Page 164 of Bonded in Death

“Give it up, Potter. You’re bagged.” Rolling him onto the floor, she cuffed him. “Conrad Potter, you’re under arrest for the murder of Giovanni Rossi, a human being. For the kidnapping and unlawful imprisonment of Devin McReedy, a minor child. For the attempted murder by explosive device of Marjorie Wright, Ivanna Liski, and Iris Arden. Boy, this is fun. For the—”

“Let me take him, Lieutenant.” Roarke nudged her aside. “You’re bleeding again.”

“What?” She looked down, saw the red seeping into the gray shirt. “Crap.”

“No strenuous physical activity for twenty-four hours,” Roarke reminded her.

“It wasn’t that strenuous. Additional charges, you treasonous fuck, include possession of illegal weapons. Firing an illegal weapon, assault on an officer by firing an illegal weapon. Attempting to fire two illegal weapons at a police officer. Oh, almost forgot, threatening to maim and execute a minor child.”

Because it had—hell!—started to sting again, she pressed a hand to the wound.

“There’s more, but that’ll do for now. Oh, and just a comment. Black silk pajamas? Really? Though I’m grateful you covered your tiny, useless dick so none of us have to be exposed to it.”

“You ignorant bitch! You whoring cunt! You should be dead!”

“Hurt.” Eve held up her bloody fingers. “Not dead.”

In response, Roarke turned out of the range of the recorders, and delivered a single, short-armed jab to Potter’s kidneys as he hauled him to his feet.

On a choking sound, Potter paled, and his already weakened legs gave way at the knees.

Eve simply shot Roarke a warning glare. But in the doorway, Jenkinson, just arrived, grinned. And untucked his tie.

“We got him from here.”

“Read him his rights. House skids beside the bed. Somebody grab them for him.”

“I’ve got them.” Whitney bent to pick them up. “And I’ll arrange his transport to Central, his booking, and a stay in maximum holding until you’re ready for him.”

The commander looked around the elegant room with its lovely view as Reineke joined Jenkinson to perp-walk a sagging Potter away.

“He’s had his last night in the lap of luxury, but you and your team still have work to do here. Good job.” Holstering his weapon, he gave a nod of satisfaction. “Damn good job.”

Whitney paused in the doorway. “Go have the MTs close that wound before you start.”

“Sir, I—”

“That’s an order, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir.” She waited until he’d walked away. “Damn it.”

“Don’t be a baby about it.” Roarke took her arm to lead her out.

“I need to set things in motion here first. And you shouldn’t have punched him.”

“Yes, I certainly should have.”

“That’s the sort of thing that gives cops a bad name.”

“I’m not a cop,” he reminded her. “And I’m only human.”

“Yeah, yeah. All right, boys and girls.” She paused halfway down the steps to relay orders, and, pushing a hand over her face, inadvertently smeared blood on her cheek. “Take this place apart. Any explosives, canisters, chemicals, call in the appropriate units to handle. Confiscate, log, and secure all weapons and ammo. EDD, you’ve got the electronics. Peabody—where the hell is Peabody?”

“She’s with the kid and the MTs,” Callendar told her. “Good call sending the girls in for him, Dallas. He’s bonded to Peabody like glue.”

“She can stick with him as long as he needs. Have the parents been notified?”

“We did that as soon as we got him out. They’re on their way.”

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