Born in Death (In Death #23)(37)

“It sounds like bimbo, occasionally, when you say ‘wife.’”

“Oh, bollocks to that.”

“And right back at you, ace. They slap at you, they slap at me because we’re a unit. Because I may not get all this being married crap right, but I’ve damn well got that one nailed. So, believe me when I tell you the department knows just how I feel about this business.”

“Fine, then—”

“I’mnot finished,” she spat out. “Sweeten you up, what a crock. But you want some oil on the water? When I spewed this business out on Feeney, then out on Baxter and Peabody, they had the same take. That it was insulting bullshit. And I’m damned, Roarke, if I want to put my tail between my legs and pass this ball. Not just for the victims—and they matter, they matter a hell of a lot to me now. But for my own pride, and for yours. Screw that, forours. I’m not going to back off because the mayor or the chief or the commander—whoever—needs to cover their chicken-shit asses because some jerks are whining because you’re just better and smarter and slicker then they are in the first damn place.

“And I’mpissed !” She kicked his desk. “Pissed, pissed, pissed about being disrespected. Like I’m some idiotfemale who’d compromise an investigation for her man’s gain. Or that my man is some callous cheat who can’t bury his competitors without breaking a sweat. They’re not getting away with it. We’re not going to let them shove us back from this. We’re not going to let them put two innocent people who died because they were trying to do something right, howeverstupidly, in the backseat over f**king politics.”

She kicked his desk again, and felt calmer for it. “You’ve done more than stand by me on the job. And you deserve better from the department. So I’ll do more than stand by you, and if stepping back from this is what you need, that’s what I’ll do.”

She caught her breath. “That’s what I’ll do, because if you don’t know you come first, you’re just stupid. But it’s not the way to stick it to the ones who deserve to have it stuck to them. Staying on it is, putting you on in an official capacity as consultant is. Finding the person or persons who killed those two people is. I want to close this case, and I want you with me when I do. But on this one, you get to decide.”

She tunneled her fingers through her hair and realized she was exhausted. “Your call.”

He said nothing for a long, humming moment. “You’d do this, pass this case, because I asked you?”

“No. I’d do this, pass this case, because in these circumstances I figure you’ve got the right to ask me. I don’t lift off when you say jump, ace, any more than you do for me. But when it matters, it matters. Is that what you want me to do?”

“It was, before you came in here.” He crossed to her now, and took her face in his hands. “It was, I’m forced to admit, when I was near certain you’d refuse, and given me a handy outlet where I could blame you for the whole mess of it. Then I could have worked off some of this mad with a good, bloody row with you.” He kissed her brow, her nose, her lips. “You didn’t, so I guess that good, bloody row is out of the question.”

“I’m always up for one.”

Now he smiled. “Hard to work up the energy for one when I’m also forced to admit you’re right. Actually, thinking about it, that’s a considerable irritation. Everything you just said bull’s-eyed the entire ugly situation. The victims deserve you, and I’m damned if the department gets the satisfaction of having you toss this one back because of me. And damned again if I’ll have fingers pointed at me as a cheat who’d use his wife. I’ve done plenty in my time to deserve finger-pointing, but not this.”

“Are we square?”

He gave her shoulders a light rub before he stepped back. “It seems we are. But the termwife is not synonymous withbimbo. I love my wife very much. I’ve only slept with bimbos—occasionally. In the past.”

He was still seething mad though, she noted. However cool and collected he might seem, she knew him, and saw the black temper bubbling under the surface. She couldn’t blame him. But there were other ways to work off a rage than a sweaty session in the gym, or a good, bloody row.

“I still need that shower.” She headed for the door, glancing over her shoulder on the way out. “Wouldn’t mind some company.”

She ordered the jets on full, at a temperature of 101, and let the heat punch its way into her bones. With her eyes closed and the water pulsing over her head, the worst of the headache she’d been carrying eased off.

When arms came around her, the tension inside her body shifted to a different arena.

“Sorry,” she said with her eyes still closed. “You’ll have to get in line. I’ve already got a guy scheduled for shower sex.”

Hands slid up to cover her br**sts; teeth nipped lightly into her shoulder.

“Well, maybe I can squeeze you in.”

She started to turn, but those hands held her in place while his mouth roamed over her neck and shoulders. Little bites while the steam began to rise.

With an arm hooked around her waist, he flipped open the compartment in the glass block and let a river of fragrant soap pool into his hand. He slicked it over her br**sts, torso, belly. Slow circles while the water pumped and pulsed.