Fantasy in Death

“Could what?”

“Turf. Area.” Shit! she thought again and pulled up short. “I have to figure he’s got his hole within the basic parameters of his place, the partners, the warehouse. He’s efficient, careful, meticulous. Why would he risk being seen-and maybe even by his so-called friends-going in or out of another building?”

Roarke uncoded the doors, pulled hers open, then leaned on it. “His own building. He’d want his special equipment close, wouldn’t he? Easier to secure, to monitor that security, to use whenever he has the whim.”

“Not his apartment. There’s nothing in there. But there are other spaces in that building. Including the other half of his floor.”

“Let’s go have a look.”

“My thoughts exactly. I’ll run the address while you drive, see who rents or owns it.”

He got behind the wheel. “Backup?”

“I’ll let them know we’re taking the detour, but I don’t want to call out the troops then have this turn out to be a bust. Anyway, I think we can handle a cybergeek who kills by remote control. He’s a coward on top of… Stuben, Harry and Tilda, ages eighty-six and eighty-five respectively. Owners, in residence for eighteen years. Three children, five grandchildren, two great-grandchildren.”

“It could be a blind.”

“Yeah.” She drummed her fingers on her thigh. “There was good security on that apartment. Two doors, both with monitors, cams, palm plates. The inside setup is probably a mirror image of Var’s. It’s worth a knock. I’ll run the other units. Maybe something will pop, but this one feels right.”

When he parked, she pulled out her communicator. “Peabody, we’re going to take a look at Var’s across-the-hall neighbors. Following a hunch.”

“Do you want me to meet you?”

“No. We’ll take our look-see. If I don’t tag you back in fifteen, send backup.”

“Copy that. Across the hall from his own place. That would be smart, now that I think of it. Dallas, why don’t you just leave the com open? I can monitor, and if I hear any trouble, I’ll release the hounds.”

“All right. While you’re babysitting us, go ahead and run the other occupants of the building. And put your com on mute. I don’t want to hear your voice coming out of my ass.” She stuck the communicator in her back pocket as Roarke chuckled.

“Let’s make this official. Record on. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, and Roarke, expert consultant, civilian, entering Var Hoyt’s building to interview suspect’s neighbor.”

She used her master to gain entry.

“You know, if I were him, I’d have the outer security rigged to alert me if anyone bypassed the normal entry procedure.”

“Maybe. Still, he’d have to scramble to shut down operations in one space, secure it, get across the hall, unlock, get in, resecure. And when I push for another warrant, the security logs will show exactly that if so. Or we could just be interrupting an old couple’s quiet evening.”

“Maybe they’re out doing the tango and drinking tequila shots.” He sent Eve a grin. “As we will be when we reach their age. After which we’ll come home and have mad sex.”

“For God’s sake. This is on the record.”

“Yes, I know.” He stepped off with her on Var’s floor. “I wanted those future plans to be official as well.”

She aimed a smoldering look before stopping outside the entrance to the apartment across from Var’s. “He’s locked up over there. Full red. Here, too,” she noted.

She knocked, waited, with a hand resting on the butt of her weapon. She poised to knock again when the speaker clicked.

“Hello?”

The voice was female and a bit wary.

“Mrs. Stuben?”

“That’s right. Who are you?”

“Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD.” She held up her badge so the camera could see it. “We’d like to speak with you.”

“Is there a problem? Is there something wrong? Oh my goodness! Is it one of the kids?”

“No, ma’am,” Eve began even as the locks opened, and the security went to green. “No, ma’am,” she repeated when the door opened. “This is just a routine inquiry related to an ongoing investigation.”

“An investigation?” The woman was small and slim in lounging pants and a flowered shirt. Her hair, tidy and ashy blond rode on her head like a helmet. “Harry! Harry! The police are at the door. I guess you should come in.”

She stepped back, revealing a large, comfortable living area, crowded with dust catchers and photographs. The air smelled of lavender.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m just so flustered.” She patted a hand to her heart. “You can come right in, sit down. I was about to make some tea for Harry and me. A nice pot of tea while we watch our shows. Harry!” she called again, then sighed. “He’s got that screen on so loud he can’t hear me. I’m going to go get him. You just sit right down, and I’ll go get Harry.”

“Mrs. Stuben, do you know your neighbor across the hall? Levar Hoyt?”

“Var? Sure we do. Such a nice young man,” she said as she started up the stairs. “Smart as they come. We couldn’t ask for a better neighbor. Harry!”

“Tea and flowers,” Eve murmured, “everything’s just so homey.”

“Which, of course, automatically raises your suspicions. Still, some people…” He stopped in his turn around the room. “Eve,” he said, just as the locks on the door snapped shut, and the room shimmered away.

“It’s a goddamn holo.” Eve reached for her weapon, and drew a sword. “Oh, fuck me!”

“We’ll have to wait on that. To your left.”

She barely had time to pivot, to block before the blade sliced down. She looked into a scarred face mottled with tattoos. It gri

She came up with her left elbow, rammed him in the throat. When he stumbled back she took a fraction of a second to glance toward Roarke. He fought a bare-chested mountain of a man armed with sword and dagger. Beyond him, in the blue observer’s circle, stood Var.

Frightened, she thought as she met the next thrust. Scared, desperate, but excited, too.

“They’ll come looking for us, Var!” she shouted. “Stop the game.”

“It’s got to play out.”

She felt the boggy ground under her feet, and part of her mind registered the heavy, wet heat, the scream of birds, the wildly improbable green of thick trees. Swords crashed, deadly cymbals, as she fought for any advantage.

To play the game, she thought, you had to know the rules. “What the hell are we fighting about?” she demanded. She leaped when her opponent swung the sword at her knees, then struck back at his sword arm. “We’ve got no beef with you.”

“You invade our world, enslave us. We will fight you to the last breath.”

“I don’t want your damn world.” She saved her breath, spun away from his sword, and reared up in a kick that caught him in the side. When she followed through to finish him, he feinted, fooled her, and ran a line of pain down her hip with the tip of his sword.

She leaped back. “I’m a New York City cop, you son of a bitch. And I’m going to kick your ass.”

Riding on fury, she came in hard, her sword flying right, left, slashing through his guard to rip his side. She pushed in, slamming her fist in his face. Blood erupted from his nose.

“That’s how we do it in New York!”

Rage burned in his eyes. He let out a war cry, charged in. She rammed her sword into his belly, to the hilt, yanking it free as he fell, then whirling toward Roarke.

Blood stained the black body armor he wore and smeared the gleaming chest of his opponent. Beside them a river raged in eerie, murky red while enormous tri-winged birds swooped.

As she ran toward him, she took the drumbeats she heard for her racing heart.

“I’ve got this,” he snapped out.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” She swung her sword up, but before she could land the blow, Roarke sliced his across his opponent’s throat.

“I said I had it.”

“Great. Points for you. Now-”