Treachery in Death (In Death #32)(65)

“I take responsibility,” Renee began.

“It’s a little late for that.”

“Goddamn it. I do need Garnet. You pushed. He pushed back. He was wrong, and he’s earned a good, hard slap for it. I’ll give him one. Two weeks without pay after the investigation closes, and he’ll have to ride a desk for another two. I’m just asking you to pull the rip.”

Now Eve shifted, eased forward. “You’ve got the nerve to ask me for a solid when you stood there, did nothing, while your man insulted me, while he threatened me, while he struck out at me. And you want to give him a slap on the wrist for it—when it’s convenient for you? You dangle dinner with Dad at me to pave the way, like I’d sit up and say ‘yes, please.’ Your man’s a hothead, one with no respect for authority. Including yours. Nobody talks to me as he did today and walks away smiling. If he were mine, he’d get the boot.”

“He’s not yours.”

“Exactly.” Eve shrugged, sent a subtle signal to Darcia. “He’s your problem.”

13

“ THE COMMANDER ISN’T THE ONLY ONE I CAN speak to about this,” Renee said.

“Speak to whoever you want.” Eve added a shrug and a bored glance at her watch. “Garnet earned the rip. It stands. Hey, Darcia.”

“Dallas.” Darcia stopped at the table, beaming smiles. “Sorry, am I early? I’m interrupting.”

“No, you’re right on time. Chief Angelo, Lieutenant Oberman. The lieutenant and I are finished.”

“For the moment.” Her rage palpable, Renee shoved back from the table. She turned her back without acknowledging Darcia and stormed out with a sweep of hair and an angry click of heels.

“My, my, my.” After following the drama of the exit, Darcia turned back to Eve, batted her lashes. “Something I said?”

“No, it’s on me—and so, apparently, is her drink. Have a seat. Give me a second.” Eve pulled out her com, tagged Feeney. “She’ll be coming back to you. You might want to adjust your volume down a few notches, spare your ears the blast.”

“Copy that.”

Eve tucked her com away again, smiled, said, “So.”

“So indeed. You made her very angry, then put some lace on it by making her think you double booked.”

“The last was just the whims of fate when you got in touch about a drink.”

“And she didn’t even finish hers.”

“Yeah, let’s take care of that.” Eve started to signal the waitress, spotted Roarke and Webster coming out of the snug. “I guess we need a bigger table.”

“Oh?” Darcia glanced over her shoulder. “Oh,” she said again, but with a kind of purr that had Eve’s antennae quivering. “Roarke.” She offered a hand. “Isn’t this fun? Detective.”

“Chief.”

Eve looked from Webster to Darcia, back again. This time she said, “Oh.”

“They’ve a bigger table for us,” Roarke announced with the glint in his eye of a man anticipating an interesting time. “You can have that beer, Webster, if you’re set on it, but I think this calls for the bottle of wine I took the liberty of ordering.”

“I’d love it.” Darcia stood, shifted to Webster. “Let’s see, an NYPSD lieutenant being monitored by EDD, and IAB on the scene. It appears the whims of fate had me walking in on some of your official business. I hope it’s not a problem.”

“No. No problem.” He pulled back her chair at the table for four.

“We enjoyed the show,” Roarke commented as he sat beside Eve.

“I came in just at the finale—but I believe I follow the story line. You’re looking at this Lieutenant Oberman for something—and as Dallas is involved, something must include murder.” She tipped her head to the side. “I’d vote for a dead junkie. Since Don’s here, it also involves an internal investigation.”

Don, Eve thought. Christ.

“We can’t really get into it,” Eve told her.

“Understood. But obviously we don’t like her. Though I did love her shoes. By the way, I bought three pairs at that fabulous little boutique you sent me to yesterday, Dallas.”

“Why?” Eve leaned forward. “Sincerely. I’ve always wanted to know why anyone buys multiple pairs of shoes at a time.”

“If I have to explain it, the joy is lost.”

“And how have you spent today?” Roarke asked her as the waitress brought four glasses and a bottle of red to the table.

“Shopping—I can’t stop myself—and I spent a wonderful two hours in the Metropolitan Museum. Had a late lunch.” She smiled at Webster when she said it.

A hot beam of a smile, Eve thought. Like a tropical sun.

Roarke sampled the wine, approved. “Plans for the evening?”

“The theater. My first Broadway musical. I’m looking forward to it. To all of it,” she added, then lifted her wine. “Since we’re about to enjoy this lovely wine, I assume both lieutenants are off duty.”

“Looks like it,” Eve murmured. “For now.”

“Good.” Darcia angled over, leaned in, kissed Webster—light, soft, like that tropical sun through palm fronds. “Hello.”