Survivor in Death

“Birth mothers on hospital records are the same as on later data,” Roarke said as he worked.

“Poke around, find others listed for that same day. Twin boys, deceased.”

“Already there, Lieutenant. Another moment. And here. Onscreen. Smith, Jane-original-delivered twin boys, stillbirths. I imagine the health center, and the doctor of record, gained a healthy fee on this.”

“Sold them. Yeah, betcha that's what she did. It happened. Happens,” she corrected, “even with the laws coming down on women getting themselves inseminated and incubating fetuses for big, fat fees, it happens.”

“Target couples-with the finances for it-can outline the physical characteristics they'd like, the ethnicity and so on, bypass mainstream routes with their screenings and regulations.” Roarke nodded. “Yes, healthy newborns are always a hot commodity on the black market.”

“And this Jane Smith hits the jackpot with twins. The Kirkendalls, the Clintons, walk away with bouncing boys-and their baby broker collects the fees, divvies up the rest of the shares. I'll pass this data to somebody in Child Protection Services. They'll want to dig into it, see if they can find the birth mother, the brokers. Long shot since we're talking fifty years, and I can't take time out for it unless it leads to Kirkendall. Selling kids. Pretty low.”

“It could be better to be wanted, even bought and paid for, than to be unwanted, discarded.”

“There are legitimate agencies to handle this stuff. Even ways to conceive-if that's what you want-if you have physical limitations. People like this want to cut corners, want to ignore the law and the system in place to protect the child.”

“I agree with you. And I'd say, in these cases, the ones who were wanted, bought and paid for, when learning of it, reacted badly.”

She paced. “I had a brother, and you stole him from me. I lived a lie that was beyond my control. I will take charge. So, we've got a couple of pissed-off guys who've been trained with our tax dollars to kill. Brothers, brotherly loyalty along with semperfi.”

“I think that's the marine corps, not the army.”

“Whatever. They meet up at some point, figure it out. Or one of them figures it out and seeks out the other. You're going to end up with two halves of one coin kind of deal, and the worse for it. They've changed their faces. Not only to avoid detection, but to look more alike, to what, honor their bond? Not just fraternal twins, identical. Or as close as can be to identical. Two bodies, one mind. That's how it looks to me.”

“Both their files, as well as a few others I found, indicate assignments from both CIA and Homeland, as well as Special Ops.”

I see you now, Eve thought. I know you now. I'll find you now. “How long will it take you to get in, pull it out?”

“A bit. You're restless, Lieutenant.”

“I need…” She rolled her shoulders. “Something physical. A good workout. Haven't managed one in a few days. More, I just want to pound on something awhile. Something that hits back.”

“I can help you with that.”

She lifted her fisted hands. “Want to go a round, ace?”

“Actually, no, but give me a minute to set this up.” He gave the machines orders, in the e-speak Eve could never fully translate. “It can start without me, then I'll come back to finish it off. Come with me.”

“It'd go quicker with you working it.”

“An hour or so won't make much difference.” He drew her into the elevator. “Holoroom.”

“Holo-room? What for?”

“A little program I've been playing with. I think you'll like it. Especially considering our recent discussion of Master Lu and our mutual admiration for his skill.”

He stepped with her into the blank square of the holo-room. “Initiate martial arts program 5A,” he said with a smile whispering around his lips. “Eve Dallas as opponent.”

“I thought you said you didn't want to-”

The room shimmered, swam, and became a dojo, with a wall of weapons and glossy wood Boor. She looked down at herself, studied the traditional black gi.

“Icy” was all she could think of saying.

“How much of a workout do you want?”

She rolled to the balls of her feet, back on the heels. “Hard and sweaty.”

“I've got just the thing. Triple threat,” he ordered. “Full cycle. Have fun,” he added to Eve when three figures appeared.

Two male, Eve noted, one female. The woman was small, with her siren red hair pulled back in a sleek tail to leave her stu

They waited for her to step forward, then with a snap of their gis, bowed. She mirrored the gesture, then shifted smoothly to fighting stance as they began to circle.

The woman came first, a graceful handspring followed by a scissoring kick that whizzed by Eve's face. To counter, Eve dived, swept out her legs, and landed the first blow on the Asian. Gained her feet on a roll, blocked with a forearm.

And felt the smack of flesh to flesh vibrate.

Testing moves at first, backhand, jump kick, pivot, punch.

She parried, caught the movement out of the corner of her eye, and spun to meet the woman with a stomp on her instep, a hard elbow jab to the jaw.

“Nicely done,” Roarke called out, and leaned against the wall to watch.

She took a blow that knocked her down, used her hands and her quads to flip herself back before the next landed. And the Asian spun in, caught her with a flying kick to the kidneys that sent her skidding over the floor on her belly.

“Ouch.” Roarke winced. “That one stung a bit.”

“Woke me up is all.” Breathing through her teeth, she pushed up on her arms, kicked back, and took the black guy down with two hard heels to the groin.

“That stung more,” Roarke decided, and ordered himself a glass of cabernet from the AutoChef.

He sipped contemplatively while watching his woman battle. Outnumbered, and in two cases well outweighed. But holding her own. And she needed this, this hard, physical challenge. To help vent some of those hard, emotional fists pummeling inside her.

Still, he hissed in sympathy as she took a punishing blow to the face.

Well, he thought, she was more or less holding her own.

They came at her at once, and she blocked one by flipping him over her back, evaded another with an agile shoulder roll, but the third caught her with a sharp backward kick that sent her down again.

“Why don't I tone it down a bit,” Roarke suggested.

She gained her feet, blood in her eye now. “You do, and I'll kick your ass when I'm done with these.”

He shrugged, sipped. “Your call, darling.”

“Okay.” She shook her arms, circling as they did, noting the female was favoring her left leg now, and the black male was winded. “Let's finish this up.”

She went for the black guy. He might've been the biggest, but the groin shot had hurt. Using the woman as a decoy, Eve flew into a double spin, a snapping side kick, easily blocked, and used the momentum to carry her around, push her forward so that her upper body, head, and fists all co

This time he went down, and stayed down.

She blocked blows with her forearms, her shoulders, gauging her ground, taking the defensive and drawing both her opponents in close.

A short-armed punch to the jaw snapped the female's head back, and the elbow Eve jabbed into her throat took her out.

Eve grabbed her falling body and shoved it at her last opponent.

He had to spin away, but came back at her. They were both puffing now, and the sweat stung her eyes. She doubled over when his foot landed in her gut. And he was fast-but not quite fast enough to snap his leg back before she gripped his ankle and heaved.