Thankless in Death (In Death #37)(17)

“It’s a direct question, Lieutenant. I’d like a direct answer.” But before she could formulate one, he held up a finger to hold that answer off. “You’re young for the rank. Would be the youngest captain under my command. And if it had been my call alone, the bars would’ve been offered to you long before this. Politics, perception, prejudice have all played a part in the decision not to offer them. Our personal lives are part of who we are, and part of how we’re perceived.”

“Understood, Commander.” And because she did—not only understood him, but the process, and herself, everything in her loosened again.

“I’ve always understood, and have no regrets on my personal life.”

“Nor should you. It’s become more difficult, some may say impossible, to use your marriage as a wedge against this promotion. It’s particularly difficult now as Roarke will be awarded the Medal of Merit—Civilian.”

She actually felt her eyes pop a bit before she let out a half laugh. “I can use that on him for years.”

“The two of you have an interesting dynamic,” Whitney observed. “Now I’d like your answer.”

“Commander …” Trying to think clearly, so her answer would be, she raked a hand through her hair. “Three years ago I wouldn’t have hesitated. It was more about proving something, to myself. Outside of the job, the ground was pretty shaky for me, and I didn’t even know it. Not really. So I wanted that to prove I had the solid under me. And I wanted to earn it.”

“You have earned it.” As he studied her face, lines dug in between his eyebrows. “But now you hesitate?”

“Sir, I admire your transition from investigator to commander, your skill and your insight. Your work is more difficult than I can imagine, and it’s honorable and necessary.”

“You’ve already got the promotion if you want it, Dallas.”

That relaxed her, just a little more. “I’m not ready to ride a desk. I’m solid enough on administration, but I’m an investigator. A captain’s presence in the field, as an investigator, is the exception rather than the rule. I’m a murder cop; that’s my strength. That’s my skill and my insight. I wouldn’t be offered this promotion otherwise.”

She thought of Jenkinson’s ridiculous tie, of the rubber chicken above Sanchez’s desk when he’d been the new guy. More, she thought how she could trust, without question, anyone in her bullpen to go through the door with her.

“And sir? I don’t want to put a buffer between me and my men. I don’t want them to feel they have to climb the chain to talk to me, to run a case by me, to ask for my help. I’m not willing to step away from them. They, and the job, are more important than captain’s bars. I’m glad to be able to say that, and mean it.”

“You’ve given this considerable thought.”

“Actually, Commander, I’d put it away. I haven’t given it much of any thought in a long time now.” At peace with it, she realized—a not altogether familiar place to be. “I’m grateful to be considered. I believe I best serve the department and the people of New York where I am.”

He sat back again, a big man with a big city behind him. “I could have pushed for this harder at several points along the way, and had several debates with myself on doing just that.”

“Politics, sir.” She shrugged them away.

“Some, yes, but not all. The primary reason I didn’t push is I agree with you. Your strengths are your investigative abilities, and your skill handling your department, your insight into the perpetrator and victim. I didn’t want to lose that. But now that certain obstacles are cleared, or have been cleared, I felt it was time to ask you directly.”

“Frankly, sir?” At his nod, she continued. “It’s a weight off knowing the obstacles are cleared, and understanding my own goals and priorities.”

“Then I’ll relay your answer to those it’s relevant to.”

“Thank you, sir. Sincerely.”

“You’re welcome, Lieutenant. Sincerely.”

He rose from his desk, came around it, and did something he rarely did. He took Eve’s hand, shook it.

“Dismissed.”

She walked out a little dazed, but yeah, she realized, okay with it. Like she’d tossed aside a weight she’d forgotten she carried, but knew just where it landed if she ever wanted to pick it up again.

But now? Right now, she felt good staying light on her feet.

The tie was back in the bullpen, busy at his desk. Baxter and True-heart held a confab at Baxter’s desk. Peabody worked morosely at hers, which meant she’d dealt with the notifications.

And every cop in the room, including Jenkinson, wore sunshades.

“It looks like Hollywood PSD in here.”

“Dug up a pair for you, boss.” Baxter tossed her a pair with black flames and square amber lenses. “Can’t have our LT’s eyes bleeding all over the floor.”

Willing to play, she slipped them on as she walked to Peabody’s desk. “Status?”

“I made the notifications. They took it hard. My mother always says no matter how old your kid gets, he’s still your kid. I guess she’s right. I also contacted local department grief counselors in their areas.”