“Jenkinson, how’s Reineke’s foot?”
“He’ll limp some a day or two, but the medic says no breaks. Lowenbaum’s guy’s good, and Trueheart? Well, he’ll have a shiner and a sore jaw.”
“Good. The blonde’s in that room there. She should be conscious by now. I want her and the broker in separate vehicles for transport.”
“We’ve got it. Willowby took a hit, illegal handgun from one of the security fuckers.”
“What?” Willowby wasn’t in her count. “Where is she?”
“Outside with the medicals. Just a graze, LT. Said she didn’t even know it till the party was over.”
“Start getting them loaded up. Coordinate with Abernathy on the foreign nationals. Peabody! Work with Jenkinson on the transport. Load the servers and catering staff separately. Baxter, work with Lowenbaum to secure the weapons for transport.”
She went straight out, waving off questions. She scanned the medical vans and spotted Willowby sitting in the doorway of one, the left leg of her black baggies hiked up.
Roarke stood beside her while the MT tended to her wound.
“Hey, Dallas, I got shot! With a genuine freaking bullet. How often does that happen?”
“To me personally, twice. Three times, I guess, but that one hit the magic lining so it doesn’t count.”
“Sure it does, and wow! I’m going to let you hold that personal record between us. Shit! Stings.”
“You didn’t want the shot,” the medical reminded her.
“Makes me goofy, and I’m feeling fine. Juiced! I might not toss these baggies. Could wear them as a fashion statement.”
When she hissed again, Roarke took her hand.
“Take a blocker,” Eve advised. “Avoid the goofy, cut the sting.”
“Yeah, I can go with that. Anyway, we got them good.”
“We sure as hell did. Take the blocker.” She flicked a glance at Roarke. “We’ll be a while. Any injuries?”
“Nothing to speak of.”
“Me, either.”
She stepped away to contact Whitney. “Commander, situation controlled. We have one hundred and twelve individuals for transport to Central. No fatalities, twenty minor injuries, including six officers, being treated on-site. Interpol has possession of the Royal Suite, as well as a few other items believed to be stolen goods.”
“Good work, Lieutenant. Joy Barrister has been arrested, booked, and is in holding awaiting her legal representatives.”
“Good work, Commander. It’s going to take a few hours to mop this up, sort things out. I’d like to begin interviews with Barrister, the broker, and the blonde—in that order—in the morning.”
“An excellent lineup.”
The way he grinned, Eve deduced he was still riding on the arrest.
“You’re in charge,” he told her.
Since she was, she went back in to start mopping and sorting. Abernathy hailed her.
“How are your injured?” she asked him.
“Treated, and good to go. Yours?”
“Same.”
