Roarke fisted his hand uselessly at his sides. “DeBlass?”
“Rockman,” Feeney corrected, counting every beat of his own heart. “He’s got her. Stay out of the way, Roarke.”
“The fuck I will.”
Feeney flicked his eyes over, measured. No way he was going to spare a couple of cops to restrain a civilian, and he had a hunch this civilian would go to the wall, as he would, for Eve.
“Then do what I tell you.”
They heard the gunshot as the elevator doors opened.
Roarke was two steps ahead of Feeney when he rammed Eve’s apartment door. He swore, reared back. They hit it together.
The pain was like being stabbed with ice. Then it was gone, numbed with fury. Eve clamped her hand over the wrist of his gun hand, dug her short nails into his flesh. Rockman’s face was close to hers, his body pinning her in an obscene parody of love. His wrist was slippery with his own blood where she clawed at it.
She swore as she lost her grip, as he began to smile.
“You fight like a woman.” He shook his hair back from his eyes, and the blood from his torn cheek welled red. “I’m going to rape you. The last thing you’ll know before I kill you is that you’re no better than a whore.”
She sagged, and aroused with victory, he ripped at her blouse.
His smile shattered when she pumped her fist into his mouth. Blood splattered over her like warm rain. She hit him again, heard the crunch of cartilage as his nose fountained more blood. Quick as a snake, she scissored up.
And again, she jabbed at him, an elbow to the jaw, torn knuckles to the face, screaming and cursing as if her words would pummel him as well as her fists.
She didn’t hear the battering of the door, the crash of it falling in. With rage behind her, she shoved Rockman to his back, straddled him, and continued to plunge her fists into his face.
“Eve. Sweet God.”
It took Roarke and Feeney together to haul her off. She fought, snarling, until Roarke pressed her face into his shoulder.
“Stop. It’s done. It’s over.”
“He was going to kill me. He killed Lola and Georgie. He was going to kill me, but he was going to rape me first.” She pulled back, wiped at the blood and sweat on her face. “That’s where he made a mistake.”
“Sit down.” His hands were trembling and slicked with blood when he eased her onto the bed. “You’re hurt.”
“Not yet. It’ll start in a minute.” She gathered in a breath, let it out. She was a cop, damn it, she reminded herself. She was a cop, and she’d act like one. “You got the transmission,” she said to Feeney.
“Yeah.” He took out a handkerchief to wipe his clammy face.
“Then what the hell took you so long?” She managed a ghost of a smile. “You look a little upset, Feeney.”
“Shit. All in a day’s work.” He flipped on his communicator. “Situation under control. We need an ambulance.”
“I’m not going to any health center.”
“Not for you, champ. For him.” He glanced down at Rockman, who managed a weak groan.
“Once you clean him up, book him for the murders of Lola Starr and Georgie Castle.”
“You sure about that?”
Her legs were a bit wobbly, but she rose and picked up her jacket. “Got it all.” She held out the recorder. “DeBlass did Sharon, but our boy here is accessory after the fact. And I want him charged with the attempted rape and murder of a police officer. Toss in B and E for the hell of it.”
“You got it.” Feeney tucked the recorder into his pocket. “Christ, Dallas, you’re a mess.”
“I guess I am. Get him out of here, will you, Feeney?”