by J. D. Robb
“Do I have to repeat a standard order for prisoner procedure?”
“No. No, sir. Did you . . . did you say ‘detective’?”
“Something wrong with your ears? Oh, by the way, congratulations. Suspect is contained and in custody,” she said into her communicator as she walked from the room. She paused only long enough to wink at Roarke. “All units, stand down. Nice job.”
“Go ahead,” Feeney said to Peabody as she stood shell-shocked with McNab’s kissing noises and applause ringing in her earpiece. “I’ve got this bag of shit.”
With a little whoop, Peabody leaped over Renquist. “Dallas! Are you sure? Really, really sure? The results aren’t posted until tomorrow.”
“Why aren’t you following my direct order re the prisoner?”
“Please.”
“Jesus, what a baby.” But it took every ounce of will to hold back the grin. “I’ve got some pull. I used it. Results will be posted at oh eight hundred. You placed twenty-sixth, which isn’t shabby. They’re taking a full hundred, so you’re in. You could’ve done better on the sims.”
“I knew it.”
“But you did good. All in all you did good. The standard ceremony will be at noon, day after tomorrow. You will not cry during the cleanup of an operation,” she said when Peabody’s eyes teared up.
“I won’t. Okay.” Peabody threw open her arms, lurched forward.
Eve backpedaled. “No kissing! Mother of God. You get a handshake. A handshake.” She stuck out her hand in defense. “That’s it.”
“Yes, sir. Yes, sir.” She took Eve’s hand, pumped it. “Oh screw it,” she said, and wrapped her arms tightly enough around Eve to crack ribs.
“Get off me, you maniac.” But now it was touch and go whether she could hold back the laugh. “Go jump McNab. I’ll transport the damn prisoner.”
“Thanks. Oh man, oh boy, thanks!” She started to run for the door when it flew open. McNab caught her—and Eve had to give him credit for keeping his feet—in mid-air.
Rolling her eyes for form, she walked back into the bedroom.
“I’ll load him up,” Feeney told her. “Let the girl have time to do her victory dance.”
“I’ll be right behind you.”
“You’ll be sorry.” Renquist’s eyes were still streaming, but the fury was in them again, lighting the tears. “Very sorry.”
She stepped up, into his face, let the silence hang until she saw fear eat away at the anger. “I knew it was you, the first time I saw you. I saw what you were. Do you know what you are, Niles? Pitiful and weak, a coward who hid behind other cowards because he didn’t even have the balls to be himself when he killed innocents. Do you know why I ordered my detective to take you in? Because you’re not worth another minute of my time. You’re over.”
She turned away when he began to weep again. “Give me a lift, sailor,” she said to Roarke.
“It would be my pleasure.” He took her hand when they reached the door, and tightened his grip when she hissed and tried to shake him off.
“Too late to worry about such things now. You winked at me during an operation.”
“I certainly did nothing of the kind.” She folded her lips, primly. “Maybe I had something in my eye.”
“Let’s have a look.” He backed her up against the wall of the hallway, and laughed when she swore at him. “No, I don’t see a thing, except those big, gorgeous cop’s eyes.” He kissed her between them. “Peabody’s not the only one who did good today.”
“I did the job. That’s good enough for me.”
Two days later, she read Mira’s preliminary psych report on Niles Renquist. Then she leaned back, stared at the ceiling. It was an interesting ploy, she mused. If his defense team was good enough, he might just pull it off.
She looked to the vase of flowers on her desk—sent that morning by Marlene Cox, via her mother. Instead of embarrassing her as they might have done, they pleased her.
Whatever the ploy, justice would be served. Niles Renquist would never see freedom again. And she had a decent shot at nailing his wife as accessory after the fact.
At least the PA had agreed to press for it, and that would have to be enough.
If she succeeded there, she was orphaning a young girl, deliberately seeing to it that a five-year-old child was without mother or father. Rising, she walked to the window. But some children were better off, weren’t they, without a certain type of parent?
How the hell did she know. She dragged a hand through her hair, scrubbed them both over her face. She could only do the job and hope when the dust settled, it was right.
It felt right.
She heard her knob turn, then the knock. She’d locked it, pointedly, and now checked the time. Rolling her shoulders, she picked up her cap, set it in place.
When she opened the door she saw the rare jolt of shock on Roarke’s face, then the interest, then the gleam that had color rising up on her neck.
“What are you staring at?”
“I’m not entirely sure.” He stepped in before she could step out, then closed the door behind him.
“We’ve got to go. The ceremony starts in fifteen.”
“And it’s a five-minute walk. Turn around once.”
“I will not.” Another few seconds, she figured, and that damn flush would hit her cheeks. Mortifying her. “You’ve seen a cop in uniform before.”
“I’ve never seen my cop in uniform before. I didn’t know you had one.”
“Of course I’ve got one. We’ve all got one. I just never wear it. But this is . . . important, that’s all.”
“You look . . .” He traced one of her shiny brass buttons. “. . . amazing. Very sexy.”
“Oh, get out.”
“Seriously.” He leaned back to take it in. That long, lanky form did wonders, he thought, for the spit and polish, the crisp formal blues.
Medals, earned in the line of duty, glinted against the stiff jacket. She’d shined her black cop shoes—which he now imagined she’d kept buried in her locker—to mirror gleams. She wore her weapon at her hip, and her cap squared off on her short hair.
“Lieutenant,” he said with a purr in his voice. “You’ve got to wear that home.”
“Why?”
He grinned. “Guess.”
“You’re a sick, sick man.”
“We’ll play cops and robbers.”
“Out of my way, pervert.”
“One thing.” He had fast hands, and had dipped one down her starched collar before she could move. And pulled out, to his delight, the chain that carried the diamond he’d once given her. “That’s perfect, then,” he murmured, and tucked it away again.
“We’re not holding hands. I’m absolutely firm on that.”
“Actually, I was planning to walk a couple steps behind you, so I could see how your ass moves in that thing.”
She laughed, but pulled him out with her. “Update on Renquist if you’re interested.”
“I am.”
“He’s trying for insanity—not unexpected. But he’s giving it a good shot. Using multiple personality disorder. One minute he’s Jack the Ripper, next he’s Son of Sam or John Wayne Gacy. Trips from that to DeSalvo or back to Jack.”
“Do you think it’s genuine?”
“Not for a minute, and Mira doesn’t buy it. He could pull it off though. His defense will hire plenty of shrinks that go along, and he’s good at the game. It may keep him from a cement cage and put him in a padded cell, on the mentally defective floor.”
“How would you feel about that?”
“I want the cage, but you don’t always get what you want. I’m going by the hospital after shift so I can tell Marlene Cox and her family what may happen.”
“I think they’ll be fine with it. They’re not soldiers, Eve,” he said when she looked at him. “They only want him put away, and you’ve done that. It’s payment enough for them, if not for you.”
“It has to be enough for me because
it’s over. And there’ll be another to take his place. Knowing that drags some cops under.”
“Not my cop.”
“No.” What the hell, she took his hand anyway as they walked into the meeting room for the ceremony. “It pushes me over. You just find a seat, wherever. I have to be up on the stupid stage.”
He lifted her hand to his lips. “Congratulations, Lieutenant, on a job well done.”
She glanced over, as he did, to where Peabody stood with McNab in the front of the room. “She did it herself” was all Eve said.
It pleased her to see that Commander Whitney had made time to officiate. She stepped onto the stage with him, took the hand he offered.
“Congratulations, Lieutenant, on your aide’s promotion.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“We’re going to start right away. We have twenty-seven promotions this session out of Central. Sixteen detective third grades, eight second grades, and three detective sergeants.” He smiled a little. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you in uniform since you made lieutenant.”
“No, sir.”
She stepped back with the other trainers, stood next to Feeney.
“One of my boys made second grade,” he told her. “Thought we’d have a celebration drink across the street after shift. Suit you?”
“Yeah, but the civilian’s going to want in. He’s soft on Peabody.”
“Fair enough. Here we go. Jack’ll give his standard speech. Thank God it’s him and not that putz Leroy who stands in for him when he can’t make it. Leroy’s got the trots of the tongue. Can’t stop it running.”
In her assigned seat, Peabody sat with her spine straight and her stomach doing cartwheels. She was terrified she’d burst into tears, as she had when she’d called home to tell her parents. It would be mortifying to cry now, but everything was so welled up, flooding her throat, that she was afraid when she opened her mouth to speak, it would all pour out.
Her ears were buzzing, so now she was afraid she wouldn’t hear her name called and would just sit there like an idiot. She concentrated on Eve, and how she stood cool and perfect at parade rest in her uniform.
When she’d seen her lieutenant walk in, in uniform, she’d nearly bawled then and there. She hadn’t been able to speak to her.
But buzzing or not, she heard her name in the commander’s big voice. Detective Third Grade Delia Peabody. And got to her feet. She couldn’t feel her knees, but somehow she was walking to the stage, up the side steps, and across it.
“Congratulations, Detective,” he said, and took her hand in his enormous one before he stepped back.
And there was Dallas, stepping forward. “Congratulations, Detective. Well done.” She held out the shield, and for a moment, just a flicker, there was a smile.
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
Then Eve stepped back, and it was done.
All Peabody could think when she resumed her seat was that she hadn’t cried. She hadn’t cried and there was a detective’s shield in her hand.
She was still moving through a daze when the ceremony was done, and McNab rushed forward to lift her off her feet. And Roarke leaned over and—oh my God!—kissed her right on the mouth.
But she couldn’t find Eve. Through the congratulations and pats on the back, the ribbing and the noise, she didn’t see Eve anywhere. Finally, still clutching her badge, she broke away.
When she tracked Eve down in her office, her lieutenant was back in street clothes, at her desk, hunched over paperwork.
“Sir. You got out of there so fast.”
“I had things to do.”
“You were wearing your uniform.”
“Why does everybody say that like it’s cause for a national holiday? Listen, congratulations. I mean it. I’m proud of you, and glad for you. But fun time’s over, and I’ve got a shit-pile of paperwork.”
“Well, I’m going to take time to thank you, and that’s that. I wouldn’t have this if it wasn’t for you.” She kept the shield cupped in her hand as if it were the finest crystal. “Because you believed in me, you pushed me, and you taught me, I’ve got it.”
“That’s not entirely untrue.” Eve tipped the chair back, put the heel of one boot on the desk. “But if you hadn’t believed in yourself, pushed yourself, and learned, I wouldn’t have done you a damn bit of good. So you’re welcome, for what part I played in it. You’re a good cop, Peabody, and you’ll be a better one as time goes by. Now, the paperwork.”
Peabody’s vision was blurry, but she blinked back the tears. “I’ll get right on it, sir.”
“That’s not your job.”
“As your aide—”
“You’re no longer my aide. You’re a detective, and part of this paperwork I’m slogging through is your new assignment.”
The tears dried up, and the flush the excitement and joy had put in her cheeks drained away. “I don’t understand.”
“Detectives can’t be wasted as aides.” Eve spoke briskly. “You’ll be reassigned. I assume you’d prefer to stay in Homicide.”
“But . . . but. God! Dallas, I never considered that I couldn’t stay—that we wouldn’t work together. I’d never have taken the damn exam if I’d known you’d have to boot me.”
“That’s a ridiculous thing to say, and shows a lack of respect for your shield. I can give you a short list of choices for your reassignment.” Eve flicked a key on the desk unit and had a spreadsheet coming up. “Or if you’re just going to whine about it, I’ll make the choice for you.”
“I wasn’t thinking, wasn’t expecting.” And now her stomach hurt all over again. “I can’t take it in. Couldn’t I at least take a few days to adjust? Continue as your aide until you make other arrangements? I could clear up the pending—”
“Peabody, I don’t need an aide. I never needed an aide, and got along fine without one before I took you on. Now it’s time for you to move along.”
Eve turned back to her desk in a gesture of dismissal. With her lips pressed tightly together, Peabody nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Don’t need a damn aide,” Eve repeated. “Could use a partner, though.”
That stopped Peabody in her tracks. “Sir?” she managed in a croak.
“If you’re interested, that is. And as the ranking officer, I’d still dump most of the shitwork on you. That’s the part I really like.”
“Partner? Your partner.” Peabody’s lips trembled, and the tears won.
“Oh for God’s sake! Close the door if you’re going to blubber. Do you think I want the bull pen to hear crying in here? They might think it’s me.”
She sprang up, slammed the door herself, and then found herself caught in another of Peabody’s bear hugs.
“I take this as a yes.”
“This is the best day of my life.” Peabody stepped back, rubbed the tears off her cheeks. “The ult. I’m going to make you a hell of a partner.”
“I bet you will.”
“And I won’t do the hug and blubber thing except in extreme circumstances.”
“Good to know. Get out of here so I can finish my work. I’ll buy you a drink after shift.”
“No, sir. I’m buying.” She opened her hand, showed Eve her badge. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”
Alone, Eve sat at her desk again, then took out her own badge and studied it. Tucking it away again, she looked up at the ceiling. But this time, she smiled.
It felt right. It felt exactly right.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s Imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Penguin Putnam Inc. World Wide Web site address is
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DIVIDED IN DEATH
J. D. Robb
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incid
ents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Divided in Death
A Putnam Book / published by arrangement with the author
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2004 by Nora Roberts
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ISBN: 978-1-1011-9062-3
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Electronic edition: January, 2004
Contents
PROLOGUE
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,
Men were deceivers ever.
—WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
Marriage is a desperate thing.
—JOHN SELDEN