Page 161 of Random in Death

“Well, never mind that,” he said, and lifted her into his arms.

As he carried her out, she pressed her face to his shoulder and wept.

Her team hadn’t converged on the exits before Eve shoved out.

But she saw Francis—the trench, the hair—heading toward the giant Ferris wheel in a limping run.

Hoping the girl had managed to kick him in the balls, she sprinted after.

“In pursuit. Suspect’s running northeast from the tunnel ride to the Ferris wheel. Never mind. I’ve got him.”

She supposed it rated as anti-climactic how easily she caught him after such a frustrating hunt. But she tackled him on the fairway, and actually heard him say, “Oof!” as he went down.

He kicked, humped his body, squirmed while people crowded around.

“Get back. Police. Move back!”

She started to reach for restraints, then pulled her stunner instead.

With one hand, she pressed it to the side of his neck. The other, she clamped on his wrist. He struggled to turn the syringe in his hand, the needle shining sharp in the festive lights.

“Drop it, you little bastard, or you’ll get a jolt you won’t forget.”

“I wasn’t finished!” But his fingers uncurled.

“Trust me, you’re done.”

“Sorry we weren’t closer, LT.”

She glanced up as she pulled Francis’s hands behind his back.

“Don’t touch that.” She nodded toward the syringe. “I need to check if he’s got a safety in his pocket somewhere.”

“We had a bet going,” Santiago told her. “If someone else spotted him, called for backup, who’d get there first.”

She just stared at them as she clipped on the restraints.

“Had to call it a tie.”

“Yeah.” Carmichael confirmed it. “It was… Well, oh, my, my.”

While Francis started to blubber, Eve looked back to where a bare-chested Roarke carried the girl wrapped in his shirt.

“Don’t piss me off, Detective.”

“Just admiring and envying your taste. Sir. Here come the medicals.”

“Good. And here’s the safety.” She handed it to Santiago. “Be careful. The needle’s probably coated, and you don’t want what it’s got. Francis Bryce, you’re under arrest for the murder of Jenna Harbough, a human being, for the murder of Arlie Dillon, a human being. For the attempted murder of Kiki Rosenburg.”

When she hauled him to his feet, he spat at her. “Bitch, you’re all bitches!”

“Wow.” She used the sleeve of her jacket to swipe the spittle from her cheek, and wasn’t the least sorry to see he’d bashed his nose on the fall. It dribbled blood.

And his wig sat crooked now.

“That’s called assaulting an officer, so we’ll add that in. Also the attempted rape, also the use of a date-rape drug, and a whole crapload of other charges we’ll make official when you’re booked.”

The eyes, she thought, even with tears streaming out of them, the eyes were wrong.