Naked in Death (In Death, #1)(54)

"I've already asked it," she interrupted, with a giddy relief only she knew she experienced when he didn't call for her badge – yet. "How did Simpson know where I spent last night? I'm being monitored. Second question is why. Is it on Simpson's authority, is it DeBlass? Or, did someone leak the information to Simpson in order to damage my credibility and therefore, the investigation."

"I expect you to find out." He jerked a thumb toward the door. "Watch yourself at that press conference, Dallas."

They'd taken no more than three strides down the corridor when Feeney erupted. "What the hell are you thinking of? Jesus Christ, Dallas."

"I didn't plan it, okay?" She jabbed for an elevator, jammed her hands in her pockets. "Back off."

"He's on the short list. He's one of the last people we know of who saw Sharon DeBlass alive. He's got more money than God, and can buy anything, including immunity."

"He doesn't fit type." She stormed into the elevator, barked out her floor. "I know what I'm doing."

"You don't know shit. All the years I've known you, I've never seen you so much as stub your toe on a guy. Now you've fallen f*cking over on one."

"It was just sex. Not all of us have a nice comfortable life with a nice comfortable wife. I wanted someone to touch me, and he wanted to be the one. It's none of your goddamn business who I sleep with."

He caught her arm before she could storm out of the elevator. "The hell with that. I care about you."

She fought back the rage at being questioned, at being probed, at having her most private moments invaded. She turned back, lowering her voice so that those who walked the corridor wouldn't overhear.

"Am I a good cop, Feeney?"

"You're the best I ever worked with. That's why – "

She held up a hand. "What makes a good cop?"

He sighed. "Brains, guts, patience, nerve, instinct."

"My brains, my guts, my instincts tell me it's not Roarke. Every time I try to turn it around and point it at him, I hit a wall. It's not him. I've got the patience, Feeney, and the nerve to keep at it until we find out who."

His eyes stayed on hers. "And if you're wrong this time, Dallas?"

"If I'm wrong, they won't have to ask for my badge." She had to take a steadying breath. "Feeney, if I'm wrong about this, about him, I'm finished. All the way finished. Because if I'm not a good cop, I'm nothing."

"Jesus, Dallas, don't – "

She shook her head. "Run the cop list for me, will you? I've got some calls to make."





[page]CHAPTER TWELVE




Press conferences left a bad taste in Eve's mouth. She stood on the steps of City Hall, on a stage set by Simpson with his patriotic tie and his gold I Love New York lapel pin. In his Big Brother of the City mode, his voice rose and fell while he read his statement.

A statement, Eve thought in disgust, that was riddled with lies, half truths, and plenty of self aggrandizements. According to Simpson he would have no rest until the murderer of young Lola Starr was brought to justice.

When questioned as to whether there was any connection between the Starr homicide and the mysterious death of Senator DeBlass's granddaughter, he flatly denied it.

It wasn't his first mistake and, Eve thought glumly, it would hardly be his last.

The words were barely out of his mouth when he was peppered with shouts from Channel 75's on-air ace, Nadine Furst.

"Chief Simpson, I have information that indicates the Starr homicide is linked with the DeBlass case – not only because both women were engaged in the same profession."

"Now, Nadine." Simpson flashed his patient, avuncular smile. "We all know that information is often passed to you and your associates, and it's often inaccurate. That's why I set up the Data Verification Center in the first year of my term as chief of police. You have only to check with the DVC for accuracy."

Eve managed to hold back a snort, but Nadine, with her sharp cat's eyes and lightning brain didn't bother. "My source claims that Sharon DeBlass's death was not an accident – as the DVC claims – but murder. That both DeBlass and Starr were killed by the same method and the same man."

This caused an uproar in the huddle of news teams, a scatter shot of demands and questions that had Simpson sweating under his monogrammed shirt.

"The department stands behind its position that there is no connection between these unfortunate incidents," Simpson shouted out, but Eve saw little lights of panic flickering in his eyes. "And my office stands behind the investigators."

Those jittery eyes shot to Eve, and she knew, in that instant, what it was to be picked up bodily and thrown to the wolves.

"Lieutenant Dallas, a veteran officer with more than ten years of experience on the force, is in charge of the Starr homicide. She'll be happy to answer your questions."

Trapped, Eve stepped forward while Simpson bent down so that his weasley aide could whisper rapid-fire advice in his ear.

Questions rained down on her, and she waited, filtering them until she found one she could deal with.

"How was Lola Starr murdered?"

"In order to protect the credibility of the investigation, I'm not at liberty to divulge the method." She suffered through the shouts, cursing Simpson. "I will state that Lola Starr, an eighteen-year-old licensed companion, was murdered, with violence and premeditation. Evidence indicates that she was murdered by a client."