Delusion in Death (In Death #35)(52)

“Oh, I’ll look. Believe me.”

“I didn’t agree easily, and I wouldn’t have agreed except … a hundred and twenty-six dead.”

“A hundred and twenty-seven. Another died in hospital shortly ago.” And because he saw that instant of sorrow on her face, he picked up the coffee, handed it to her.

“I need help. Maybe she’ll just be deadweight, or worse an annoyance or distraction. But maybe she’ll make a difference. Or there’ll be more dead, Roarke, and we won’t have enough boards for their faces.”

“If I look and find something, you’ll end the consultation?”

“Yes. My word on it.”

He nodded, then took time to think, to settle, by getting coffee for himself. “It doesn’t sit well, does it?”

“No. But I’m afraid he’s just getting started, and she’ll have a fresh eye, a supposedly expert eye. And additional resources. Before you say it, I know I could ask you for anything and anyone. Someone equally qualified.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “and that would sit better.”

“Probably with both of us. But this agreement keeps HSO’s involvement minimal. It keeps me in charge. They could have moved in, tried to muscle away the whole shot. And while we were playing tug-of-war …” Her eyes went to the boards again.

He said nothing for a moment, only drank some coffee. Then frowned at the mug. “Why won’t you stock your regular in this thing? It’s not as if you don’t have an unlimited supply of bloody coffee. Word is you married me for it.”

And with that, she understood the crisis had been averted. “I don’t want to spoil my men.”

“You’d rather burn all our stomach linings away.”

“Cops’ guts are tougher than that.” She smiled. “Civilians’ may be more delicate.”

He stepped to her, flicked a finger down the shallow dent in her chin. “Then you’ll perfectly understand why I’ve ordered food in for the briefing.”

“You—”

“Have you eaten since breakfast? I thought not,” he said when she only frowned at him. “I’ll drink your deplorable cop coffee, you’ll eat my food. And we’ll get on.”

“We’ll get on if it’s pizza.”

“I know my cop.”

Yes, he did, she thought. “I talked to Mira.”

He took her hand now, held it.

“I don’t like the way you maneuvered me into it, even if you were right.”

He laughed at that, kissed the hand he held. “I love you, Eve. Every contrary inch.”

“I’m working it out, and I don’t want you to worry. I feel … lighter,” she decided. “I can’t talk about it now.”

“No need. Feeling lighter is enough.”

“I just want you to know, I’m getting a grip on it. I’ve got to put it away, get back to this.” She took a breath. “And I’m going to keep doing that. Putting it away, where it belongs, and getting on with who I am, what I am, what we are. You need to do the same.”

“I’m with you, Lieutenant.”

“Then I’ll bring Peabody back.” She reached for her comm just as the knock sounded on the door.

“That’s probably the food. I’ll take care of it.” Roarke walked to the door.

When it came to food, she thought, cops had noses like blood-hounds. She put her comm away, watched Peabody trot in behind the delivery team.

Then Jenkinson, Baxter, Reineke.

“Let them set it up, for Christ’s sake, before you swarm it like locusts. And leave some for the rest. Peabody.”

Looking mildly concerned she might qualify as “the rest,” and miss out, Peabody hurried over. “Most of us missed lunch.”

“I’m aware. We have an addition to the team,” Eve began, and laid it out.

Peabody’s face settled into stubborn lines that slid into a sulk. “I don’t like her.”

“You haven’t laid eyes on her.”

“I don’t care, and Teasdale’s a pu**y name. A prissy pu**y name.”

“Really? And Peabody’s a name that makes bad guys shiver in fear?”

“If they know what’s good for them. Besides, she’s HSO, and that makes her a prissy pu**y in a bad black suit.”

Well, Eve thought, her partner had the suit right. “Deal with it, and her. Now grab a slice, then finish the board.”

She started to grab one herself but moved off when someone called her away. Instead, she found a reasonably quiet corner and began her run on Jeni Curve.

She saw Teasdale come in, take her time crossing the room. The HSO agent would have to weather the flat, suspicious looks.

“Agent Teasdale. You’re welcome to fight for a slice of the pie.”

“Thank you. I’ve eaten.”

“Suit yourself. Have a seat.”

When Whitney and Tibble came in, the noise level dropped by half.

“We’ll start in a few minutes, Chief, Commander. Most of the team didn’t manage lunch today.”

“I didn’t manage it myself,” Tibble told her. “It smells good.”

“Please, help yourselves.”