Treachery in Death (In Death #32)(85)

“I ought to kick your ass for that.” Indeed her hands fisted at her sides. “Fuck you. Fuck you sideways if you think this is about a collar, about credit. If you think—”

“I don’t. I don’t,” he repeated, and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “And that was a cheap shot, Apologies.”

She swore again, paced away. “I could have done this without you.”

“Yeah, and it feels like you are. Give lip service to the rat, but don’t keep feeding him any new cheese.”

She turned back. “What?”

“Why don’t I hear until this morning that Garnet came after you? I don’t hear he got the chance because you’d gone to talk to one of Renee’s people.”

“Lilah Strong isn’t one of her people.”

“She’s in the squad,” he reminded her, “and I should’ve been consulted on it. I didn’t hear until this morning there’s a tail on you. I didn’t hear about Garnet.”

“I informed the commander,” she began.

“Now who’s bullshitting?”

“It’s not bullshit. That’s my first duty. And I didn’t contact you at every turn because you were . . . involved, in the thing. Darcia.”

“Now you’ve got a problem with me and Darcia?”

“No. God.” Frustrated, she raked her hand through her hair. “I wasn’t holding out on you. I didn’t contact my own partner because I didn’t deem it necessary. I didn’t contact you, same reason, and also because I thought I was doing you a solid. Giving you the night to ... to go to the theater. The musical theater.”

He stared at her for a moment, then his body lost its fighting stance. “I guess you were, doing me that solid. It’s appreciated. But I’m a cop, and so’s Darcia. You know interruptions of... musical theater are part of the deal.”

“What would you, or could you, have done about any of it, if so interrupted?”

“Nothing, really. But I’d have had it worked out in my head better, been clearer on the lay of the land.”

“Fine, I’ll interrupt you next time. And if you’re in the middle of the big production number, it’ll be your own fault.”

He laughed. “I always had a thing for you.”

“Oh, for—”

“Not that way, not that way.” Cautiously, he took a step back. “Don’t punch me, or call out the dogs. I worked with you a few times, and I like the way your mind works. Even when I don’t agree. I like how you can chomp at a case until you spit it out, your way. You’re a hard-ass, Dallas, but that’s one of the reasons for the thing. You weren’t much of a team player back the couple times we worked the same cases.”

Maybe not, she thought. No, definitely not. “I wasn’t in command. Command changes things because your men depend on you to head that team. I wasn’t ... a lot of things for a lot of reasons.”

She thought of walking with Roarke on a summer evening. “I’m not the same person now I was then.”

“No. I guess I’m not either.” He held out a hand. “Bygones?”

“It depends.” She took his hand. “If you go after my case, I’ll take this hand again. And I’ll break it off at the wrist.”

He grinned at her. “Go, team.”

“I’m going to trust you, because I’ve gone through doors with you before. If you want to stay for the rest of the briefing, take a seat. I’ll be right back.”

“No, but I appreciate it. I’ve got things to do before we meet with the commander.”

“I’ll see you then.”

She walked to Roarke’s office, opened the door, shut it behind her. “Thanks for the space.”

“You’re welcome. And?”

“We worked it out. Mostly a combination of parallel but not quite meshing goals and a misunderstanding of motivations.” She went to his AutoChef for coffee. Closed her eyes, rubbed the space between her eyebrows.

“Take a minute, Eve. Sit.”

“Better not. I need to get this briefing finished, shut down for some thinking time. Then gear up for these meetings. Christ—Oberman, Tibble, and IAB.” She opened her eyes again. “It’s going to be a rough morning.”

“You’ve already had one.” He moved to her to gently rub that spot between her eyebrows himself.

“Opened him up, ear to ear. He was dead before he hit the floor. Fast, fast way to go, and he’d earned slow and painful, in my book. And even so, it’s not up to her to decide who lives, who dies. How. When. It’s not her call.”

Because she wasn’t who she’d been before, she laid her aching brow on his shoulder. “He’d probably have done the same—to Renee, to me, to whoever. Odds are he walked in there thinking he’d be opening me up, ear to ear. He was an open, festering wound on the department.”

She straightened again.

“And Keener? Maybe harmless in the big scheme, maybe he gave his pizza server a nice tip when he was flush. But he lived his life on junk, and peddling it. I don’t imagine he’d have had a quibble if the buyer was twelve, as long as the kid had the scratch. He was a pig, looking for the easy way in and the easy way out.”