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“Dumb-ass,” was Jenkinson’s opinion.

Eve saw the homemade boomer fly out. She dived for it, then heaved it back.

On the explosion, the clouds of smoke, the ensuing screams, she and her team charged the room. In the chaos, she stunned two, shoved aside a shrieking, half-naked woman, dodged a knife swipe.

Some wild-eyed woman with biceps like soccer balls rushed her with a bat as the knifer tried again.

Tank, Eve thought. In the really big flesh.

Eve stunned her, which barely slowed her down, then slammed her boot into the kneecap of the knife-wielder behind her, which took him down.

A bat glanced off of Eve’s helmet—and boy, did that make the ears ring. The fist Eve slammed in Tank’s face had blood spurting, but the woman only grinned around it, swung again.

Tank—and she damn well fit the bill. Serious muscle, Eve thought as she ducked. Serious muscle on Zeus. She slammed her free hand to the floor, braced, and kicked up and back. The blow knocked her opponent back enough for her to spring up, fire another stream. Then wail in.

She took a few. More than a few, but the blows and the stuns took some of the juice out of those biceps. Leading with her helmet, she rammed her head into

Tank’s midsection, slammed down with the heel of her boot on the woman’s instep.

The bat slapped Eve’s shoulder, and though the force behind it lessened, she still felt it all the way to her fingertips as she pivoted, danced back, fired another stream.

Maybe she tasted her own blood in her mouth, but the goddamn tank finally went down jittering.

“Couldn’t get to you, LT.” Detective Carmichael, one eye swollen, dropped down, slapped restraints on the thick wrists. Then a second pair for good measure. “Couldn’t get a clear stream.”

“Jones?”

Carmichael pointed. “I’m on your six.”

Slower now—of the twelve they’d seen in the room, seven were down and restrained—she moved through the mess of the living area toward what she took to be a kind of meeting room. Big table, chairs, a couple of wall screens.

A window stood open wide with the night wind blowing through. She gestured for Carmichael to hold, then crouched, rolled.

Jones stood planted, stunner raised. “You’re done, bitch.”

He fired, and from the quick slap and heat against her coat, she judged he’d bumped it to full, aimed at her heart.

It only took an instant for his fierce grin to fade in shock, and another for her to drop him.

“Looks like he’s the bitch who’s done,” Carmichael said. “I’ve got to get me one of those coats.”

“Lock him down, and let’s clean up the rest of this mess.”

She circled around, through another door to the hall. Found Baxter clearing the individual flops. “Your nose is bleeding, LT,” he said with a glance at her.

“It’s not broken.”

“Bet it hurts anyway. Trueheart’s hauling some of them out. We found a naked girl trying to hide in a bathtub. My boy’s blushing, but he’s getting her out and into the wagon.”

“Good.”

“They had a little more trouble than we did upstairs, so we gave them a hand. Got the three contained. All kinds of goodies up there, boss. Some cash money, ID maker, weapons, and enough illegals to keep you zoned out for a couple years.”

“Also good. We get twenty-five?”

“Can’t tell you for sure. We bagged eight.”

“Jorgenson?”


Tags: J.D. Robb In Death Mystery