Possession in Death by J. D. Robb Read Free Book Online Page B

didn’t want to go back there, to kneeling in the street, the woman’s
hand clasped with hers. Blood to blood.
    “She said Beata’s name, she said she was trapped, couldn’t get out. The
below bit, the red door. She asked for help.”
    You are the warrior. I am the promise.
    Fighting to stay steady, Eve shoved a hand through her hair. “She was
dying.”
    But her eyes, Eve remembered, had been alert, alive.
    “We comb through the alibis, check her other habitats.” Do the work, Eve
thought, take the steps. “I’m going to check in with Morris, contact the arresting
officers about Alexi, get their take on him.”
    “Beata’s disappearance and the old woman’s murder—if they’re not
connected, it’s another devil of a coincidence.”
    “We pursue the investigation as if they are. We figure out one, we’ve got
the other.”
    “I could tag McNab, have him meet me, go by the theater where she was
supposed to work. Lloyd covered it,” Peabody added, “but we could try fresh
eyes on it.”
    “Good thinking. Send me whatever you get.”
    She needed thinking time, Eve told herself as they split up. A stop at the
morgue to confirm TOD—which was just stupid, since she’d been right there at
TOD—to see if Morris or the lab had been able to get a handle on the type of
blade used, if the sweepers had found any trace evidence.
    Deal with the facts first, she thought as she got in her vehicle—then move
on to theory. But she sat a moment, suddenly tired, suddenly angry. It felt as if
something pushed inside her brain, trying to shove her thoughts into tangents.
    Not enough downtime, she decided. No time to take some good, deep
breaths between cases. So she took them now, just closing her eyes for a
moment, ordering her mind and body to clear.
    Alive. Trapped. Help.
    Keep your promise!
    The voice was so clear in her head she jerked up, had a hand on her weapon
as she swiveled to check the seat beside her, behind her. Her heart pounded
painfully against her ribs, in her throat, in her ears as she lowered her unsteady
hand.
    “Stop. Just stop,” she ordered herself. “Do what you have to do, then get
some sleep.” She pulled away from the curb, but gave in to need and called
home.
    And her heart slowed, settled a little when Roarke’s face flowed on-screen.
    “Lieutenant, I was hoping I’d—What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing. Well, nothing except having some old Hungarian woman bleed
out under my hands. Tired,” she admitted. “I’ve got to head down to the morgue
because there was a glitch with the TOD. I need to get it straightened out, then
talk to a bunch of cops about a Russian ballet guy. Sorry,” she added. “This one
literally fell in my lap.”
    “I’ll meet you at the morgue.”
    “Why?”
    “Where else does a man meet his wife—when they’re you and me?” She
looked pale, he thought, her eyes too dark against her skin.
    “Yeah, okay. I’ll see you there.”
    When she broke transmission, Roarke stared at the blank screen of his ‘link.
Not even a token protest? More than tired, he thought.
    His lieutenant was not herself.
     
    She got lost. She would have deemed it impossible, but she couldn’t find her
way. The streets seemed too crowded, too confusing, and the blare of horns
when she hesitated at a light had her jumping in her seat. Frustration turned to
sweaty fear that ran a snaking line down the center of her back. Battling it back,
she ordered the dash navigator to plot her route, then gave in and put her vehicle
on auto.
    Tired, she assured herself and closed her eyes. Just tired. But there was a
lingering unease that she was ill—or worse.
    Need a boost, she thought, nearly shuddering with relief as she arrived at
the morgue. She’d grab a tube of Pepsi at Vending, down some caffeine. Maybe
even choke down a PowerBar because, Jesus, she was starving.
    What was wrong with the air in here? she wondered as she started down the
white tunnel. The lights glaring off the tiles slapped