Free Suite 606 by J. D. Robb Page A

was only sex—the greed for it, the meanness of it. No love, not even lust. Just greed and violence and power. The one they brought her first, not one of them. Trapped as she was. Something there.”
    Isis touched a hand to her forehead, sipped more wine. “Something light between them,” she continued. “Light and new, twisted now when they coupled on the sign. Snuffing out that fragile light with chants and drugs and power until it, too, turned mean. They raped her, took him away and raped her, again and again while she lay unable to fight, to resist. And her trapped spirit screaming, screaming.”
    “Easy now,” Roarke murmured, and took Isis’s hand. “Easy.”
    She nodded, gathered herself again. “They pulled her up, dragged her to the one who leads them. She looked at him. He said her name, and she looked in his eyes when he cut her throat.
    “And they fell on her like beasts. I couldn’t bear any more. I couldn’t bear it.”
    Eve rose and walked away while Isis wept in absolute silence, while Roarke sat with her, held her hand. She walked to the wide glass doors, yanked them open, and stepped out into the spring air that buzzed like a mad hive from the city.
    When Roarke came out, she continued to stare out at the snarls of traffic, the rush of people below. “What am I supposed to do with this?” she demanded. “Go to the PA and tell him I want to arrest these people because a witch communed with the tragic spirit of the victim?”
    “Eve.”
    He laid a hand on her shoulder, but rather than turn to him, she curled her hands on the rail until they were fists. “I know she didn’t bullshit that, okay? I may be cynical, but I’m not stupid. And I’m sick at the thought that she saw what she saw. Nobody should. Nobody should have to see that, feel that.”
    “No one but you?” he asked, and turned her to face him.
    She shook her head. “I looked right in the faces of some of the people who did this to that girl. And I looked right in the eyes of one of them, the one I think cut her throat. And for a second—hell, longer—I was scared right down to my guts.” She let out a breath. “Now, I’m just pissed off.”
    He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Then take them down, Lieutenant.”
    “I damn well will.” She put her arms around him first, squeezed. “You pissed me off.”
    “Same goes. Now, it seems, I’m not. And I just love you.”
    “I’m still a little pissed.” But she tipped her head back, looked into his eyes. “But I love you, too.”
    Stepping away, she went back to Isis. “Are you steady enough to look at some pictures?”
    “Yes.”
    “Let’s hope I don’t need your statement, your ID, or . . . the rest of it to take these bastards down. But just in case.” Eve pulled a stack of ID photos from her bag, spread them on the coffee table.
    “Yes.” Shifting to sit up, Isis took another sip of wine. Then, without hesitation, pointed out Ava’s murderers.

Nine
    Eve rushed through Central, dodging other cops on the glides on her way to Homicide. The time with Isis had put her behind. She needed to meet with Mira, go over her notes, organize them. Then talk the PA into issuing more than a dozen arrest warrants.
    And God, she needed coffee.
    She veered toward her bullpen just as Peabody came out.
    “I was about to tag you. Grabbing an energy bar first. You want?”
    Eve started to decline, the things were disgusting. But they worked. “Yeah. I need to put a couple of things together, then meet with Mira.”
    At Vending, Peabody plugged in some credits. “You want the Razzmatazz or the Berry Burst?”
    “What difference does it make? They’re both revolting.”
    “I kinda like the Berry Burst.” As Peabody made the selections, the machine cheerfully congratulated her on her choices, then listed the ingredients and nutritional information. “I checked in with Mira since you were late getting back.”
    “Ran into stuff. Fill you in. Coffee.”
    Peabody hiked