One wood shelf had smacked his head and he lay unmoving. Shelves and shoes covered him in a heap, so that only his feet showed. Eve was bizarrely reminded of the red-and-white-striped stockings of the Wicked Witch and half expected his toes to curl.

“Eve!”

Slowly Eve looked to the stairs, sending the room into a spin. Noah was leaping, taking four stairs at a time. He rushed to her side, pale, holstering his gun. White knight, she thought as he grabbed Pierce’s knife from the floor and cut the twine that bound her feet. Then she saw movement behind him and screamed, hoarsely. “Noah.”

Pierce had risen from the shoes and was running to the stairs. In two steps Noah was on him, gun drawn. Then Eve heard a sickening crunch, metal to bone. Noah dropped to his knees and Pierce remained standing, holding a shovel like a bat.

Pierce swung again, but Noah rolled, the shovel head hitting his shoulder instead. A moment later, Noah tackled him and Pierce went down.

On his hands and knees, Noah blinked hard, trying to see. Pierce was on the floor, scrabbling backward. He plowed a fist into Pierce’s face, feeling satisfaction when the cartilage in Pierce’s nose yielded like butter. But Pierce rolled to his feet, standing behind him. Noah twisted, found himself looking into the barrel of a.22 with a silencer.

“Hands out, Noah,” Pierce said. “I want to see them.”

Noah held his hands out. His own gun was three feet away, dropped when he’d been hit by the shovel. Too far to grab. He watched Pierce, waiting for the time to move.

“This is the way I always wanted you to die,” Pierce said with a smile, even though blood gushed from his nose. He stood over him, staring down. “On your knees, looking up at me.”

Noah was breathing hard, his ears still ringing from the blow. “There are police surrounding this place. If you kill me, you’ll still go down.”

“But I will have killed you,” Pierce said, reasonably. “And I have a hostage.”

Noah didn’t think he’d ever adequately describe the expression that crossed Pierce’s face next, a combination of surprise and… annoyance. Noah leapt, wresting the gun from Pierce’s hand, but he didn’t have to exert much force. Pierce slumped to his knees, then fell flat on his face, Eve falling with him. Her hands were still bound and she wore nothing except the satisfaction on her face. Her left hand still clutched Pierce’s knife as it stuck from his back, blood soaking his tan overcoat.

“No, you do not have a hostage.” She lifted her eyes. “Are you all right?”

Noah crawled to her, checking her for injuries. “I’m fine. What did he do to you?”

“I don’t know,” she said, dully. “What did he do to me?”

“He hit you. Oh, Eve.” She looked like Brock had on Sunday night.

She grabbed his arm, clumsily. “My face. Did he cut my face?”

Noah wiped the blood away from her cheek. “Not much. Nobody will be able to tell.” It was then the shoes sank in. “Oh my God. Micki was right. The shoes.”

Eve blinked slowly. “He killed all these women. They’re under us, right now.”

He’d deal with that later. She looked like she was going into shock. He tried to stand up, but came back hard on his knees. The room was spinning so he crawled to get a blanket on the floor next to the bed. He wrapped Eve in it, then pulled her to his lap, holding her close, giving her his warmth. “You’re like ice.”

She stared at the knife protruding from Pierce’s back. “Did I kill him?”

“I hope so,” he said fiercely.

Olivia came down the stairs, her gun at her side, then stopped short. “Holy shit,” she muttered. She knelt at Pierce’s side, put her fingers to his throat. “Alive, but barely.” She took her radio from her belt, called the all-clear and requested three more gurneys, then knelt beside Noah, reaching for Eve. “Let her go, Web.”

Noah shook his head, sending the room spinning again. “No.”

“Noah,” she said gently, “you’ve got a huge gash in the back of your head and you are bleeding a river. In about three minutes you’ll be flat on this floor yourself. Let her go so I can cut this twine.”

Reluctantly, Noah let go. Olivia efficiently cut the twine from Eve’s hands as the medics thundered down the stairs. Eve met his eyes as the medics lifted her to a gurney. “He killed his wife. She’s under the floor. They all are. Jeremy Lyons, too.”

A second medic was pushing Noah to a gurney. “Wait.” He blinked at the floor, saw a handle. “Open it.”

Olivia yanked, then gagged when a concrete slab rolled back. “Oh my God.” She covered her mouth as she stared into the pit. “That’s his wife, Ann Pierce.”

A man’s hand stuck up out of the dirt. “Jeremy Lyons,” Noah whispered. “Kane was right. So was Micki.”

Olivia pulled the slab shut. “You can tell them yourself, once you’ve had stitches. Take him,” she said to the medics. “Don’t let him argue.”

Noah let the medic roll him to his side to tend to his head. “Do me a favor.”

“The ER docs’ll give you a local when they give you the stitches,” the medic said.

“No.” Noah pointed to Pierce’s barely breathing body. “His bus? Drive it real slow.”

Thursday, February 25, 6:15 p.m.

“Oh, Eve.”

From her hospital bed, Eve turned to see Callie standing in the doorway, distress on her face. “You should see the other guy,” she said, trying for light, but her voice still too hoarse.

“We tried,” Callie said, utterly serious. “But they wouldn’t let us in the morgue. Sal wanted to be sure he was really dead, but the ME said we’d have to take his word for it. Good for you, girl.”

Carleton Pierce had bled out as the helicopter transporting him had touched down on the hospital’s roof. “I don’t feel bad,” Eve murmured. “I suppose I should, but I don’t. I feel pretty damn good.”

Callie carefully sat on the edge of her bed. “As you should. Where’s Noah?”

“On the phone.” She smiled, gingerly. Her face still hurt from Pierce’s fists. And his knife. She fought back the shudder and thought of good things. “Jack woke up. The first person he asked for was Noah. They’re talking now.”

Callie squeezed her hand gently. “That’s good. Maybe Jack will pull it together. Listen, you’ve got a crowd waiting to see you. Are you up for visitors?”

Eve raised her hand to her throat, knowing what it looked like. Pierce had cut away her choker, exposing what was still a nasty scar. Then she shrugged. “It is what it is,” she said. “Let the visitation begin.”

“I went by your place, grabbed you some clean clothes, a robe, and this.” Callie reached into her pocket and pulled out another choker.

Eve’s eyes stung. “Thank you. For knowing it would be important.”

“Don’t start crying or you’ll have me crying again.” She busied herself helping Eve into the robe and fastening the leather choker around her neck. “Sal will be chomping at the bit. He closed the bar so he could be the first one here. He only let me in first to get you presentable. He was the pillar of strength, keeping everyone’s spirits up, taking care of your Chicago friends.” She dropped her voice. “Then when he got the word that you were okay, alive, he broke down. Cried like a baby. So did Jeff Betz.”

Eve sniffled. “That’s so sweet.”

“And your friends from Chicago? They wanted to be here when you woke up, so Jeff gave them a ride in his cruiser, lights flashing.”

“David’s was the first face I saw when I woke up from the surgery to sew up my leg.” Eve made a face. “It was like a bad rerun. His face is always the first one I see when I wake up from an attack by a homicidal lunatic.” But it had been such a relief. Max and Tom had been on the other side of the bed. Her family had rallied.

“You could certainly wake up to a lot worse,” Callie said. “As wakeup-to faces go, David’s would be the one I’d choose, every time. So, you ready?”

Eve drew a breath. “Let ’em in.” No sooner had she uttered the words than Sal was there, his arms around her, hard and safe. He was trembling, she realized. No, he was crying. The tears she’d blinked back burst free. “I’m okay,” she said, patting his back. “Totally okay.”