"She doesn't have twelve minutes. If she's injured, you asshole, I'm personally going to come in and rip out every one of your circuits."
She pounded her fist into the 'link. "Droids, they put goddamn droids on Dispatch, on the desk, every place, because it's Christmas. Jesus, Roarke, can't you get this thing to go any faster?"
He was already up to a hundred and ten, screaming through the vicious curtain of icy rain. But he pushed it.
"Nearly there, Eve. We'll be in time."
She was suffering unspeakable agonies listening to Simon's voice through her communicator. She could picture it too clearly in her mind.
He was securing the restraints, carefully cutting away her clothes.
Eve's mouth went dry.
Spraying her, inside and out, so she would be clean and perfect.
She was out of the car before Roarke had fully screamed to a stop. Her boots skidded, slid, then she dug in and flew to the door. Because her hands weren't steady, it took her two tries to bypass the locks.
When she pounded up the steps, Roarke was beside her.
And now at last, in the distance, came the shriek of sirens.
Eve slipped the master through the slot and shoved the door open.
"Police!" Weapon out, she charged the bedroom.
Peabody's eyes were wide and dazed. Naked and bound, she shivered violently as the cold air rushed through the open window.
"He went out, down the fire escape. He ran. I'm okay."
Eve hesitated for a heartbeat then dived for the window. "Stay with her," she called to Roarke.
"No, no." Shaking her head frantically, Peabody strained against the restraints. "She'll kill him, Roarke. She means to kill him. Try to stop her."
"You hold on." He snatched the blanket off the floor, tossed it over her, then went out the window after his wife.
* * *
Her ankles sang as she leaped the last two feet to the ground, and her feet slid out from under her on the slick ground. She went down hard on one knee, then scrambled up. She could see him, heading east in a limping run, his bright red suit like a beacon.
"Police! Stop where you are." But she was already running after him, knowing she was wasting her breath with the order.
There were a thousand bees buzzing in her head, a thousand of them stinging on her skin. In her gut was a ball of hate so hard and bitter it burned. In a deliberate move, she jammed her weapon into the waist of her slacks. She wanted to take him down with her own hands.
She leaped on him like a tiger on the hunt, sent him skidding on his face and belly over the pavement.
She was clawing at him, pounding on him, but couldn't feel it. Cursing him between harsh, labored breaths, but couldn't hear it.
Then she was dragging him onto his back and her weapon was in her hand. At his throat.
"Eve." Roarke stood where he was, a foot away, and kept his voice quiet.
"I told you to stay with her. Stay out of this." She stared into the bleeding, weeping face under hers. And God help her, she could see her father.
Her weapon was on full stun -- not fatal. Except when pressed directly to a pulse. She jammed it harder against his throat. And wanted to, craved.
"You've beaten him. You've stopped him." Suffering with her, Roarke moved closer, crouched down, and looked into her eyes. "Taking that next step, it's not your way. It's not who you are."
Her finger trembled on the trigger. Little bullet points of ice hissed and cracked against the ground, pricked her skin. "It could be."