Survivor In Death (In Death #20)(108)

“You make a point.”

“You know, this day has just been crap.” She sprawled in the chair, stretched out her legs. “Making progress, I can feel it, but overall it's been weighed down with big piles of crap. And I finished it up with a cargo ship of shit.”

“Would it have something to do with the blood on your trousers?”

She looked down, saw the streaks and sprinkles of red. “It's not blood. It's cherry fizzy.”

She drank her coffee and began to take him through. “So when I made them, I pulled up at a twenty-four/seven, sent Trueheart inside for drinks, and--”

“Hold.” He held up a hand. “You realized one or more of these people, people responsible for several murders and who are, very likely, hoping to get to you, were trailing you, and you sent your backup off for sodas?”

She didn't squirm under his gaze, one she imagined he aimed at underlings who'd cocked up some deal and were about to be demolished by his iciest wrath.

But it was close.

“I wanted to see what they'd do.”

“You were hoping they'd move on you, and got Trueheart out of the way.”

“Not exactly. Close, but--”

“I asked one thing, Eve. That when you decided to use yourself as bait you'd tell me.”

“I wasn't--it was an immediate sort of. ..” She trailed off as the headache moved along from the base of her skull to squeeze into the top of her head. “Now you're pissed, at me.”

“What gave you your first clue?”

“You'll have to be pissed, then.” She shoved to her feet to prowl. “You'll just have to be pissed because I can't stop and check every move with you when I'm out there. I can't stop and say, 'Hmm, would Roarke approve of this action, or gee, should I tag Roarke and run this by him?'“

“Don't you swat away my concerns like they're gnats around your ears.” He got to his feet as well. “Don't you dare make light of them, Eve, or what it is to me to sit and wait.”

“I'm not.” But of course she was, a knee-jerk defense mechanism. Before she could say anything else, he was plowing on.

“I bury my own instincts every bloody day to stay out of your way as much as I do. Not to let myself think, every minute of every bloody day you're out there if tonight's the night you don't come back.”

“You can't think that way. You married a cop, you took the package.”

“I did, and I do.”

It wasn't ice in his eyes, she noted. It was fire, strong and blue. And that was somehow worse. “Then--”

“Have I asked you to change what you are, what you do? Have I complained when you're called away in the middle of the night, or when you come home smelling of death?”

“No. You're better at this than I am. Media flash.”

“Bollocks. We've both managed to fumble our way through nearly two years of each other, and quite well. But when you give your word to me, I expect you to keep it.”

The headache had reached behind her eyes now, stabbing fingers gleefully poking. “I guess that cargo ship hasn't quite finished dumping shit on me today. And you're right. I broke my word. It wasn't intentional. It was of the moment. And it was wrong. I let it get to me. The kid, the body in the alley, dead cops, children killed in their beds. I let it ball up in my throat, and I know better.”

She shoved the heels of her hands into her temples in a desperate attempt to relieve the pressure. “It was worth the chance, I believe it was worth the chance, but it turned out to be the wrong call. You're not the first one to scrape me over about it tonight. Whitney's already taken off a few layers of skin.”

Saying nothing, he moved back behind his console, pressed a button. He took a small bottle out of a drawer, tapped two little blue pills into his hand. Then he fetched a small bottle of water out of the friggie behind a panel.

“Take the blockers. Don't argue,” he snapped when she opened her mouth. “I can see the f**king headache pounding as I'm standing here.”

“It's past headache. It feels like my brains are being squeezed out my ears.” She took the blockers, dropped back into the chair, and dropped her head in her hands. “I f**ked up. Goddamn clusterf*ck. Cops and civilians in the hospital, private and city property damage up the wazoo. Three murder suspects still at large. Because I made the wrong call.”

“I guess that's why they call you lieutenant instead of God. Sit back now, relax a minute.”

“Don't baby me. I don't deserve it. I don't want it. They were too close. Had to figure they'd stick that close because they were trying to monitor any communications. The vehicle has screens, but they've got choice toys, so I had to figure they were within visual for a reason. If they could track me or monitor me, they needed to be close. I didn't want to risk calling it in.”

“That seems reasonable. Logical.”

“Yeah, seems. I call it in, they catch the signal, they poof. So I pulled over, sent Trueheart into the twenty-four/seven so it looked like I had a reason, so it looked casual. To see what they did. They drove by, circled around, and picked me up again. So then I figure I'll switch it on them. Get behind them, call in support, keep on them until we can box them in, take them down. But Jesus Christ, that van moved. I don't know how they've juiced it up, but I clocked it at one-twenty-six, airborne. Then there were the laser rifles, and God knows. They took out a couple of black-and-whites, a number of civilian vehicles, and a maxibus. And I lost them.”