Connections in Death (In Death #48)(88)

“And so someone with more interest in power and rep plots ways to depose him and take over.”

“Pickering. Someone who goes back with Jones. Someone who once pledged loyalty and now turned his back. Maybe his CI status leaked, I can’t be sure. But . . . I think killing and humiliating Pickering to strike at Jones wouldn’t have been enough if that got out.”

“You think Lyle Pickering’s murder was a personal hit at Jones?”

“I think that was part of it, yeah. And punishment for turning his back on the gang. Maybe even assurance that he couldn’t change his mind, come back.”

“Ah.” Roarke followed her perfectly. “And compete for the leadership role.”

“Yeah. It’s Duff. It’s Duff, how she was killed, where she was killed. It’s Duff’s murder they used to try to light the fuse for a gang war. Then Aimes.”

Considering anger better than misery, he kept her talking. “You think he—Jorgenson—planned to kill Duff all along, even before he coerced, convinced, bribed her to aid in Pickering’s murder.”

“Pickering connects to Jones, Duff connects to Pickering. Yeah, she was always going to die. Pickering was more a kick in the balls. Cops are wheeze, right? That’s the word now. Cops see a junkie OD’d, file it, forget it. But Duff, that’s going to bring on some attention, and it’s something that can be used to rile up the troops. Dragons fuck with one of ours, we fuck with all of theirs.”

As they drove through the gates she closed her eyes again.

“You know what to do tomorrow, what angles to take, what buttons to push.”

“Yeah, I know what to do.”

He didn’t like hearing the discouragement in her tone, but let it go for now.

Despite the late hour, Summerset waited in the foyer.

“You know where to find the med kit,” he said to Roarke.

“Yes, thanks.”

“There have been numerous media reports on tonight’s raids and arrests.”

“Yeah, that’s why we went in. For the screen time.” Eve tossed her jacket over the newel post.

“I imagine there are people who have homes and shops in those areas, and see the reports, who’ll sleep better tonight.” Summerset added.

He waited until they’d started upstairs before picking up her coat, examining it.

Blood, of course—and from the look of her at least some of it her own. He’d gotten quite adept at removing bloodstains from leather. He took the coat with him to his quarters to see to it.

He had no doubt Roarke would see to the lieutenant.

The cat stretched across the bed, and stirred when they came in. His bicolored eyes blinked at her face as Eve unhooked her weapon harness. Then he leaped off the bed to rub against her legs, to butt his head against her calves.

She bent to give him a reassuring rub, and even with the blocker felt every muscle weep.

“I’m going to grab a shower.”

“A soak in the tub might do better for you. And a glass of wine.”

“Maybe. Yeah, maybe.”

She went in to fill the tub, started to strip down. Roarke brought her a glass of wine, then took a glass jar from a shelf. He tossed a couple of scoops of pale blue salts into the water.

“It’ll help with the bruising.” While she stood watching him, he fixed ice patches to the worst of the damage to her face. “And so will that.”

“Are you going to use one on your knuckles where you powed the finger-snapper.”

“He had a jaw like a marshmallow. Keep the jets on low.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

He kissed her lightly, and would have left her alone, but the cat leaped onto a stool, apparently to stand guard.

Eve finished stripping off, took a survey in the full-length mirror. A few got past her guard, as Nadine had said, a little bruising along the ribs, some on the arms from blocking. Definitely the face got the worst of it.

She met Galahad’s eyes in the mirror. “I’ve had worse. You’ve been around when I’ve had worse. They called her Tank, get it? She had arms like steel beams. And a bat,” she added when he seemed unimpressed.

“Screw it.”

She slid into the tub, ordered the jets on low, and picked up the wine.

*

When she came out, Roarke had changed into what she thought of as rich-guy knock-around clothes: high-end sweatpants of cotton so soft clouds were jealous and a thin, roomy sweater.

He sat with his wine and his PPC, no doubt catching up on work. He looked up, gave her a close study, nodded. “All right, better. Let’s finish it off.”

After patting the cushion beside him, he took the healing wand out of the medical kit on the table.

“She had a bat. I might not have mentioned she had a bat.”

“And biceps, as I recall, like concrete.”

“That’s no bullshit. I can show you her mug shot.”

“I saw her on your board. And considering that, I believe you deserve another glass of wine.”

He poured it for her, then began to stroke the wand over her face. “I’m very fond of this face,” he said as he worked, “so I very much hope tonight’s mug shot shows the wrath of my cop.”

“I busted her nose. Had to be on Zeus because she just shook off the first couple of streams I hit her with.”