Eve slammed the brakes, flicked on her flashers. Even as she leaped out of the car, she yanked her 'link from her pocket. “Emergency sequence, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. I need MTs, I need a bus, six hundred block of 120 Street. First aid kit in the trunk,” she shouted at Lopez. “Code's two-five-six-zero-Baker-Zulu. Female victim,” she continued, dropping down beside the woman. “Multiple stab wounds. Hold on,” she muttered. “Hold on.” And dropping the 'link, she pressed her hands to the chest wound. “Help's coming.”

“Beata.” The woman's eyelids flickered, opened to reveal eyes so dark Eve could barely gauge the pupils. “Trapped. The red door. Help her.”

“Help's coming. Give me your name,” Eve said as Lopez pulled padding from the first aid kit. “What's your name?”

“She is Beata. My beauty. She can't get out.”

“Who did this to you?”

“He is the devil.” Those black eyes bore into Eve's. The words she pushed out held an accent thick as the heat.

Eastern European, Eve thought, filing it in her mind.

“You . . . you are the warrior. Find Beata. Save Beata.”

“Okay. Don't worry.” Eve glanced at Lopez, who shook his head. He began to murmur in Latin as he crossed himself and made the sign on the woman's forehead.

“The devil killed my body. I cannot fight, I cannot find. I cannot free her. You must. You are the one. We speak to the dead.”

Eve heard the sirens, knew they would be too late. The pads, her own hands, the street was soaked with blood. “Okay. Don't worry about her. I'll find her. Tell me your name.”

“I am Gizi. I am the promise. You must let me in and keep your promise.”