Portrait in Death (In Death #16)(91)

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"Been a while since we did this," Feeney commented.

"Guess it has." Eve sampled her beer.

By tacit agreement, they'd avoided the known cop bars. Kicking back in one of them meant somebody would stop by to shoot the shit or talk shop. Instead, they'd caught a booth in a place called The Leprechaun, a dim little bar with aspirations of simulating an Irish pub.

There was piped in music with someone singing about drinking and war, and a lot of signs written in Gaelic, and framed pictures of what Eve assumed were famous Irish people. The waitstaff all talked with Irish accents, though their server's accent had a definite Brooklyn edge to it.

Since she'd had occasion to spend some time in an actual Irish pub, she could tell the owner-who she imagined was somebody named Greenburg-wasn't even close to being Irish.

And thinking it made her think of the Penny Pig. And Roarke.

"Why don't you tell me what's on your mind, kid?"

"I think he's going to move within the next forty-eight hours, so-"

"No, not about the case." There was a bowl of peanuts in the shell between them, but he shoved it aside, got out his bag of candied almonds. "You got trouble at home?"

"Shit, Feeney." Because it was there, she dug into the bag. "I've got Summerset at home. Isn't that enough?"

"And Roarke off somewhere while his man's at home with a busted pin. Must've been important to pull him away just now."

"It was. It is. God." She braced her elbows on the table, then dropped her head into her hands. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I don't know if I should tell you. I don't know if he'd want me to tell you."

"He doesn't have to know you did. It doesn't go beyond here."

"I know that." He'd trained her, Eve thought. Taken her green from the Academy. And she'd trusted him. He'd partnered with her, gone through every door. And she'd trusted him.

"I'll have to tell him I told you. I think that's one of those marriage rules. There are too fricking many of them."

Feeney didn't interrupt her, and when he'd finished his beer, ordered another.

"It's got to mess him up, you know? You go your whole life thinking one thing, dealing with what you believe is truth, then you get slammed in the gut, and it all changes around on you." She sipped her beer. "He doesn't get drunk. He'll dance up to the line, should the occasion call for it. But even when it's just the two of us off somewhere, he doesn't go over the line. He's going to stay aware, in control. That's core Roarke."

"You shouldn't worry because a man ties one on."

"I wouldn't, if the man wasn't Roarke. He did it because he's hurting and needed to get away from the pain. Feeney, he can take a hell of a lot of pain."

So can you, Feeney thought. "Where is he now?"

"In Clare. He left me a message-damn time difference. He said I shouldn't worry, he was fine. He was probably going to stay there, another day at least, and he'd be in touch."

"Did you tag him back?"

She shook her head. "I started to, then I started second-guessing myself. Is it like nagging? I don't know. He said he wanted to handle this himself. He's made it pretty clear he doesn't want me involved."

"And you're letting him get away with that." He sighed, heavy, and his basset hound eyes seemed to droop lower. "You disappoint me."

"What am I supposed to do! I'm in the middle of this investigation, and he says he's going to Ireland. He won't wait, won't give me time to figure things out. Okay, he can't wait-I can get that. He's got a problem, and he'd want to deal, straight off."

"One of those marriage rules is if one of you's in pain or trouble, you're not in it alone. You suffering here, him there. That doesn't work for either of you."

"Well, he left. He was on his way out when he told me, for Christ's sake. I'm still pissed about that."

"So you should be out the door behind him."

She drew her brows together. "I'm supposed to go to Ireland? Now? He said he didn't want me there."

"If he did, he's lying. That's a man for you, kid. We can't help it."

"You think he needs me to be there?"

"I do."

"But the case. I can't just-"

"What am I, a rookie?" Feeney had the wit to look insulted. "You don't think I can manage as temporary primary for a couple days? Or do you just want the collar yourself?"

"No. No! But I'm working all these angles, and the odds of him hitting again in the next couple of days are-"

"If you got word Roarke was hurt, bleeding from the ears, would you worry about the case or get your ass moving?"

"I'd get my ass moving."

"He's bleeding from the heart. So you go."

It was so simple. A no-brainer when put just that way. "I'll have to clear it, and set up some schedules for tomorrow. Get a report in."

"Then let's go do it." Feeney pocketed his nuts.

"Thanks. Really."

"No problem. You buy the beer."

Chapter 18