Faithless in Death (In Death, #52)(104)

“I never would’ve thought that of her. I don’t really know her anymore, but—Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“Grab a little downtime. And stay sharp.”

“Is that what you’re going to do?” Roarke asked as the room emptied. “Grab some downtime?”

“I’ve got too many irons in the fire for that. And why did I say that?” Baffled, she dragged a hand through her hair. “Why would anybody put irons in a fire?”

“To keep them hot, I’d say.”

“Oh.” She considered. “All right, I’ll accept that one. I need to keep my irons hot. I’m too revved,” she added before he could object. “And I need to debrief Lowenbaum. I’ve got more data on Mirium Wilkey, and I need to prep for interviews with her and her father. Tonight. Hot iron—you strike then, right?”

“You do indeed.”

“I need to get my gear. So do you. You need to hit Requisitions for black, and other shoes, and—”

Roarke stopped her by tapping a finger to her lips. “I’ll have something appropriate brought in for both of us. I’m not wearing what I can finesse from your cop shop. Even in this, I have standards.”

“That’s your iron to fire.”

“I’ll have appropriately stealthy attire here for both of us by half-eight. I’ll meet you then in your office.”

“I’ll be there.”

Alone, she looked at the board.

“We’re coming to get you, Ella. Hang in.”

When she turned to leave, Lowenbaum, still in full gear, stepped inside.

“Quick work, LT.”

“No weapons,” he told her. “A couple of the women—Poole being one—tried kitchen knives or skillets. No injuries. Three of the women and five of the kids had those goddamn tracker-slash-shockers on. We had MTs transport one, one really pregnant one, to a medical facility.

“So.” He sat, rolled his shoulders. “I’ll run it through for you, and copy the recordings to you. But before we get to that, my teams want in on the HQ. We’re wound up, pissed, and want in. You need to make room.”

“I’ll make room.”

By the time she dealt with all the irons, it was after nine. She stopped at the door to her office. Roarke sat at her desk, his pricey shoes up on it, the chair kicked back, and his eyes closed.

She started to step back out, ease the door shut.

“Your stealthwear’s on your miserable chair,” he said. “You’re late.”

“Couldn’t be helped.”

He grabbed her hand, pulled her into his lap.

“Jesus! Knock it off.”

“You’ll have noted those remaining in your bullpen are doing exactly this. The others found somewhere else to snatch a bit of sleep.”

“I also smelled pizza in there. Not a crumb in sight, but I smelled pizza.”

“They ate, as you should. But since you’ve been going for near to twenty hours with barely any sleep, you need this more. One hour,” he said. “Just shut it off for an hour. You’ll be sharper for it.”

“Maybe. Let me shut the door.”

He just snuggled her in. “None of them care, Eve. Take an hour, then we’ll drag those bastards to the ground.”

She’d covered everything, she told herself. Gone over every step, again and again. Consulted, briefed, answered, questioned.

She could take an hour.

She dropped into sleep like a rock in a well.

When he woke her, she unwound herself, locked the door. Even before she turned back she smelled the coffee—and the pizza.

“One slice,” he said. “You’ll say you don’t want to feel full.”

She drew in those blessed scents as she stretched out the kinks. “You think of everything.”

“I think of you.”

She met his eyes. “I know you do.”

Loose again, she ate the slice, drank the coffee. She had to admit as they changed clothes she did feel sharper.

She strapped on her weapon, her clutch piece, a combat knife.

“I assume you have your own.”

“I do—and to make you feel better, Whitney authorized the stunner.”

And because she thought of him, because she knew him, she eyed him. “You’ve got more than a stunner on you.”

“Well, the stunner’s authorized, so we have that.”

He wore black, as she did, a long-sleeved tee, pants, thick-soled black boots. He handed her a thin cotton cap. Then put on one of his own, tucked his hair up into it.

It shouldn’t have amazed her he looked ridiculously sexy.

“So this is how you looked when you robbed people blind.”

“We’ll say this is often how I dressed for certain activities.”

She handed him a vest, took her own. “Let’s move.”

As she passed through the bullpen, Peabody and some of the squad walked out of the locker room. They fell in line, got in the elevator.

“Anybody else thinking breakfast beers after this bust?” Baxter slipped his hands in his pockets. “We could hit the Blue Line looking like a team of cat burglars.”

“Bust now, beer later,” Eve said.

“That’s what I’m saying.”