by J. D. Robb
She drove the rest of the way, parking at the base of the old stone steps. She left her car there, where it consistently annoyed Summerset, and carried a small box of file discs into the house.
Summerset was in the foyer. He would have known the moment she'd driven through the iron gates, she imagined. And he would have wondered why she'd stopped for so long.
"Is there a problem with your vehicle, Lieutenant?"
"No more than usual." She stripped off her jacket, and out of habit, tossed it over the newel post.
"You left it in front of the house."
"I know where it is."
"There is a garage for the purpose of storing vehicles."
"Move it yourself. Where's Roarke?"
"Roarke is in his Fifth Avenue office. He's expected home within the hour."
"Fine, tell him to come up to my office when he gets here."
"I'll inform him of your request."
"It wasn't a request." She smirked as she watched Summerset pick up her jacket by the collar with two reluctant fingers. "Any more than it's a request when I tell you to make no plans to leave the city until further notice."
A muscle in his jaw twitched visibly. "You're enjoying this, aren't you, Lieutenant?"
"Oh, yeah, it's a bucketful of laughs for me. A couple of dead guys, one of them slaughtered on my husband's property, both of them old pals of his. I've been breaking up over it all day." When he stepped forward, her eyes went to dangerous slits. "Don't get in my face, old man. Don't even think about it."
The core of his anger simmered out in one terse sentence. "You interrogated Ms. Morrell."
"I tried to verify your piss-poor alibi."
"You led her to believe I was involved in a police investigation."
"News flash: You are involved in a police investigation."
He drew air audibly through his nose. "My personal life—"
"You've got no personal life until these cases are closed." She could read his embarrassment clearly enough, and told herself she didn't have time for it. "You want to do yourself a favor, you do exactly what I tell you. You don't go anywhere alone. You make certain you can account for every minute of your time, day and night. Because somebody else is going to die before much more time passes if I can't stop it. He wants the finger to point at you, so you make sure it doesn't."
"It's your job to protect the innocent."
She'd started up the stairs and now she stopped, turned back until their eyes met. "I know what my job is, and I'm damned good at it."
When he snorted she came down two steps. She came down slowly, her movements deliberate, because her own temper was much too close to the boil. "Good enough to have figured out why you've hated the sight of me since I first walked in that door. Since you understood Roarke had feelings for me. Part A was easy—a first-year rookie could have snagged onto it. I'm a cop, and that's enough for you to hold me in contempt."
He offered a thin smile. "I've had little reason to admire those in your profession."
"Part B was tougher." She came down another step so that their eyes were level. "I thought I had that figured, too, but I didn't realize that Part B had a couple of stages. Stage one: I'm not one of the glamorous, well-bred stunners that Roarke socialized with. I haven't got the looks or the pedigree or the style to suit you."
He felt a quick tug of shame, but inclined his head. "No, you don't. He could have had anyone, his pick of the cream of society."
"But you didn't want just anyone for him, Summerset. That's stage two, and I just figured that out this morning. You resent me because I'm not Marlena. That's who you wanted for him," she said quietly as the color slipped out of his cheeks. "You hoped he'd find someone who reminded you of her, instead you got stuck with an inferior model. Tough luck all around."
She turned and walked away, and didn't see his legs buckle, or the way his hand shot out to grip the newel post as the truth of what she'd tossed in his face struck him like a fist in the heart.
When he was sure he was alone, he sat on the steps and buried his face in his hands as the grief he thought he'd conquered long ago flowed through him, fresh and hot and bitter.
When Roarke arrived home twenty minutes later, Summerset was composed. His hands no longer trembled, his heart no longer shuddered. His duties, as he saw them—as he needed to see them—were always to be performed smoothly and unobtrusively.
He took Roarke's coat, approving of the fine and fluid weight of the silk, and draped it over his arm. "The lieutenant is upstairs in her office. She would like to speak with you."
Roarke glanced up the stairs. He was sure Eve hadn't put it quite so politely. "How long has she been home?"
"Less than thirty minutes."
"And she's alone?"
"Yes. Quite alone."
Absently he flicked open the top two buttons of his shirt. His afternoon meetings had been long and tedious. A rare tension headache was brewing at the base of his skull.
"Log any calls that come through for me. I don't want to be disturbed."
"Dinner?"
Roarke merely shook his head as he started up the stairs. He'd managed to put his temper on hold throughout the day, but he felt it bubbling back now, black and hot. He knew it would be best, certainly more productive, if they could speak calmly.
But he kept thinking about the door she'd closed between them the night before. The ease with which she'd done so, and the finality of the act. He didn't know if he would be able to remain calm for long.
She'd left her office door open. After all, Roarke thought sourly, she'd summoned him, hadn't she? She sat scowling at her computer screen as if the information it offered annoyed her. There was a mug of coffee at her elbow, likely gone cold by now. Her hair was disordered and spiky, no doubt disturbed by her restless hands. She still wore her weapon harness.
Galahad had made himself at home on a pile of paperwork on the desk. He twitched his tail in greeting, and his bicolored eyes gleamed with unmistakable glee. Roarke could almost hear the feline thoughts.
Come on in, get started. I've been waiting for the show.
"You wanted to see me, Lieutenant?"
Her head came up, turned. He looked cool, she noted, casually elegant in his dark business suit with the collar of his shirt loosened. But the body language—the cock of his head, the thumbs hooked in his pockets, the way his weight was balanced on the balls of his feet—warned her here was an Irish brawler spoiling for a fight.
Fine, she decided. She was ready for one.
"Yeah, I wanted to see you. You want to shut the door?"
"By all means." He closed it behind him before crossing the room. And waited. He preferred for his opponent to draw first blood.
It made the striking back more satisfying.
"I need names." Her voice was clipped and brisk. She wanted them both to know she was speaking as a cop. "Names of the men you killed. Names of any- and everyone you can remember you contacted to find those men."
"You'll have them."
"And I'll need a statement from you, detailing where you were and who you were with during the times of the Brennen and Conroy homicides."
His eyes went hot, for an instant only, then frosted to brilliant blue ice. "Am I a suspect? Lieutenant?"
"No, and I want to keep it that way. Eliminating you from the top simplifies things."
"By all means let's keep things simple."
"Don't take that line with me." She knew what he was doing, she thought with rising fury. Oh, she had his number, all right, with his cold and utterly reasonable tone. Damned if he'd shake her. "The more I can go by the book on this, the better it is for everyone involved. I'd like to fit Summerset with a security bracelet. He'd never agree if I asked, so I'd like you to."
"I won't ask him to submit to the indignity of that."
"Look." She got to her feet, slowly. "A little indignity might keep him out of a cage."
"For some, dignity is a priority."
&nbs
p; "Fuck dignity. I've got enough problems without worrying about that. What I need is facts, evidence, an edge. If you keep lying to me—"
"I never lied to you."
"You withheld vital information. It's the same thing."
"No, it's not." Oh, he had her number, he thought, with her stubborn, unbending rules. Damned if she'd shake him. "I withheld information in the hope I could keep you out of a difficult position."
"Don't do me any favors," she snapped as control teetered.
"I won't." He moved to a dome-topped cabinet, selected a bottle of whiskey, and poured three fingers into a heavy crystal glass. He considered throwing it.
She heard the ice pick fury in his tone, recognized the frigid rage. She would have preferred heat, something hot and bubbling to match her own mood.
"Great, terrific. You go ahead and be pissed off. I've got two dead guys, and I'm waiting for the third. I've got essential information, information vital to the case, that I can't use officially unless I want to come visit you in a federal facility for the next hundred years."
He sipped, and showed his teeth in a smile. "Don't do me any favors."
"You can just yank that stick out of your ass, pal, because you're in trouble here." She found she wanted to hit something—smash anything—and settled for shoving her chair aside. "You and that bony droid you're so goddamn fond of. If I'm going to keep both your butts out of the sling, you better get yourself a quick attitude adjustment."
"I've managed to keep my butt out of the sling by my own devices up until now." Roarke drained the rest of the whiskey, set the glass down with a snap of glass on wood. "You know very well Summerset killed no one."
"It doesn't matter what I know, it matters what I can prove." Temper straining, she dragged her hands through her hair, fisted them there a moment until her head began to throb. "By not giving me all the data, you put me a step behind."
"What would you have done with the data that I wasn't doing myself? And, with my contacts and equipment, doing more quickly and more efficiently?"
That, she thought, tore it. "You better remember who's the cop here, ace."
His eyes glinted once, like blue steel in moonlight. "I'm unlikely to forget."
"And whose job it is to gather evidence and information, to process that evidence and information. To investigate. You do whatever it is you do with your business, but you stay off my turf unless I tell you different."
"Unless you tell me?" She saw the quick and vicious flare of violence in his eyes, but stood her ground when he whirled on her, when he closed a fist over her shirt to haul her up to her toes. "And what if I don't do what I'm told, Lieutenant, what I'm ordered? How do you handle that? Do you walk away and lock the door again?"
"You better move your hand."
He only yanked her up another inch. "I won't tolerate locked doors. I've got my limit, and you reached it. If you don't want to share our bed, if you don't want me near you, then you say so. But I'm damned if you'll turn away and lock the door."
"You're the one who screwed up," she shot back. "You pissed me off and I didn't want to talk to you. I'm the one who has to deal with what's going on here, what's gone on before. I have to overlook the laws you've broken instead of carting you off to a cell." She lifted both hands, shoved hard, and was both surprised and furious when she didn't budge him an inch. "And I've got to make dinner conversation with a bunch of snooty strangers every time I turn around, and worry about what the hell I'm wearing when I do it."
"Do you think you're the only one who's made adjustments?" Enraged, he gave her a quick shake, then let her go so he could prowl the room. "For Christ's sake, I married a cop. Fuck me, a cop. It has to be fate's biggest joke."
"Nobody held a knife to your throat." Insulted, she fisted her hands on her hips. "You're the one who pushed for it."
"And you're the one who pulled back, and still does. I'm sick of it, sick to death of it. It's always you, isn't it, Eve, who has to make the changes and give way?" Fury shimmered around him in all but visible waves, and when those waves crashed over her, she'd have sworn they had weight. "Well, I've made changes of my own, and given way more times than I can count. You can have your privacy when you need it, and your neurotic little snits, but I won't put up with my wife closing doors between us."
The neurotic little snits left her speechless, but the my wife freed her tongue again. "Your wife, your wife. Don't you dare say my wife in that tone. Don't you dare make me sound like one of your fancy suits."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"Now I'm ridiculous." She threw up her hands. "I'm neurotic and ridiculous."
"Yes, often."
Her breath began to hitch. She could actually see red around the edges of her vision. "You're arrogant, domineering, egotistical, and disdainful of the law."
He lifted one amused brow. "And your point would be?"
She couldn't form a word. What came out was something between a growl and a scream. The sound of it had Galahad leaping from the top of the desk and curling under it.
"Well said," Roarke commented and decided to have another whiskey. "I've given up a number of businesses in the past months that you would have found questionable." He studied the color of the whiskey in the glass. "True, they were more like hobbies, habits, I suppose, but I found them entertaining. And profitable."
"I never asked you to give up anything."
"Darling Eve." He sighed, found most of his temper had slipped away. "You ask just by being. I married a cop," he said half to himself and drank. "Because I loved her, wanted her, needed her. And to my surprise, I admired her. She fascinates me."
"Don't turn this around."
"It's just come full circle. I can't change what I am, and what I've done. And wouldn't even for you." He lifted his gaze to hers, held it there. "I'm telling you not to lock the door."
She gave a bad-tempered shrug. "I knew it would piss you off."
"Mission accomplished.''
She found herself sighing, a weak sound she didn't have the energy to detest. "It's hard—seeing what had been done to those men, and knowing…"
"That I was capable of doing the same." He set his glass down again. "It was justice."
She felt the weight of her badge, tangibly. Not in her pocket but on her heart. "That wasn't for you to decide."
"There we part ways. The law doesn't always stand for the innocent and the used. The law doesn't always care enough. I won't apologize for what I did, Eve, but I will for putting you in the position of choosing between me and your duty."
She picked up her cold coffee and drank it to clear her throat. "I had to tell Peabody. I had to bring her in." She rubbed a hand over her face. "She'll stand with me. She didn't even hesitate."
"She's a good cop. You've taught me the phrase isn't a contradiction in terms."
"I need her. I need all the help I can get on this one because I'm afraid." She closed her eyes, fought to steady herself. "I'm afraid if I'm not careful enough, not quick or smart enough, I'll walk onto a scene and I'll find you. I'll be too late, and you'll be dead, because it's you he wants. The others are just practice."
She felt his arms come around her, and moved in. There was the warmth of his body, the lines of it all so familiar now, so necessary now. The scent of him as she gripped him close, the steady beat of his heart, the soft brush of his lips over her hair.
"I couldn't stand it." She tightened her hold. "I couldn't. I know I can't even think about it because it'll mess me up, but I can't get it out of my head. I can't stop—"
Then his mouth was on hers and the kiss was rough and hot. He would know that was the tone she needed, that she needed his hands on her, hard, impatient. And the promises he murmured as he tugged her shirt aside were for both of them.
Her weapon thudded to the floor. His beautifully cut jacket followed. She tipped her head back so that his lips could race thrills over her throat as she dragged at his belt.
No words now as they hurried to
touch. With greedy little nips and bites they tormented each other. She was panting when he pushed her onto the desk. Paper crinkled under her back.
She reached for him.
"I'm not neurotic," she managed to say.
He laughed first, delighted with her, delirious for her. "Of course not." He closed his hands over hers and drove into her.
He watched her come at the first thrust, those golden brown irises blurring, that slim torso arching up. The shocked pleasure strangled in her throat then shuddered out on his name.
"Take more." His hands were less gentle than he intended as he lifted her hips, went deeper. "Take all of me."
Through the stunning waves of sensation she understood he wanted acceptance, finally and fully, for both of them.
She took all of him.
• • •
Later they shared soup in her office. By the second bowl, her head was clear enough to deal with the business at hand.
"I'm going to be working here for the most part for a while."
"I'll lighten my schedule so I'll be available for you."
She broke open a roll, buttered it thoughtfully. "We're going to have to contact the Dublin police. Your name's bound to come up." She ignored the quick grin he flashed her and bit into the roll. "Should I expect any surprises?"
"They don't have any more hard data on me than your records show."
"Which is next to nothing."
"Exactly. There's bound to be a few members of the guarda with long memories, but there shouldn't be anything too embarrassing. I've always been careful."
"Who investigated Marlena's murder?"
The amusement died out of Roarke's eyes. "It was an Inspector Maguire, but I wouldn't say he investigated. He went through the motions, took the bribes offered, and called it death by misadventure."
"Still, his records might be of some use."
"I doubt you'll find much, if any. Maguire was one of the many cops in the pocket of the cartel whose territory I trespassed on." He took the other half of Eve's roll. "The Urban Wars started later and lasted longer in that part of the world. Even when I was a boy there were pockets of it still being waged, and certainly the results of the worst of it were still in evidence."