He pulled up another program and ordered a search for New York properties under Clarissa Branson, William Henson, or any combination thereof.

He checked the time, judged Eve would have arrived at the Swisher house. No point in interrupting her fun, he decided. Which she would gain, whatever she said, from busting down on a bunch of foolish kids.

“Ah, well now, there you are you shagging bastards. Branson Williams, West Seventy-third. My cop's right again. Best interrupt her after all.”

“Roarke.” Summerset, normally the most restrained of men, rushed into the office without knocking. “Nixie's missing.”

“Be specific.”

“She's not in the house. She took off the homer, put it on the boy. She told him she wanted to talk with the lieutenant, and left him in the game room. I've checked the scanners. She's not in the house.”

“Well, she could hardly get off the property. Likely she's just…” He thought of Eve leaving with Baxter. “Oh bloody hell.”

As he swung to his desk 'link, the one in his pocket signalled. He yanked it out, heard the child's voice.

“Call for backup,” he snapped out and uncoded a drawer. “Contact Peabody and the rest, give them the situation.”

“I'll do it on the way. I'm going with you. That child was my responsibility.”

Rather than argue, Roarke checked the weapon he'd taken out, tossed it to Summerset, and chose another. “You'll have to keep up.”

23

AS SHE REACHED THE STEPS, EVE EASED HER communicator out of her pocket. She keyed in a code, ordering Baxter in as backup. When there was no response, she let the curses roll in her head. She tapped into Dispatch, keyed in for officer-needs-assistance. If it was kids playing hide-and seek upstairs, she'd live down the humiliation.

She backed down, made her way quietly toward the rear of the house. She'd call Baxter again, and she'd use the domestic's steps.

She'd reached the kitchen when the lights shut off.

She crouched in the dark, and though her heart gave three solid bumps, her mind stayed cool. They'd sprung a trap before she did, but it didn't mean she'd wouldn't take the cheese and walk away.

She keyed her communicator again, intending to order armed response, and found it dead in her hand.

Jammed all electronics. Smart. Goddamn smart. Still, they had to find her before she found them. She thought briefly of Baxter, and blocked emotion. He was down, no question. The cops out front, too.

Just me and you, then. Let's see who brings it first.

She stayed low, and with her eyes adjusting to the dark, slipped toward the domestic's quarters. A movement from behind had her swinging around with her finger trembling on the trigger.

She recognized Nixie by scent almost before she recognized the small shape of girl. Biting off curses, she slapped her hand over Nixie's mouth and dragged her into Inga's parlor.

“Are you fucking crazy?” Eve whispered.

“I saw them, I saw them. They came in the house. They went up the stairs.”

No time for questions. “You listen to me. You hide in here, you hide good. You don't make a sound, not a fucking sound. You don't come out until I say so.”

“I called Roarke. I called him on the 'link.”

Oh Christ, what was he walking into? “Fine. Don't come out until one of us says so. They don't know you're here. They won't find you. I've got to go up.”

“You can't. They'll kill you.”

“They won't. I've got to go up, because my friend's hurt.” Or dead. “Because it's my job. You do what I tell you, and you do it now.”

She half-carried Nixie across the room, shoved her under the sofa. “Stay there. Stay quiet, or I'm going to beat the crap out of you.”

Eve eased open the door to the stairs, breathing again when she found the housekeeper had kept the hinges well-oiled. Take it to the second floor, she thought. Away from the kid. Take it to them.

Roarke would get backup, she could trust him for that. Just as she could trust he was already on his way-fighting back worry for her. And he might not fight it off well enough.

She slipped up the steps like a shadow, and listened at the door.

Not a sound, not a breath. Night-vision, certainly. They'd spread out now, looking for her. Cover the exits, sweep room by room. She'd lied to Nixie. They'd find her. They'd find her because they were looking for a cop, and they'd look everywhere.

Unless she showed herself.

They thought she was looking for kids, so they wouldn't expect she'd have her weapon out-or even so, that she'd be primed.

Time she gave them a surprise.

She rolled her shoulders and, laying down a stream right and left, went through the door.

There was answering fire from her left, but it was high and she was already down and rolling. She was blasting in the direction of the returning stream.

She saw the shadow, heard the thud of it when the blast kicked it back against the wall.

She leaped forward. One of the males-she couldn't tell which. Good and stunned. She ripped off his night goggles, grabbed both his blaster and his combat knife. And was running for cover when footsteps pounded up the stairs.

She fixed on the goggles, and it was light, that faint green tinge that made everything look surreal. She slipped the knife into her belt, gripped both blasters, and came out firing.

She barely made the movement behind her, was able to pivot, but not quickly enough to avoid the knife. It sliced through the leather of her jacket, missed the vest, and ripped into her shoulder.

Using momentum and pain, she swung, back-fisted, and heard the satisfying crunch of cartilage.

She blasted toward the main steps again-keep him off me!-as her assailant leaped at her again.

The kick landed in Eve's sternum, stole her breath, and had the blasters squirting out of her fingers like soap.

She could see Isenberry, blood streaming out of her nose, grinning. Her blaster was holstered, her knife in combat grip.

Likes to party, she thought. Likes to play.

“Unfriendlies approaching!” Isenberry's cohort shouted from downstairs. “Abort!”

“Like hell. I've got her.” The grin widened. “I've been looking forward to this. Get up, bitch.”

Drawing the knife out of her belt, Eve pushed through the pain and rose. “Lieutenant Bitch. I broke your fucking nose, Jilly.”

“Going to pay for that now.”

She came in with a swipe, spun, and missed Eve's face with a vicious back-kick by a breath. The knife slashed down toward Eve's chest, ripped cloth, and skidded over shield.

“Body armor?” Isenberry spun back, planted her feet. “Knew you were a pussy.”

Eve feinted, jabbed, then rammed her fist into Isenberry's grin. “Sticks and stones.”

In fury, Isenberry reached for her blaster. Eve rose on her toes to leap. And the lights flashed on, blinding them both.

Roarke came in the front like lightning, rolled to his left an instant before the blast hit-two instants before Summerset engaged the lights.

He saw the man ripping off goggles, pivoting behind a doorway.

He could hear the sound of combat up the stairs. She was alive, and she was fighting. The cold fear that had squeezed his heart loosened. He sent out another blast, rolled in the opposite direction.

“See to Eve!” he ordered Summerset and bolted through a doorway to intercept his quarry.

The lights were bright now, and he listened for any sound. There might have been sirens, far off yet. It was best to wish for them, he knew. But there was that cold, hard center of him that wanted the fight, and the blood.

Leading with his weapon, he started to ease around a corner when the scream, the sound of tumbling bodies, broke his concentration for an instant.

In that instant the blast seared across the top of his shoulder, singeing skin, tearing pain. He smelled blood, burned flesh, and-gripping the weapon in his left hand now-shot out streams, somersaulting under them.