Roarke touched a hand to the small of her back, just a bare brush of fingers. “Your move, Lieutenant,” he murmured beneath the swell of music.
Her move, she thought, and took it when the dancers leaped apart.
“Nice jump,” she called out, training her weapon on Sasha. “Now freeze, or I’ll drop you off your twinkle toes.”
She heard Beata’s cry, swore she felt it rip through her soul, but kept her eyes on Sasha.
“You’re interrupting the performance.” He spoke with some heat—as a man would when bumped violently on the street by a stranger.
“Show’s canceled.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He dismissed her with a wave of the hand, then reached it out for his partner. Roarke had already moved in and put himself between them.
Sasha pulled the dagger from his belt. “I’ll kill you for touching her.”
“You can certainly try, and I admit I’d enjoy beating you to hell and back again, but I believe the lieutenant will indeed drop you if you take a step toward this girl.”
“She’s mine.” He whirled back to Eve. “No one takes her from me. She is my Angel, and here she lives forever.”
“I am Beata Varga.” Beata yanked the crown from her head, heaved it. “I’m not your Angel, and you go to hell.”
Sasha lunged for her, and even as Roarke braced to counter the attack, Eve kept her word. She dropped him, stunned and shuddering, to center stage.
As he fell, Beata covered her face with her hands and slid to the floor at the edge of those glittering lights. “I knew someone would come. I knew someone would come.”
Eve moved forward, went to her knees, and wrapped her arms around Beata as Peabody’s team rushed in.
Once again Roarke stepped between. “I think you might want to restrain your suspect before he recovers, and take him out. Give Beata a moment.” He gave the dagger a light kick across the stage. “And there’s your murder weapon.”
“Yeah.” If Peabody thought it strange to see her partner rocking the weeping girl, she said nothing of it. “We’ll clear him out, and I’ll tell Father Lopez and Dr. Mira to stand by.”
“Crazy fucker.” Baxter looked around the room as he locked restraints on Sasha. “All his world’s a freaking stage. Trueheart tagged the MTs. For her,” he added, and with Trueheart’s help, hauled Sasha to his feet.
Eve let the police routine play out behind her—under control, she thought and concentrated on Beata. “Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?”
“Not really, not much. How long? How long have I been here? Sometimes he gave me something that made me sleep, and I lost track.”
“You’re all right now. That’s what counts.”
“He locked me in. In there.” Though she continued to shake, she lifted her chin toward the inner door. “This horrible, beautiful room. He brought me flowers and chocolates, and all these beautiful clothes. He’s out of his mind, out of his mind.” She dropped her head back on Eve’s shoulder.
“Did he touch you? Beata.” She drew the girl back.
“No, no, no. Not that way. I thought he would rape me, kill me, but it wasn’t what he wanted.”
She continued to tremble under Eve’s hands, but even as they streamed with tears, her eyes held fury.
“He said we would be together forever, and I would do what I was born to do: dance. Always dance. And night after night he would come and put on the costume. If I wouldn’t wear mine, he’d give me the drug, and when I woke I’d be in it. So I put it on rather than have him touch me. And I danced, because if I refused or if I fought, he’d tie me and leave me in the dark.”
“You did what you
had to do,” Eve told her. “You did exactly right.”
“I called, but no one heard, and I tried to break the door, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t. I couldn’t.”
“Okay. It’s okay.”
“Every day I’d try to find a way out, but there wasn’t one. I don’t know where I am. How did you find me?”