Would this killer really understand that? She doubted it. Like the Red Horse victims, this woman ran on delusion.
What had infected her? Nadine wondered, sitting back, blowing fragrant smoke at the ceiling. Childhood trauma, a tragic love affair, or just fucked-up DNA? Any or all, she thought, or a dozen more roots. Madness, the little crazies and the big, had all manner of beginnings.
She shifted tasks as her comp signaled an incoming.
Ms. Furst,
Mr. Cabott is messengering over a packet for your attention. Please respond directly to Mr. Cabott tomorrow morning after eight a.m., after you’ve received and reviewed the contents. He will be unavailable until that time.
Mistique Brady
Intern to Della Bonds
Nadine frowned at the e-mail. Unavailable, my ass, she thought, and was tempted to contact her producer right then. She was supposedly still on vacation.
Still, Bing Cabott wouldn’t spring for a messenger unless he thought it was something solid, so she’d look it over – then contact him. Or maybe just tag Della, who’d likely know more in any case.
She looked down at her kitty-cat pants and decided she wasn’t going to put on more professional pants for a damn messenger. But she would, pride demanded, wash off the bright pink super-hydrating facial mask, which blew because she could’ve left it on for another hour.
She scuffed off to the bathroom in her fuzzy blue slippers – again only worn when flying solo – and ran the water in the sink to warm.
It took far too long to get from tepid to warm, in her opinion, and gave her time to glance around her bathroom.
Dated, she decided. The whole place was dated – and had been fine and dandy when she worked only the crime beat. But now her finances had changed, as had her career path.
She’d never give up the crime beat, but writing, well, that had been an unexpected love. She could work the crime beat, write, and do her weekly show – none of which she’d give up without a bitter and bloody fight. But she’d give up the apartment without a whimper.
Did she want to invest in a lovely and dignified old brownstone – along the lines Louise and Charles had chosen? Or did she want some shiny penthouse with a killer view? Maybe a creative loft space in the Village? A converted warehouse where she could throw amazing parties?
This was the dilemma, and why she’d made no move at all. Yet.
Time to decide, time to make that move. She’d contact a realtor after the first of the year. Or… she’d ask Roarke. Who knew more about real estate than the guy who owned so much of it?
One thing for certain, wherever she landed would have a kick-ass bathroom – and a spacious dressing area. Time to reap some of the benefits of her hard work, and the good luck that had landed sizzling stories in her lap.
With a glance in the mirror she considered pulling her hair out of the band that held it back in a little tail – reminded herself it was only a messenger, and she didn’t have to be camera ready.
The buzz decided her, and she walked out, as is, to answer the intercom.
Be calm, the messenger told herself. No, bored, a little bored is better. It’s late, it’s cold, you want to get this finished and go home. Bored and impatient, not calm.
She ran a hand over the bill of the flapped cap, made sure it was tilted low – and ran her fingers over the stunner in her pocket.
Nervous, she admitted. Nervous this time because this time was different. But… no, not really. Not really different.
Didn’t Nadine Furst profit from death and crime? The bigger, the more profit and glory? What did she do that was productive?
Nothing.
She only reaped in the fame, the fortune, and helped soil Eve’s purity.
No, not different at all. True justice, true friendship meant this was as necessary and as right as Bastwick and Ledo.
Settling, she waited, even as she itched to press the buzzer again.
When Nadine’s voice came through the speaker, she was careful to keep her head angled, her face shielded by shadows.
There were no more nerves, but only the first waves of excitement.
“Nadine Furst?”
“That’s right.”
“I’ve got a packet from a Cabott, Channel Seventy-five.”
“Let’s see your ID.”
She’d prepared for this – it irritated to be asked, but she’d prepared. She pulled out the ID she’d made. It would pass a low-level scan; she’d tested it herself.
And when it did, she felt another tickle of excitement.
“Come on up.”
When Nadine buzzed her in, her heart began to beat hard, hard at the base of her throat. So hard, she couldn’t swallow, but she crossed the tiny lobby, called the elevator.
As she did, a couple of teenagers came barreling in the main doors, squealing with laughter.
“His face! His face! Total caution!”
“I know, right? Ultramazing. We abso have to tag Flo-lo, give her the deal and the deets.”
They clambered on the elevator with her in their thick-soled boots and hats with bouncing puffy balls, smelling of sugar and strawberry shampoo.
“I’m just twee!”
“You are? I’m twee-squared. Flo-lo’s going to completely pop. Screwed she’s under house arrest. We need her to trio like
now
.”
“Her mom’s down, so no chance.”
She could kill them, she thought. The squealing girls with their strawberry hair and shining faces.
Stun them both, cut their throats, leave their bodies smelling of blood and strawberries.
It’s what happened to girls who weren’t careful. Girls who weren’t respectful.
Didn’t they
see
her standing here?
Her ears rang with pressure, her chest ached with it. Fingering the stunner, just brushing her fingertips over it, eased the pressure. As the elevator climbed, and the girls’ voices squealed and shrieked in her head, she started to draw the stunner out.
The elevator doors opened; the girls clumped out, laughing like hyenas.
Not the plan, she reminded herself, annoyed her fingers trembled. Focus was essential. Nadine.
But girls that age made her so
angry
, so full of grief and despair and rage.
Had to put them, all of them, out of her mind. Work to be done.
And when it was done, the happiness would come again.
To settle, she brought Eve’s face into her mind, and understood, like a light blooming, she was doing exactly the right thing. For Eve, for herself. For their friendship.
Some part of her had always planned to do this – just not on a fully conscious level. Otherwise she wouldn’t have taken all that time, put in all that effort to learn about all these distractions, these obstacles.
Removing them was key to their partnership, their happiness. Their unity.
How could Eve understand she was the
true
friend if there were others trying to push her aside?
People always pushed her aside.
All her life, they’d pushed her aside, put her into corners, told her to be good, to be quiet. Behave.
No more.
Steady again, focused again, she walked off the elevator. Face angled away from the camera, tipped down.
She slipped her right hand in her pocket, pressed the buzzer with her left.
Nadine, she thought, would never shunt her aside in Eve’s affections again.
Inside, Nadine rolled her eyes at Eve’s last e-mail. Who’d have thought the tough, kick-your-ass-to-next-Tuesday cop would be such a fussy mother hen?
But she studied the latest sketch with interest. She’d check, be sure it was cleared – because she really didn’t want her ass kicked to next Tuesday – and if so she could go in tonight, do a special bulletin, get herself a nice scoop on the competition.
“Yeah, yeah,” she called at the sound of the buzzer. “Just hang on.”
She went to the door, looked through the security peep, saw a bit of profile and a big winter hat, some messy strands of brown hair poking out the bottom.
She reached for the locks, and Eve’s last e-mail sounded in her head.
Do not, under any circumstances, open the door to someone you don’t know. Do not, under any circumstances, open the door to anyone you’re not expecting.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, it’s just a messenger.”
But Eve’s flat, cop’s eyes seemed to bore into her brain.
“Fine, fine.” Nadine pushed the intercom. “Yes?”
“Yeah, Mercury Messengers. Package for Nadine Furst.”
“Let’s see it. Hold it up to the peep.”
“What’s the problem, lady?” But prepared, always prepared, she reached in the messenger bag, pulled out a thick envelope. “For Nadine Furst, from Bing Corbett, Channel Seventy-five. You want it or not? I’m on overtime here.”
Dallas had her spooked, Nadine thought, and reached for the locks again. So she’d compromise and leave the thick chain on, open the door just enough to get whatever her producer had sent her, and be done with it.
She clicked off the locks, let the door open two inches. “Pass it through.”
The brief hesitation had her angling back to look through the peep again.
“You gotta sign.”
“Pass it through,” she repeated, and this time felt a chill along her skin.
She called herself a nervous idiot when the envelope started through the gap. She shifted again, started to reach for it, then stumbled to the side as the stunner followed.
The stream blasted heat on the chill, left her left arm tingling numb from the edge of the jolt. She half fell against the door as the stunner fired again, and whoever fired it threw their body weight on the door.
The next stream angled lower, skimmed along her calf, took her down to her knees.
She told herself the chain would hold, she could crawl away, out of range, get to her ’link. Get help.
But she wasn’t sure the chain would hold.
Why had she put off moving?
Her body trembled, not just fear, but a reaction to the stream swipes. She put her back against the door, drew her legs in thinking another hit, even a glancing one, might be enough to put her down.
A weapon, she told herself as the door vibrated and the chain
thunked
from another body blow. Any weapon would do.
Desperate, she dug in the pocket of her silly pants, closed her hand over the fancy little lighter Corbett had given her for Christmas – for the herbal habit she wasn’t supposed to have.
She flicked it on, prayed, then, inching up the door, waited for the next thump.
The instant it came, she stuck the lighter, flame on high, through the gap.
The resulting scream emboldened, empowered. Nadine threw her full weight against the door, sobbing as it slammed. It took her three tries to secure the locks.
When she gathered the courage to look out the security peep, no one was there.
The lighter fell out of her trembling fingers. She cradled her tingling arm as she hobbled across the room. Once again she went down to her knees, but now she had her pocket ’link with her.
“Dallas. Nadine, I’m working.”
“She was here, Dallas. She was at the door. She’s gone now.”
“Are you hurt?”
“A little, I think. I can’t tell. I think you’d better get over here. I need help.”
“I’m on my way. I’m sending in the closest units. Don’t open the door, Nadine, until I clear them. Understood?”
“I understood the first time. It’s why I’m a little hurt and not dead. Maybe you could hurry. Can you hurry? I think I’m going to be sick now.”
“We’re out the door. Roarke’s driving. Talk to me. Where are you hurt?”
She couldn’t quite draw in air. Her chest hurt, felt as if something very heavy, very jagged was pressing into it. Something greasy seemed to roll and roil in her belly.
Reaction, she told herself. Just reaction.
“Ah, my arm, my leg. Flesh wounds.” She gave a quick laugh that pitched too high and scared her. “Oh boy, is that shock? I think I’m in shock, and I can’t get a full breath in. I think I need to pass out now. She had your eyes.”
“What?”
“Your eyes. Sorry. I really have to faint.”
So clutching the ’link, she did just that.
Eve leaped out of the car before Roarke stopped in front of Nadine’s building. She pointed at the black-and-whites already double-parked. “Do that,” she told Roarke, and raced to the building.
One swipe of her master and she was through. Though she’d have preferred the stairs, the elevator would be faster. She jumped into it, ordered Nadine’s floor.
Another swipe and she was in the apartment, where Nadine sat in a chair the color of crushed rose petals clutching a glass of water and flanked by uniforms.
She offered Eve a shaky smile. “I wasn’t out that long. You were fast.”
“MTs?”
Even as Nadine shook her head, one of the uniforms spoke up. “Ms. Furst doesn’t want medical attention. She’s lucid, Lieutenant, and there’s no sign of serious injury.”
“Describe her.” Eve stared hard at Nadine’s ghost-pale face, over-wide eyes. She’d give the no medical attention a minute or two – she knew what it was to need to avoid just that.
But then…
Nadine breathed deep. “Dark complexion, dark brown hair – short, just the tips of it showing under this big hat with earflaps. Dark hat, dark coat. I’d just studied the latest sketches, and she didn’t match – not really. She had a pronounced overbite, and… the nose was off.
“And her eyes, Dallas.” She had to stop, to drink because somehow the water helped keep her head from floating away. “They’re the same color as yours. Like custom-made eye dye.