That’s not in my makeup.” She was silent for a minute. “What you want most in the world is to bring your Bonnie home. To do that you have to find her killer. When I came home from Hong Kong, I had lots of time to concentrate on thinking about your problem. I tried to look at the crime from an objective and fresh point of view. Then I started to dig. I used every contact and information-gathering unit I had at my disposal and at Venable’s disposal. We even tapped the NSA.”

Eve could feel her chest tightening. Don’t hope. The search had gone on too long for Catherine to just step in and perform a miracle. “Joe was FBI at the time Bonnie was taken. We didn’t exactly stop at local law enforcement.”

“But all the information wasn’t available then.”

“I know that. My friend, Montalvo, recently gave me a list of three new suspects. Two didn’t pan out, but I still have the third one to investigate. Paul Black. Is that the name you ran across?”

“His name popped up.”

Eve’s gaze narrowed on Catherine’s face. “But?”

“I was more interested in someone else.”

“Who?”

“He had opportunity. He might have had motive.” She was speaking quickly, tersely. “In this type of crime, there’s ample precedent for this kind of perpetrator.”

“Dammit. Why are you being so evasive?”

“Joe. I can see you have to walk very carefully where he’s concerned. He’s very emotional about your obsession with Bonnie. He’s nuts about you.” Her hands tightened on the porch rail. “And he doesn’t need to come face-to-face with this for it to tear him apart. Hell, it might tear you both apart.”

“Catherine.”

“Okay.” She drew a deep breath. “Joe has been thinking about you as being totally his own since the moment you met. It’s been the saving grace when he had to come to terms with your obsession with Bonnie. It would disturb the hell out of him to lose that security.”

“There’s no way he would lose it.”

“No? You’re very cool, very controlled, but it wasn’t like that always. There was a time when you lost your head and spun out of control over a man.”

Eve was beginning to see where Catherine was going. No, it couldn’t be. It was impossible. She asked hoarsely, “Catherine, who killed my Bonnie?”

“I didn’t say I was certain.”

Eve was shaking. “Tell me. Tell me the name.”

“You want a name?” Catherine drew a deep breath. “The name you didn’t even see fit to put on the birth certificate, Eve,” she said gently. “Bonnie’s father, John Gallo.”

*   *   *

EVE HAD BEEN EXPECTING IT, but the name struck her, stunned her. She couldn’t breathe. She could barely speak, “No … it’s not true. You don’t understand. It’s not true.”

But if Catherine thought it true, then somehow it might be.

No, it was impossible.

“Eve, I wouldn’t have just pulled his name—”

“No!” She had to get out of here. She had to be alone. She whirled and was across the porch, fumbling at the screen door. “You’re wrong, Catherine. You couldn’t be more wrong. It’s not—” She slammed the door behind her and leaned back against it, staring into the darkness.

Cool and controlled, Catherine had called her. Where was that coolness now? She felt as vulnerable and emotional as she had when she was that sixteen-year-old kid who had given birth to Bonnie. So angry, so defiant, so passionate.

John Gallo.

Catherine’s words had sent her spiraling back to that sixteen-year-old girl.

Back to John Gallo …

CHAPTER

2

Peabody Housing Development

Atlanta, Georgia

“I NEED A LITTLE MONEY, EVE.” Sandra Duncan’s soft, Southern tone was coaxing. “You got paid last night, didn’t you? A ten spot will do me.” Her hand fluttered to her short red-brown hair. “I need to get my hair tinted so that I can go look for a job. I’ve got to look my best.”

Her mother was stoned again, Eve realized in despair. Eyes a little unfocused, movements slow and uncoordinated. And the ten spot she wanted might go for crack or marijuana instead of hair tint. Yet what the hell could she do? Sandra hadn’t had a job in four months, and they needed any money that her mother could bring in. The rent at their apartment was a month behind, and Eve barely made enough working part-time at Mac’s Diner to pay the utilities. “I can give you five, Mother. Can you go to that beauty college in College Park and get it any cheaper?”

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Sandra?” her mother said. “Everyone tells me I’m much too young to have a grown daughter of sixteen. Why, I’m just a little over thirty myself.” She reached over and patted Eve’s cheek. “I had you when I was only fifteen. I could have had an abortion, but I decided to keep you. It wasn’t easy for me. You owe me, don’t you, honey? Ten?”

Sandra always brought up how much Eve owed her when she needed something, Eve thought with annoyance. When she was younger, it had hurt her. But then she’d realized that her mother used it to get what she wanted, and that big sacrifice was probably because Sandra had been too far along to safely get an abortion. She reached into her wallet and brought out a ten-dollar bill. “Okay. But I want you to show me how pretty you look tomorrow after you get your hair done.”

“Do you think I’m pretty?” Sandra looked in the mirror. “You never say so.” She patted her hair again. “You’re not exactly pretty, Eve, but you have my hair. Everyone says that my hair is very unusual.” She picked up her handbag. “That’s why I have to keep it looking nice.” She headed for the door. “Do you know, I bet that manager at Mac’s Diner would give you a full-time job if you asked him nicely.”

It wasn’t the first time Sandra had made that suggestion. Her mother always conveniently forgot what she didn’t want to remember. “I’m not going to ask him. I haven’t graduated from high school yet, Sandra. And Mr. Kimble has already said he’ll keep me on and work around my hours when I go to college.”

“College?” Sandra smiled with genuine amusement. “People like us don’t go to college, honey. You’ll be much happier if you get that thought right out of your head.”

“Would I?” She tried to smother the anger, but it burst free. “And are you happy jumping from job to job, Sandra? Are you happy sniffing coke to make you think everything is what it should be?” She looked around the shabby apartment. She tried to keep it clean, but everything about it was worn, drab, and depressing. “Are you happy living here? Well, I’m not, and I’m not going to stop thinking of ways to get away from here.”

Sandra was looking at her in bewilderment. “Don’t be ugly. There’s nothing wrong with smoking a joint or sniffing a little coke now and then. It’s not as if I’m one of those drug addicts on Peachtree Street.”

“No? Have you tried to kick it lately?”

“Why should I?” She opened the door. “You’re just too intense about most everything. You seem to be mad at me every time you see me. You work or read all the time. You don’t even have a boyfriend. Sometimes I don’t understand you, Eve.” She slammed the door behind her.

Sandra had never understood her, Eve thought. Even when she’d been a child, her mother had often looked at her as if she were some strange creature from another planet.

But then Sandra had been revolving in her own solar system ever since Eve could remember. Marijuana, crack, coke, acid.

Don’t think about it. Sandra wouldn’t listen to her, and she had her own battles to fight. She couldn’t help her mother, but she could help herself. She had grown up in the streets and learned every trick in the book to fight those battles.

She glanced at the clock. It was almost six. She had to get to work, or she’d be late. She’d hoped to finish her geometry before she had to leave, but Sandra had been home, and that usually meant a delay. She closed her geometry book and stuck it in her canvas book bag. Maybe she’d get a chance to finish on her break.

She locked the door and ran down the four flights of cement stairs that led to the front entrance of the housing development. The stink was overwhelming. Someone had thrown a sack of garbage on the third landing. All they’d had to do was take it down two flights more to the garbage cans, but that was too much trouble.

Don’t look at the garbage, the iron banister rails, the scrawled graffiti on the dirty gray walls. She had control of their apartment, but all she could do was ignore everything outside their apartment door.

She threw open the worn oak door of the front entrance. Two silver-haired black ladies were slowly approaching, and she waited to hold the door for them.

Then she was quickly outside, drawing a deep breath.

Fresh air. Sunlight. The smell of garbage was less down here.

“Hello, Eve, aren’t you late?” Rosa Desprando was sitting in the sun on the green bench outside the building with her year-old little boy beside her. She spent a lot of time outside; her father was always yelling at her because the baby was too noisy.

“A little.” Rosa was her own age, sixteen, and had been in her homeroom at school before she had gotten pregnant and dropped out. Eve had always liked her. She was a little slow, but that didn’t matter. She had a good heart and was always smiling, something that wasn’t common in Eve’s world. In fact, she had too good a heart. She’d been a target for every guy in school because they could con her into anything. Including getting pregnant with adorable Manuel, who she loved more than anything in the world.

Eve stopped by the bench and stroked the baby’s dark curls. “Hey, hot stuff,” she said softly. “How you doing?”

Manuel was gurgling and batting his long eyelashes at her. She had once told Rosa that he should be doing commercials for mascara. He was a plump, rosy-cheeked child, and completely enchanting.

Eve chuckled. “I think he’s doing fine. Is he still keeping you awake teething?”

“Yes, it doesn’t matter,” Rosa said as she adjusted the baby’s Braves baseball shirt. “He’s worth it. Doesn’t he look cute in this shirt you bought for him? Say thank you, Manuel.”

“No big deal. It only cost me fifty cents at Goodwill.”

“But he’s so cute in it. Like a real baseball player. I’m trying to teach him to say thank you. He said it yesterday.”

Manuel beamed up at Eve. “Mama.”

“I don’t think so,” Eve said.

“He calls everyone mama,” Rosa said. “Even my papa.”

“He’ll get it straight soon.” She dropped a kiss on his head and opened the gate. “See you, Rosa.”

Rosa nodded. “I saw your mama a few minutes ago. She looked real pretty.”

“Sandra always looks nice,” Eve said as she started the four-block walk to the bus stop.

“Eve.”

“What?” Eve glanced back over her shoulder.

“Watch out.” Rosa’s gaze was fixed on the alley at the end of the block. “I saw Rick Larazo and Frank Martinelli and some of their gang around earlier this evening. Rick looked … wild. I think he’s on something bad.”

“I always watch out,” Eve said. “You keep away from them, Rosa.”

“They don’t do anything but call me bad names.” Rosa cuddled her baby closer. “They can’t hurt me, but I don’t like them talking like that about Manuel. He didn’t do nothin’. It was all my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” That wasn’t true. It was Rosa’s fault for trusting and believing and for being born in a world that victimized the innocent and the weak. “It was just something that happened. It can work out. You take good care of Manuel and look through that GED pamphlet I gave you. You’ll get your diploma, then you can get a good job.”

She shook her head. “I’m not smart like you, Eve.”

“You don’t have to be smart. You just have to want it enough. Look, Rosa, we don’t have to be like our parents, living hand to mouth, falling into the same traps, making the same mistakes. We can dig ourselves out of here.” She could never understand why that desire wasn’t there in the people around her. It had always been a burning passion with her. But she didn’t have time to argue with Rosa at that moment. “Study for that GED. I’ll talk to you later. See you.”

Her pace quickened as she kept a wary eye on the dark cavity of the alley as she passed it. She had been attacked more than once by scum hiding in that cluttered dimness.

This time she was lucky.

Evidently Rick Larazo and his gang had moved on and she didn’t have—

A scream.

Rosa.

Eve whirled.

Dear God.

Rick Larazo, Frank Martinelli, and two other boys were in front of the housing development.

Rick had taken the baby away from Rosa and was holding Manuel over his head. She was trying desperately to jump up and reach him. Frank Martinelli was laughing and backing away. “Throw him, Rick. He thinks he’s a baseball player, let him play.”

“No!”

Rosa screamed as the baby was thrown up in the air and across the yard.

Eve stared in horror.

It was almost like watching slow motion. Manuel’s plump little legs flailing in the air, Rosa whirling and reaching out, the boys laughing and calling out.

“Don’t worry, Rosa. I’ve got him.” Frank Martinelli stepped forward, pretended to catch the baby, then deliberately stepped back and let the baby fall to the ground.

Damn them. Damn them. Damn them.

Eve raced back toward the development.

Rosa was crying, trying to get to her baby, but Rick was holding her back.

The baby was lying still, crumpled on the ground.

“Let her go!” Eve tackled Rick Larazo, her hand grabbing for his penis and twisting.

He howled, falling, and released Rosa.

“Get Manuel inside, Rosa,” Eve yelled, and jumped on top of Rick. She wouldn’t be able to hold him long. He was big, strong, and his eyes were as wild as Rosa had said. His dirty straw-colored hair was scraggly, with pink-dyed streaks, and he looked like some weird cartoon character. Only there was nothing funny about him. She was surprised he’d even been able to feel the pain through the drugs.

Rosa snatched up the baby and ran up the stairs and into the building.

Good.

Now to try to get away herself.

Too late.

Frank Martinelli grabbed her hair from behind and jerked backward.

Rick punched her in the stomach and pushed her off him and to the ground.

“Bitch. Interfering bitch.” He was kneeling over her and his fist lashed out and connected with her cheek. “Come on, guys, it’s party time.”

Pain.

Darkness.

Don’t give in to it.

She wouldn’t be raped by these bastards.

She shook her head to clear it, then her teeth sank into Frank Martinelli’s hand, the one that was holding her hair. He screamed and released it. She butted her head as hard as she could against Larazo’s chest.

She rolled sidewise and reached for the strap of her book bag. She slung it with all her force at Larazo’s head. She jumped to her feet and ran toward the front entrance.

Her way was blocked by the two other boys, who had been watching with wide grins.

“Get her,” Larazo said. “Don’t let her inside. Frank, go watch the street. I’m gonna make her scream. I want to—” His voice suddenly cut off into a gurgle. “Shit!”

Eve glanced over her shoulder. Someone, a dark-haired man, was standing behind Larazo, his arm around the boy’s neck. As she watched, he jerked Larazo’s head sidewise, lifted the edge of his hand, and brought it down in a karate chop.

He let Larazo drop to the ground and turned to Frank Martinelli. “Come on,” he said softly. “I haven’t had enough.”

Frank Martinelli hesitated and lunged forward, reaching for his switchblade. He barely got it out when he was whirled around, his arm twisted behind his back. He shrieked as his arm was pushed up higher and higher.

Eve heard the bone snap.

The other two boys who were blocking Eve’s path parted like the Red Sea and ran, leaving Larazo and Martinelli on the ground.

Martinelli was moaning and trying to crawl toward the street, but Larazo was still slumped, silent.

“Did you kill him?” Eve whispered. “You’d better go quickly. The people who live here never come out to help, but they do call the police. The cops don’t care who’s to blame; they take everyone in and book them.”