"Not so close. 'Who scream? Who shriek? Who have strife? Who have anxiety? Who have wounds for nothing? Who have black eyes? Those who linger long over wine, those who engage in trails of blended wine.' I'm watching a man die. He's dying now. Do you want to hear who screams and shrieks?"

Quickly he switched off the filter and opened the 'link to the room.

Screams and sobs exploded through Eve's speaker and iced her blood. "Now who's cheating?" she demanded. "You're going to kill him, then give me a clue. That's what you did with Brennen. What kind of game is it if you don't take any risks?"

"He's not dead yet. I think you have almost, almost enough time."

She was already out of bed and dragging on clothes. "Where's the clue?"

"I'm even going to make this one easy for you. Dine and dance and watch the naked mermaids. It's after hours, but come on in. The water's fine. He's starting to gurgle, Lieutenant. Don't take too long."

Sick of him, she cut the transmission herself. "It's a club," she said to Roarke as she strapped on her weapon harness.

"The Mermaid Club. Naked water dancers."

"Then that's our best shot." She stepped into the elevator with him. "He's going to drown this one." She looked at Roarke as she pulled out her communicator to call in. "You don't own the Mermaid Club, do you?"

"No." His eyes were hard. "But I used to."

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The sun was breaking over the East River as they shot southward through the still-slumbering uptown. Clouds scooted over the light, moving lazily, making it the thick color of powder.

Roarke chose to keep the car on manual, and avoided Broadway with its never-ending party and unfriendly traffic. He could feel Eve's frustration riding with them like a third passenger crowding the car.

"It isn't possible to outguess a madman."

"He's got a pattern, but it's coming apart. I can't get the threads of it." Think, think, think, she ordered herself as they bulleted through the change-of-shift traffic in midtown. "Do you know who owns the Mermaid Club?"

"Not personally. It was something I picked up years ago. One of my first downtown properties. Actually I won it in a dice game, kept it a couple of years, then sold it off at a tidy profit." Spotting a loaded commuter tram stalled across Seventh, he whipped west and headed crosstown.

"Has to be the owner or someone who works there." Eve pulled out her personal palm computer. Her teeth snapped together when Roarke hit one of the potholes neglected by the city's road and infrastructure teams. "Silas Tikinika? Ring a bell?''

"No."

"Then he's probably sleeping peacefully tonight. I'll run employees."

"We're nearly there," Roarke told her. "We'll know soon enough."

The animated mermaid, naked but for her glossy green tail, was dark and still over the safety grilled window. He pulled up at the all but empty curb. It was rare for people in this ugly little section of town to have personal transportation. Without the auto-shield and security feature on Roarke's car, it wouldn't be waiting when he came out.

He caught a glimpse of a couple of street ghosts hovering in a doorway two buildings down. They drifted out in the murky dawn, then faded back at the scream of approaching sirens.

"I'm not waiting for the backup," she told Roarke, pulling both her weapon and her master code. Then she reached down, tugged a stunner from her boot. "Take my clinch piece – and make sure it disappears when the uniforms get here." Her eyes held his for one quick moment. "You take the left."

Wild light and wilder music met them when they went through the door. Eve swung right, sweeping. Then sprinted forward with a shout of warning for the man clinging to the ladder on the side of the show tank.

"Stop! Keep your hands where I can see them."

"I've got to get him out." Summerset's knuckles scraped metal as he slid down a rung. "He's drowning."

"Get the hell out of my way." She all but dragged him off the ladder and threw him at Roarke. "Find the drain switch, for God's sake. Hurry." Then she was scrambling up, and diving in.

Strings of blood swam in the water like exotic fish. The man who was bolted to the floor of the tank was blue around the lips, his single eye open and staring. She could see both his fingers and ankles were raw from fighting the shackles. She grabbed his battered face, fit her mouth over his, and gave him her breath.

Lungs burning, she pushed off, fought her way to the surface, and sucked in more air. Without wasting the breath on words, she dived again. Her gaze flicked briefly to the face of the Madonna, its carved eyes watching tortured death with absolute serenity.

Eve shuddered once, then fought for life.

On her third trip up, she thought the surface was closer, and swimming down, she turned her head and got a watery view of Roarke coming up the ladder.

He'd taken time to pull off his shoes and jacket. When he reached the floor of the tank, he yanked her arm, jerked a thumb for her to go up. So they worked in tandem, one drawing in air, the other giving it while the water swirled down.

When she could stand, her head above water, she coughed violently. "Summerset," she managed.

"He won't go anywhere. For God's sake, Eve."

"I haven't got time to argue about it. Can you pick the locks on the restraints?"

Dripping, still gasping for air, he stared at her. Then he dug in his pocket for his penknife. "Here come your men."

"I'll deal with them. See what you can do down there."

She flipped her wet hair out of her eyes as four uniforms charged inside the club. "Dallas," she shouted. "Lieutenant Eve. Get some med-techs here, fast. Resuscitation equipment. Drowning victim. I don't know how long he was under, but there's no pulse. And someone turn that goddamn music off. Glove up. I want this scene preserved as much as possible."

The water was down to her knees now, and the air was making her shiver in her wet clothes. Her muscles ached from supporting the dead weight of the victim. She saw Roarke finesse the lock on the first shackle and shifted to adjust.

The minute the second ankle was free, she laid the body down in the few remaining inches of water and, straddling it, began pumping his chest.

"I want a CPR kit in here, some blankets." The last word echoed as the music shut abruptly off. Now she could hear her ears ringing. "Come on, come on, come back," she panted, then leaned forward and forced air into his mouth.

"Let me do it." Roarke knelt beside her. "You've got a crime scene to secure."

"The MTs." She continued to count the chest pumps in her head. "They'll be here any minute. You can't stop until they get here."

"I won't stop."

At her nod, he placed his hands over hers, picked up her rhythm. "Who is he, Roarke?"

"I don't know." He glanced up briefly as Eve got to her feet. "I just don't know."

It was a great deal harder climbing out of the tank than it had been getting in, Eve realized. She was winded by the time she reached the lip. She took a moment to catch her breath, to draw it into lungs that felt seared and scraped. Then she swung her leg over and started down.

Peabody was waiting at the bottom. "The MTs were right behind me, Dallas."

"He's pretty far gone. Don't know if they can bring him back." She looked through the glass, watched Roarke working steadily. "Take the uniforms. Form two teams and do a search. You won't find him, but look anyway. Secure all doors. Engage recorders."

Peabody looked over Eve's shoulder to where Summerset stood, hands at his sides, watching Roarke from the far end of the tank. "What are you going to do?"

"My job. You do yours. I want this scene secured and a sweep team ordered. Do you have a field kit with you?''