"We can't be sure what kind of shape she's in," Eve reminded the crisis team she'd handpicked. "We will assume she is violent and armed. Three men on the door, three for the windows. We go in fast. We subdue, secure, and transport. The subject cannot be shocked with standard weapons, even on low setting. The probability is high that the infection has spread to the extent that this would result in termination. We use tranqs, and tranqs only."

She gestured to the apartment blueprint on-screen. "You've familiarized yourselves with the setup. We know the subject is in this location. We don't know where she is within its perimeter, but the highest probability is for the main bedroom, here. Communications are to remain open throughout the op. When the subject is secured, she will be transferred, immediately, to the medical techs, accompanied by two team members during transpo to designated health center where a medical team is waiting."

Maybe they'd save her, Eve thought as she approached the door to Dru Geller's apartment. And maybe they wouldn't. If Dwier's information was accurate, she had under eight hours left. Morris had called the infection irreversible after the initial spread.

She was risking six cops, her aide, and herself over a woman who was in all likelihood already dead.

She drew her tranq-shooter, nodded for the crisis team cop to uncode the locks. "Uncoding," she said quietly into her communicator. "Locks disengaged. Wait for my signal."

She eased the door open. She caught a whiff of spoiled food, of stale urine. The lights were off, the sun shields tight at the windows. The room looked and smelled like a cave.

She gestured, pointing Peabody and the second officer left. She went in fast, low, and right. "Living area clear."

She heard it then, a kind of growling. The sound a rabid dog might make when cornered. "Moving to main bedroom. Hold at the windows."

She took flank at the door, nodded again, then kicked it in.

Dru Geller had her back to the wall. She wore nothing but panties. There was blood on her breasts, breasts scored from her own fingernails. Her nose had bled as well, and the red ran down over her snarling lips, stained her teeth, dripped off her chin.

Eve saw it all in the space of a heartbeat and saw the long-bladed scissors in her hand.

The scissor flew, like an arrow from a bow. Eve pivoted, deployed the tranq. It caught Geller in the left breast. "Now! Go! Hit her again," she ordered as Geller lunged forward.

A second tranq hit her midbody, and still she leaped on Eve like a wildcat, all teeth and nails. She saw the red eyes wheeling, felt the blood drip on her face. Geller howled as a third tranq took her in the right shoulder.

She shut off like a light, red eyes rolling back, limbs going limp.

It took seconds, only seconds. There was a flurry of movement as Geller was rolled away, her unconscious body restrained.

"Get her to the MTs, get her transported," Eve ordered. "Move."

"We got an officer down."

"What?" Wiping the blood from her face, Eve gained her feet, spun around.

And saw Peabody lying on the floor, bleeding, the scissors jammed deep into her shoulder.

"No. Goddamn it. No." She was on her knees in one fast move, and without thinking brushing her hand over Peabody's white face.

"Zigged right, should've zagged left," Peabody managed. She turned her head, stared dully at the bright silver scissors. "It's not too bad, is it? Not too bad."

"No, it's nothing. Get me a medical, now. Right now!" Eve stripped off her jacket, prepared to use it to staunch the flow of blood.

"Pull them out, okay? Wouldja?" Peabody groped for Eve's hand. "It's making me pretty sick, having them sticking out of me."

"Better not. MTs coming up right now. They'll fix you up."

"They'd hit an inch over, the riot vest would've deflected them. What're the chances? Really hurts. Jesus, it really hurts. I'm cold. Just shock, right? Right, Dallas? I'm not dying or anything?"

"You're not dying." She snagged the wrinkled bedspread from one of the crisis team. "I don't have time to waste training another aide."

Eve turned her head as an MT rushed in. "Do something," she ordered.

Ignoring her, he ran a scanner over the point of entry, took Peabody's vital signs. "Okay, Officer. What's your name?"

"Peabody. I'm Peabody. Would you get these goddamn scissors out of me?"

"Sure. I'm going to give you a little something first."

"Gimme lots. Dallas is the one who lives for pain."

He smiled at her, set his pressure syringe.

"She's losing blood," Eve snapped. "Are you just going to let her bleed out on the floor?"

"Just keep the pressure on," he said mildly. "Too bad about that jacket. Looks like nice fabric. I'm going to pull out the invasive object. On three, Peabody, okay?"

"One, two, three."

The MT met Eve's eyes, and mouthed: Hold her down.

Eve felt it in her gut, felt the sharp shock of the blades slicing out of Peabody's flesh. Felt it in the quick jerk of her aide's body against her restraining hands.

Blood flowed over her fingers, warm and wet.

Then she was nudged out of the way, while the MT worked on the wound.

Twenty minutes later she was pacing the ER waiting room.She'd nearly decked the doctor who'd ordered her out of the treatment area. Had restrained herself only because she figured the medical had to be conscious to work on Peabody.

McNab burst through the doors in a limping run, with Roarke right behind him.

"Where is she? What are they doing for her? How bad is it?"

"She's in treatment. They're patching her up. It's just like I told you, McNab. She's got a deep puncture in her shoulder, but it missed the major arteries. They don't think there's any muscle damage. They're going to clean it up, give her some blood and fluids, sew her up. Then they'll probably spring her."

She saw him stare down at her hands. She hadn't taken time to wash the blood off. Cursing herself, she shoved them into her pockets.

"Which treatment room?"

"B. Around the corner to the left."

He rushed off, and Eve scrubbed her hands over her face. "I can't stay in here," she muttered and hurried outside.

"Is it more serious than you told McNab?" Roarke asked her.

"I don't think so. The MT seemed solid. He said it was too serious to treat and release on-scene, but not major. She lost a lot of blood."

She stared down at her hands.

"You lost a bit yourself." He traced his fingers over her jaw where Geller's nails had swiped.

"It's nothing. Goddamn it, it's nothing." She spun away from him, kicked the tire of an ambulance parked in the bay. "I took her in there."

"Is she less a cop than you?"

"That's not the point. That's not the fucking point." She whirled back. "I took her and six other cops in there. I made the call, I set the op. I dodged out of the way when Geller threw the scissors at me."

Because her eyes were swimming, her voice beginning to hitch, he took her shoulders. "And Peabody didn't move as quickly. Is that your fault?"

"It's not about fault. It's about reason. I took her in, took all of them in to secure and transport to medical a woman who's probably going to die anyway. I ordered those people to put their lives on the line for her. A woman who sells little girls. Boy, that's irony for you. I've got Peabody's blood on my hands because of a woman who sells children for sex."

She gripped his shirt, fisted her hands. "For what?" she demanded. "What's the damn point?"

"Lieutenant."

She jerked at McNab's voice, turned quickly.

He'd never seen her cry before. Hadn't known she could. "She's awake. You were right, they're going to spring her. They want to keep her about an hour first. She's still a little groggy. She asked if you were around."