Survivor in Death

20

SUMMERSET GLANCED UP FROM HIS BOOK WHEN Roarke tapped on the jamb of his open parlor door. It was rare for Roarke to come into his private quarters, so he put the book aside, rose.

“No, don't get up. I… have you got a minute?”

“Of course.” He looked over at the monitor, saw that Nixie was in bed, sleeping. “I was about to get a brandy. Would you like one?”

“Yes. I would, yes.”

As he picked up the decanter, Summerset pondered over the fact that Roarke continued to stand, trouble written on his face. “Is something wrong?”

“No. Yes. No.” Roarke let out a frustrated laugh. “Well now, I've been stepping on my own feet quite a bit the last days. I've something I want to say to you, and I'm not sure quite how to start it.”

Stiffly now, Summerset handed Roarke a snifter of brandy. “I realize the lieutenant and I have had a number of difficulties. However-”

“Christ, no, it's nothing to do with that. If I came around every time the two of you locked horns I'd put in a bleeding revolving door.” He stared down at the brandy a moment, decided maybe it would be better done sitting.

He took a chair, swirled the brandy while Summerset did the same. And the silence dragged on.

“Ah, well.” It annoyed him that he had to clear his throat. “These murders. This child-the children-they've made me think about things I'd rather not. Things I make a point of not thinking of. My father, my own early years.”

“I've gone back a few times myself.”

“You think of Marlena.” Of the daughter, the young, pretty girl who'd been murdered. Raped, tortured, murdered. “I told Nixie the pain lessens. I think it must. But it never goes completely, does it?”

“Should it?”

“I don't know. I'm still grieving for my mother. I didn't even know her, and I'm still grieving when I thought I'd be done. I wonder how long that little girl will grieve for hers.”

“In some part of her, always, but she'll go on.”

She's lost more than I ever had. It's humbling to think of. I don't know how… You saved my life,” Roarke blurted out. “No, don't say anything, not until I manage this. I might have lived through that beating, the one he gave me before you found me. I might have survived it, physically. But you saved me that day, and days after. You took me in, and tended to me. You gave me a home when you had no obligation. No one wanted me, and then… You did. I'm grateful.”

“If there was a debt, it was paid long ago.”

“It can never be paid. I might have lived through that beating, and the next, and whatever came after. But I wouldn't be the man I am, sitting here now. That's a debt I'm not looking to pay, or one you're looking to collect.”

Summerset sipped brandy, two slow sips. “I would have been lost without you, after Marlena. That's another debt that's not looking for payment.”

“There's been a weight inside me,” Roarke said quietly. “Since this began, since I found myself faced with the blood of children I didn't know. I could shift it aside, do whatever I needed to do, but it kept rolling back on me. I think, like grief, it might stay there awhile. But it's less now.”

He drank down the brandy, got to his feet. “Good night.”

“Good night.” When he was alone, Summerset went into his bedroom, opened a drawer, and took out a photograph taken a lifetime ago.

Marlena, fresh and sweet, smiling out at him. Roarke, young and tough, with his arms slung around her shoulder, a cocky grin on his face.

Some children you could save, you could keep, he thought. And some you couldn't.

She got home late enough to consider just going up and dropping fully dressed onto the bed. A headache clamped the back of her neck, digging its hot fingers into the base of her skull. To avoid increasing it with sheer irritation, she pushed Trueheart at Summerset the minute they came in the door.

“Do something with his uniform,” she said, already heading up the stairs. “And put him to bed. I want him daisy fresh by seven hundred.”

“Your jacket, Lieutenant.”

She peeled it off, still walking, and tossed it over her shoulder. He probably had some household magic that got cherry fizzy off leather.

She aimed straight for the bedroom, then only stood, rubbing the back of her neck, trying to dissolve the rocks that were forming a small mountain range from that point and out to her shoulders. The bed was empty. If he was still working, and likely on her behalf, she could hardly crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head until morning.

She turned, her hand automatically slapping to her weapon, when she saw the movement behind her.

“Christ on airskates, kid. What is it with you and skulking around in the dark?”

“I heard you come in.” Nixie stood, this time in a yellow nightgown, with those sleep-starved eyes locked on Eve's face.

“No, not yet.” Eve watched the gaze drop to the floor and didn't know whether to curse or sigh. “But I know who they are.”

Nixie's eyes flew up again. “Who?”

“You don't know them. I know who they are. And I know why.”

“Why?”

“Because your father was a good man who did good work. Because he was good, and these people aren't, they wanted to hurt him and everyone he loved.”

“I don't understand that.”

She looked, Eve thought, like a wounded angel with all that tangled blonde hair surrounding a face haunted by fatigue, and worse. “You're not supposed to understand it. Nobody's supposed to understand why some people decide to take lives instead of living decent ones of their own. But that's the way it is. You're supposed to understand that your father was a good man, your family was a good family. And the people who did this to them, to you, are wrong people. You're supposed to understand that I'll find them and put them in a goddamn cage where they'll spend what's left of their miserable, selfish lives. That has to be good enough, because that's all we've got.”

“Will it be soon?”

“Sooner if I'm working instead of standing here in the damn hallway talking to you.”

The slightest flicker of a smile curved Nixie's lips. “You're not really mean.”

Eve hooked her thumbs in her front pockets. “Am, too. Mean as spit, and don't you forget it.”

“Are not. Baxter says you're tough, and sometimes you're scary, but it's because you care about helping people, even when they're dead.”

“Yeah? Well, what does he know? Go back to bed.”

Nixie started toward her room, then paused. “I think, when you catch them, when you put them in a goddamn cage, my dad and my mom, and Coyle and Inga and Linnie, I think they'll be okay then. That's what I think.”

“Then I better get working on it.”

She waited until Nixie was back in her room, then walked away.

She found Roarke still working with the unregistered, and with barely a grunt of greeting crossed over to take the coffee he had on the console and gulp some down.

A second later she was coughing and shoving it back in his hand. “Oh, blech. Brandy.”

“If you'd asked, I'd have warned you there was brandy in it. You look a bit worse for wear, Lieutenant. Brandy might be a good idea.”

She shook her head and got herself a cup, strong and black and without additives. “How's it going here?”

“He's very good-or one of them is very good. Every thread I tug on leads to another knot, which leads to another set of threads. I'll unravel it-I'm bloody determined now-but it won't be quick. But a thought occurred while I've been picking these threads apart. I wonder how he'd feel if his funds were frozen.”

“I've got no forensics, nothing solid tying him to the murders. The best I've got is a composite from a street LC's perspective, which looks nothing like him. I know it's him, but I'll never get the flag to freeze his assets based on nothing much more than my gut.”

“It would be a fairly simple matter for me, at this point, to make a sizable withdrawal from these accounts.”

“Steal the money.”

“Let's say transfer the money. Steal is such a… Well, it's a fine word, isn't it? But transfer would be more to your taste.”

She thought it over. Tempting, tempting, tempting. Still, it wasn't only not by the book, it exploded the book entirely. “Nixie intercepted me, for a change. She said she thought her family would be okay once I caught these guys, once I put them in a goddamn cage.”

“I see.”

“She probably shouldn't swear, I'm a bad influence. Spank me. But-” She broke off at the wide grin that spread over his face, and found herself laughing. She covered her face, rubbed it. “Just stop. Anyway, that kind of thing gives me a nudge to go out of bounds- more out of bounds,” she added, looking around the room. “But say you did. Say it pisses him off enough to make the kind of mistake that opens him up to me. Hooray for our side. But it could, given his profile, piss him off enough to have him taking out a couple of Swiss bankers first, or a lawyer in-what was it? Eden. So let's just hold that in reserve.”

“You make a point.”

“You know, this day has just been crap.” She sprawled in the chair, stretched out her legs. “Making progress, I can feel it, but overall it's been weighed down with big piles of crap. And I finished it up with a cargo ship of shit.”

“Would it have something to do with the blood on your trousers?”

She looked down, saw the streaks and sprinkles of red. “It's not blood. It's cherry fizzy.”

She drank her coffee and began to take him through. “So when I made them, I pulled up at a twenty-four/seven, sent Trueheart inside for drinks, and-”

“Hold.” He held up a hand. “You realized one or more of these people, people responsible for several murders and who are, very likely, hoping to get to you, were trailing you, and you sent your backup off for sodas?”

She didn't squirm under his gaze, one she imagined he aimed at underlings who'd cocked up some deal and were about to be demolished by his iciest wrath.

But it was close.

“I wanted to see what they'd do.”

“You were hoping they'd move on you, and got Trueheart out of the way.”

“Not exactly. Close, but-”

“I asked one thing, Eve. That when you decided to use yourself as bait you'd tell me.”

“I wasn't-it was an immediate sort of…” She trailed off as the headache moved along from the base of her skull to squeeze into the top of her head. “Now you're pissed, at me.”

“What gave you your first clue?”

“You'll have to be pissed, then.” She shoved to her feet to prowl. “You'll just have to be pissed because I can't stop and check every move with you when I'm out there. I can't stop and say, 'Hmm, would Roarke approve of this action, or gee, should I tag Roarke and run this by him?'“

“Don't you swat away my concerns like they're gnats around your ears.” He got to his feet as well. “Don't you dare make light of them, Eve, or what it is to me to sit and wait.”

“I'm not.” But of course she was, a knee-jerk defense mechanism. Before she could say anything else, he was plowing on.

“I bury my own instincts every bloody day to stay out of your way as much as I do. Not to let myself think, every minute of every bloody day you're out there if tonight's the night you don't come back.”

“You can't think that way. You married a cop, you took the package.”

“I did, and I do.”

It wasn't ice in his eyes, she noted. It was fire, strong and blue. And that was somehow worse. “Then-”

“Have I asked you to change what you are, what you do? Have I complained when you're called away in the middle of the night, or when you come home smelling of death?”

“No. You're better at this than I am. Media flash.”

“Bollocks. We've both managed to fumble our way through nearly two years of each other, and quite well. But when you give your word to me, I expect you to keep it.”

The headache had reached behind her eyes now, stabbing fingers gleefully poking. “I guess that cargo ship hasn't quite finished dumping shit on me today. And you're right. I broke my word. It wasn't intentional. It was of the moment. And it was wrong. I let it get to me. The kid, the body in the alley, dead cops, children killed in their beds. I let it ball up in my throat, and I know better.”

She shoved the heels of her hands into her temples in a desperate attempt to relieve the pressure. “It was worth the chance, I believe it was worth the chance, but it turned out to be the wrong call. You're not the first one to scrape me over about it tonight. Whitney's already taken off a few layers of skin.”

Saying nothing, he moved back behind his console, pressed a button. He took a small bottle out of a drawer, tapped two little blue pills into his hand. Then he fetched a small bottle of water out of the friggie behind a panel.

“Take the blockers. Don't argue,” he snapped when she opened her mouth. “I can see the fucking headache pounding as I'm standing here.”

“It's past headache. It feels like my brains are being squeezed out my ears.” She took the blockers, dropped back into the chair, and dropped her head in her hands. “I fucked up. Goddamn clusterfuck. Cops and civilians in the hospital, private and city property damage up the wazoo. Three murder suspects still at large. Because I made the wrong call.”

“I guess that's why they call you lieutenant instead of God. Sit back now, relax a minute.”

“Don't baby me. I don't deserve it. I don't want it. They were too close. Had to figure they'd stick that close because they were trying to monitor any communications. The vehicle has screens, but they've got choice toys, so I had to figure they were within visual for a reason. If they could track me or monitor me, they needed to be close. I didn't want to risk calling it in.”

“That seems reasonable. Logical.”

“Yeah, seems. I call it in, they catch the signal, they poof. So I pulled over, sent Trueheart into the twenty-four/seven so it looked like I had a reason, so it looked casual. To see what they did. They drove by, circled around, and picked me up again. So then I figure I'll switch it on them. Get behind them, call in support, keep on them until we can box them in, take them down. But Jesus Christ, that van moved. I don't know how they've juiced it up, but I clocked it at one-twenty-six, airborne. Then there were the laser rifles, and God knows. They took out a couple of black-and-whites, a number of civilian vehicles, and a maxibus. And I lost them.”

“All by yourself?”

“It was my call. The wrong call. Best I got was make and model of the van. And the plate. Turns out the plate belongs to a black panel van of that make and model, but not that panel van. Dupe plates, and they were smart enough to dupe them from the same type of vehicle. Guy who owns the legal van-which was legally parked at his place of business-is a licensed home handy. He's clean, and he was home watching screen with his wife.”

She took a swig of water. “So we got injuries, property destruction, possible-hell, probable-civil suits against the department, and the suspects know I've made their ride.”

“And Whitney dressed you down right and proper.”

“Ho boy.”

“I doubt he'd have done differently than you, under the same circumstances.”

“Maybe not. Probably not. Still a wrong call. And the mayor will chew out the chief, the chief will chew out the commander, and down to me. Nobody below me on this particular feeding chain. The media will have a feeding frenzy.”

“So, you got your ass kicked a bit. A little ass kicking from time to time builds character.”

“Hell it does. It results in a sore ass.” She let out a sigh. “I've got data on all purchases of that make and model. Popular. I left the color open. Figured it'd be easy to paint. I don't expect to have bells ring on that angle. If it were me, I'd've bought it out of town. Or jacked it off some lot outside New York. There won't be a record, there won't be a bill of sale.”

“You're discouraged.” And he hated to see it. “You shouldn't be.”

“No, just feeling a little beat up tonight. Sorry for my sorry self.”

“So get some sleep. Start fresh in the morning.”

“You're not.”

“Actually, I will.” He gave commands to save, lock, and shut down.

“You've got your own work tomorrow.”

“I've rescheduled some things.” He walked her out, secured the doors. “I spoke with Richard and Beth. They're coming to meet Nixie tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? I'd asked for quick but I didn't expect immediate.”

“Actually, they've been talking about taking another child. Have just put in applications. And Richard tells me Beth hoped for a girl this time. They both see this as a kind of sign.”

He laid his hand on the base of her neck as they walked to the bedroom and rubbed what she thought of as his magic fingers on the dulling ache. “Fate's a fickle and often insensitive bitch, isn't she?” he commented. “And yet, there are moments you see the work. If their daughter hadn't been murdered, they would never have looked to take a child into their home. If a friend of mine hadn't met the same fate, I wouldn't have met that little boy, or paid mind to him, thought of suggesting they might give him a home.”

“If Grant Swisher hadn't helped Dian Kirkendall, he and his family would still be alive.”

“Insensitive, yes. Still, now Nixie will have a chance for a life with Richard and Beth. She'll grow up knowing there are people in the world who try to balance the scales.”

“You don't say if Sharon DeBlass hadn't been murdered, you and I wouldn't have met in the first place.”

“Because we would have. Another time, another place. Every step of my life was bringing me to you.” He turned her, kissed her forehead. “Even the ones on the darkest road.”

“Death brought us here.”

“No. That's discouragement talking. It's love that brought us here.” He unhooked her weapon harness himself. “Come now, you're asleep on your feet. Into bed.”

She stripped, climbed the platform, slid in. And when his arm came around her, she closed her eyes. “I would've found you,” she murmured, “even on the darkest road.”

The nightmare crept in, stealthy feet tiptoeing over her mind. She saw herself, the small, bloody child, packed into a blinding white room with other small, bloody children. Fear and despair, pain and weariness were thick in the room, crowding it like yet more small, bloody children.

No one spoke, no one cried. They only stood, bruised shoulder to bruised shoulder. Waiting for their fate.

One by one they were led away by stone-faced adults with dead eyes. Led away without protest, without a whimper, the way sick dogs are led away by those charged with ending their misery.

She saw this, and waited her turn.

But no one came for her. She stood alone in the white room, with the blood that coated her face, her hands, her arms, dripping almost musically onto the floor.

It didn't surprise her when he walked into the room. He always came, this man she'd killed. The man who'd broken her and ripped her and beaten her down into a quivering animal.

He smiled, and she smelled it on him. The whiskey and candy.

They want the pretty ones, he told her. The good ones, the sweet ones. They leave the ones like you for me. No one will ever want you. Do you wonder where they go when they leave?

She didn't want to know. Tears slid down, mixed with the blood. But she didn't make a sound. If she was quiet, very quiet, maybe he would go and someone else would come. Anyone else.

They take them to the pit, didn't I tell you? Didn't I warn you if you screwed with me, they'd throw you into the pit with the spiders and snakes? They say: Oh, let me help you, little girl. But what they do is eat you alive, bite by chomp by bite. But they don't want you. You're too scrawny for them, too bony. Do you thinly they don't know what you did?

He came closer, and now she could smell something else. Rot. And her breath began to hitch even as she fought to hold it in.

Killer. Murderer. And they leave you to me.

When he fell on her, she screamed.

“No. Eve, no. Shhh.”

Fighting for breath, she locked her arms around him. “Hold on. Just hold on to me.”I've got you.” He pressed his cheek to hers. “Easy now. I won't let go.”

“They left me alone, and he came for me.”

“You're not alone. I won't leave you alone.”

“They didn't want me. No one ever did. He did.”

“I want you.” He stroked her hair, her back, calming the tremors. “From the first moment I saw you, I wanted you.”

“There were so many other children.” She loosened her grip, let him lay her back, hold her close. “Then only me, and I knew he'd come. Why won't he leave me alone?”

“He won't come back tonight.” Roarke took her hand, pressed it to his chest so she could feel his heart beating. “He won't come back because there's the both of us here, and he's too much the coward.”

“Both of us,” she repeated, and left her hand on his heart while she slept.

He was up and dressed when she woke, and monitoring the stock reports on-screen in the sitting area over a cup of coffee. He turned as she rolled out of bed. “How are you?”

“About half,” she said. “I think I can make three-quarters after a shower.”

She started to walk toward the bath, then paused, changed directions, and walked to him. She bent, touched her lips to his forehead in a simple gesture of affection that left him moved and puzzled.

“You're there with me even when you're not. So thanks.”

“You're welcome.”

She crossed to the bath, glanced over her shoulder. “Sometimes you being there is annoying. But mostly it's not.”

The worry in his own mind cleared. With a laugh he turned back to the financial news and drank his coffee.

Just before seven, Eve opened her own office door to find Baxter at her desk, enjoying what appeared to be a hearty breakfast.

“Detective Baxter, your ass seems to have somehow ended up in my chair. I'd like it removed immediately so I can kick every inch of it.”

“Soon as I'm done. This is actual ham in these actual eggs.” He jerked a chin toward the wall screen where updated reports were displayed. “You don't sleep much, do you, Dallas? Damn busy night. I see you took my boy for a hell of a ride.”

“Your boy complain?”

“Hey, Trueheart's no whiner.”

His instinctive defense of his aide cooled Eve's temper. “Oh right. I must've mixed him up with you.”

“Must've been some flight.”

“Yeah, fun while it lasted.” Since he'd been courteous-or greedy- enough to program an entire pot of coffee, she poured herself a cup. “Whitney ripped me a new one over it.”

“He's been off the street a long time. You had a call to make and made it.”

She jerked a shoulder. “Maybe he'd have done the same, and maybe he knows I'd do the same again, given the same circumstances. But it was a hell of a screwup, and a righteous ripping. It won't come down on Trueheart.”

“He'd handle it if he had do. Appreciate you seeing it doesn't. How much of a punch are you going to take?”

“Written and oral reports to the review board. Fuck. Might get myself a departmental censure in my file. I can back up my actions, justify the call, but they won't like it, and will like it less when the civil suits start piling up.”

“You collar three mercenary terrorists responsible for the deaths of twelve people-including cops-the heat gets turned way down.”

“Yeah. The same way if I don't get them soon, the heat keeps heading up. I'll handle it; I'm not a whiner either. But I want these fucking guys, Baxter.”

She turned to the door as the rest of the team began to arrive. “If you're going to eat, get it and chow it down fast,” she ordered. “We've got a lot to go over in a short amount of time.”

Briefings and reports, cop chatter and coffee. And the chatter cut off, as if a knife had sliced down, when Don Webster, Internal Affairs Bureau, strolled in.

“Morning, boys and girls. Dallas, you should've sold tickets to that show last night.”

“I thought this briefing was reserved for real cops.”

At Baxter's comment, Eve shook her head in warning. She'd been expecting IAB to poke its sharp nose in. If it had to be IAB, Webster was a mixed bag. She trusted him, as she trusted no one else in that sector. But they had a dicey personal history, and she didn't need a former lover and Roarke butting heads again.

“There's data on this case that's on a need-to-know basis,” she began.

“The Tower,” he said, referring to Chief of Police Tibbie's office, “has decided I need to know. You've got considerable OF banked on this, multiple injuries civilian and department, property damage. You've got multiple dead civilians and two dead cops.”

He waited a moment, scanned the faces in the room. “You've been questioning the investigating officers on other cases, one of which is closed. IAB needs to know. And I'm going to say this here and now, to all of you before the record goes on, that I'm not here to bust anybody's balls for doing what needs to be done to get the bastards responsible for Knight and Preston. I pulled some levers to get this duty. I've worked Homicide. I've worked with you,” he said to Eve. “It's me or somebody who hasn't.”

“The devil we know,” Eve said.

“That's right.”

“Find a seat. You'll have to catch up.”

She continued the briefing, picking her way carefully now through data Roarke had gained. “We believe Kirkendall, Clinton, and Isenberry executed individuals on a freelance basis for various covert agencies. We have reason to believe they were connected to the terrorist group Cassandra.”

“How do you come by that?” Webster asked.

She'd barely hesitated when Feeney spoke up. “It's data we were able to extrapolate from the military files provided,” he said smoothly. “EDD knows how to do its job, and this team knows how to put a case together.”

“With the Cassandra connection,” Eve continued, “these individuals had access to weaponry, electronics, and funds. The philosophy of this group-a world order in their image-correlates to the personal philosophy displayed by Kirkendall. His family was made to perform according to his specifications, his orders, or was disciplined accordingly. We know, through the statement given to Detectives Peabody and McNab by Roxanne Turnbill, that she was abducted and tortured by Kirkendall after his wife's disappearance. The time elapsed makes it likely she was taken to a location in or near the city. Cassandra operated and had a base in New York last year.”

“The current murders don't seem to be part of a terrorist threat,” Webster put in.

“No, they're personal. Screw with me, I don't just screw with you- I kill you and your whole family. It's not revenge. It's pride. Who insulted his pride?”

“Everyone he's killed had a part in it,” Peabody commented.

“No, not everyone.”

“Well, the kid.” McNab glanced toward the door as if she might be listening on the other side.

“No. He wants her dead because his mission isn't complete until that time. His wife. It's his wife who dared to oppose him, dared to not only walk out with his kids, but who took him through the embarrassment of a custody trial. Who won. And who got away clean.”

“He can't find her.” Peabody spread her hands. “Neither can we.”

Eve thought of Roarke. He could, given the time, he could. But she wasn't going to endanger another family. “We can make him think we have her. It'll take a while to set up. Find a female cop who can handle it, one close to her build. We can use some enhancements, but she doesn't have to look identical. If he can have facial sculpting, he'd buy she could, too. We'd have to leak it so he didn't suspect it's a leak. And we've been pretty damn careful so far, so we'd need to trickle it.”

“Need a location.” Feeney pulled on his lip as he took up the thought. “Secure, so he'd buy we were holding her. Lure him in, box him in, shut him down. With the equipment and know-how he's got, you've got a hell of a trick on your hands, Dallas.”

“We put it together. I want it together within thirty-six hours, another twelve for sims. When we lay this trap out, I want it to spring shut right on their necks. Feeney, you and McNab take the computer lab.”

“We'll get on it.”

“The rest of you, give me five minutes with Lieutenant Webster.”

She waited until the room emptied and the door clicked closed. “This investigation, and last night's events, are my responsibility. The chief, IAB, or God Himself wants to file a complaint, it's on me.”

“So noted. I said I wasn't here to bust balls, and I meant it. The Duberry case, I've had a look at the files. While I wouldn't call the investigation sloppy, I'd call it narrow. Brenegan? It looked like a righteous bust that resulted in a righteous conviction. But this data calls that into question.”

“The cops on those cases complained to IAB?”

“Cops don't complain to IAB,” he returned with the slightest of sneers. “You avoid us like a case of the clap. But we get wind. Fact is, Dallas, if the primary on Duberry had done a more thorough job, scratched out that connection to Moss, then back to Brenegan, this hunt might've started a year ago.”

“Figuring a connect between a strangulation and a car bomb's a stretch.”

“You made the stretch.”

“I had more. If you're looking for fuel against another cop on this from me, you're not going to get it.”

“That's up to his superiors, not IAB. Regarding the media that's going to… has already started to explode on the incident last night, you spin that right-and you've got excellent media connections-you can circle it into a positive. Heroic cop risks life to protect the city from baby killers.”

“Oh fuck that.”

“Don't think that's not just how Tibbie will have it spun. Not just your ass in the sling if you don't get some shine on this. Turn it around, get that sexy, fierce-eyed face on camera. Shake this off so you can get back to work.”

“I am back to work.” But she considered. “The spin lower the heat on the rest of the team, on the investigation?”

“Couldn't hurt. It couldn't hurt if you tell the rest of your team to cut me some serious slack. I was a good murder cop.”

“Yeah, too bad you didn't stick with that.”

“Your opinion. I can help, and that's why I'm here. Not to roust you, and not because I've still got a torch going. Maybe just a little smoulder now and then,” he added with an easy smile.

“Cut it out.”

The door between the offices opened. Though Roarke leaned against the jamb, he looked about as lazy as a wolf eyeballing quarry. “Webster,” he said in the coolest of tones.

Eve had a flash of the two of them beating the crap out of each other right where she now stood. She felt the tickle that might have been panic in the back of her throat as she stepped between them.

“Lieutenant Webster is here-at the directive of Chief Tibbie-as a representative of IAB and for the purposes of-”

“Christ, Dallas, I can talk for myself.” And he held his hands up, palms out. “Never touched her, don't intend to.”

“Good. She's on a difficult investigation, as I'm sure you're aware. She hardly needs either of us complicating things.”

“I'm not here to complicate things for her, or you.”

“Standing right here,” Eve said sharply. “You can stop talking around me.”

“Just clearing the air, Lieutenant.” Roarke nodded to her, to Webster. “I'll let you get back to work.”

“A minute,” she muttered and stalked into the office behind Roarke, shut the door with a decisive click. “Listen-”

He cut her off, pressing his lips to hers, then eased back. “I like to wind him up-and you as well. It's small of me, but there you are. I know perfectly well that he won't move on you, and if he lost his mind and did, you'd bloody him. Well, unless I got there first, which I sincerely hope would be the case. Actually, as I've told you before, I like him.”

“You like him.”

“Yes. He has superb taste in women, and a rather fine left jab.”

“Great. Good.” She shook her head. You figured you knew what made men tick, she thought. But you never did. “I'm going back to work.”