In Death 32 - Treachery in Death

only. I don’t want to take a ’link call when I’m with my father.”
    “Whatever you say, Lieutenant.”
    W hatever you say, Eve thought, following the conversation through her feed. Add another count of conspiracy to murder on your plate, Renee. “You copy that, Dallas?” Feeney asked in her ear.
    “Every word. I’m going to shut down here, start the next phase.”
    “Keep your ass covered, Lieutenant.” Roarke’s voice sounded in her ear now. “I’m fond of it.”
    “So am I.”
    She shut down her comp, rolled her shoulders. Now, she got to play. Step Three, Dallas to garage.
    “On the move,” she said into her mic.
    She walked out of her office, through the bullpen, where Carmichael and two uniforms glanced up.
    “Good night, LT.”
    “Good night, Detective. Officers.”
    She took the glides, giving Carmichael and the uniforms time to move into position, time for her shadow to report she was on the way.
    She switched to an elevator for the ride underground, listened to Feeney.
    “They tweaked the other cars, so they’ll stop two floors above your level. Anybody planning on coming down to yours will have to wait or take the stairs. We got the source. Roarke’s redirecting the glitch. Armand’s going to expect to be blind, to hold until Marcell or Palmer gives him the clear. But we’ll have you here.”
    She nodded, and she walked into the garage when the doors opened.
    They couldn’t move on her until she’d reached her vehicle, uncoded the locks. Then they’d hit her from behind. If she was wrong about any of it, she’d take a hit.
    Hell, she’d probably take one anyway.
    Her bootsteps echoed as she strode to her car, entered the code.
    From behind, she thought again when she heard the faint, faint sound. Window going down, vehicle behind and just to the right.
    It happened fast. It happened smooth, and exactly as she’d hoped.
    Her men poured out from everywhere, weapons drawn. Now voices as well as bootsteps echoed. She took the hit—probably as much reflex as intent on the shooter’s part—and felt the spread of heat, the faint but annoying sting through the protective vest under her jacket.
    Her own weapon was out as she pivoted and saw Jacobson stick his right in Marcell’s ear.
    “Drop the fucking weapon, you fucking motherfucker or I’ll fucking scramble your fucking brains. Hands up! Hands where I can fucking see them, you fucking cocksucker. You fucking breathe wrong, you fucking blink wrong, and I will fuck you up.”
    While Reineke and Peabody dragged Palmer out the other side, Eve stepped back, let Jacobson deal with Marcell.
    “That was some very creative and varied use of the word fuck , Detective.”
    “Fucker.” Jacobson snarled it as he shoved Marcell to the ground. “On your fucking face, you fucking shit coward. Stream my lieutenant in the fucking back? Fuck you.”
    There was a distinctive snap followed by a scream.
    “I seem to have misjudged my step, Lieutenant, and stepped on one of this motherfucker’s fingers. I believe it’s broken.”
    “Could’ve happened to anyone.” She crouched down as Jacobson yanked Marcell’s hands behind his back and restrained them. “Your own partner. Detective Jacobson has already eloquently expressed my feelings. I can’t think of anything else to say to a cop who would take part in murdering his own partner.”
    “I want a deal.” Sweat poured down Marcell’s face as she stripped him of his badge, his com, his ’link—and the disposable.
    “I bet you do.” I’ll see you in hell first, Eve thought. “You’ll roll on Renee for me, Marcell? Roll like a good dog? Get him out of my sight. Both of them, separate cages, no contact. Read them their rights. Get a medical to treat this asshole’s finger.” She rose, made herself take a calming breath, then looked at her men, made eye contact with each and every one.
    “Thank you. Good work.” She leaned back against her car as her men hauled Marcell and Palmer away, and Peabody joined her.
    “Are you okay?” Peabody asked her. “I hear a stun stream can hurt through a vest.”
    “He had it on high. That’ll add a punch—through a vest and right into the charges against him. Feeney, get your team to take Armand. We’re clear here.”
    “They’re moving in now.”
    “Copy that. Time for Marcell to give his boss an update.”
    “We’ll do that here,” Roarke told her.
    “We’ll be heading up then. Let’s put the rest in play.”
    Step Four,