Witness in Death (In Death #10)(53)

"Last night, after my review." Eve moved her shoulders. The snipe was like a hot itch between her shoulder blades. "So?"

"Just updating my own records, Lieutenant. It is my job."

Fuck it. "Nobody's telling you not to do your job. I'm briefing you, aren't I?"

"Selectively, it appears."

"Okay, what the hell does that mean?"

"I had occasion to return to Central last night." That just added to her slow burn. "In the process of reviewing the file, assimilating evidence and the time line, certain pieces of that evidence, marked and sealed for Level Five, came to my attention. I was unaware, until that point, that there were areas of this investigation considered off limits to your aide and your team. Respectfully, sir, this policy can and will hamper the efficiency of said aide and said team."

"Don't use that snotty tone on me, pal. I marked Level Five what, in my judgment, required Level Five. You don't need to know every goddamn thing."

Little spots of heat bloomed on Peabody's cheeks, but her voice was frosty. "So I am now aware, Lieutenant."

"I said knock it off."

"It's always your way, isn't it?"

"Yeah, damn right. I'm your superior, and I'm the primary on this investigation, so you bet your tight ass it's my way."

"Then you should have advised subject Monroe, Charles, to keep his mouth shut. Shouldn't you? Sir."

Eve set her teeth, ground them. Try to spare feelings, she thought, and you get kicked in the face. "Subject Monroe, Charles, has, in my opinion, no connection to this investigation. Therefore any communication I've had with him is none of your goddamn business."

"It's my goddamn business when you interrogate him over my goddamn personal relationship with him."

"I didn't interrogate him." Her voice spiked with frustrated fury. "He spilled it all over me."

They were both standing now, leaning over the desk nearly nose-to-nose. Eve's face was pale with temper, Peabody's flushed with it.

When McNab walked in, the scene had him letting out a low, nervous whistle. "Um, hey, guys."

Neither of them bothered to so much as glance in his direction, and said, in unison, at a roar: "Out!"

"You bet. I'm gone."

To insure it, Eve marched over and slammed the door in his fearful and fascinated face.

"Sit down," she ordered Peabody.

"I prefer to stand."

"And I prefer to give you a good boot in the ass, but I'm restraining myself." Eve reached up, fisted her hands in her own hair and yanked until the pain cleared most of the rage.

"Okay, stand. You couldn't sit with that stick up your butt, anyway. One you shove up it every time Subject Monroe, Charles, is mentioned. You want to be filled in, you want to be briefed? Fine. Here it is."

She had to take another deep breath to insure her tone was professional. "On the evening of March twenty-six, at or about nineteen-thirty, I, accompanied by Roarke, had occasion to visit Areena Mansfield's penthouse suite at The Palace Hotel, this city. Upon entering said premises, investigation officer found subject Mansfield in the company of one Charles Monroe, licensed companion. It was ascertained and confirmed that LC Monroe was there in a professional capacity and had no links to the deceased or the current investigation. His presence, and the salient details pertaining to it, were noted in the report of the interview and marked Level Five in a stupid, ill-conceived attempt by the investigating officer to spare her fat-headed aide any unnecessary embarrassment."

Eve stomped back to her desk, snatched up her coffee, gulped some down. "Record that," she snapped.

Peabody's lip trembled. She sat. She sniffled.

"Oh, no." In genuine panic, Eve stabbed out a finger. "No, you don't. No crying. We're on duty. There is no crying on duty."

"I'm sorry." Knowing she was close to blubbering, Peabody fumbled for her handkerchief and blew her nose lavishly. "I'm just so mad, so embarrassed. He told you we've never had sex."

"Jesus, Peabody, do you think I put that in the report?"

"No. I don't know. No." She sniffled again. "But you know. I've been seeing him for weeks and weeks, and we've never... We never even got close to it."

"Well, he explained that when -- " At Peabody's howl of horror, Eve winced. Wrong thing to say. Very wrong. But what the hell was the right thing? "Look, he's a nice guy. I didn't give him enough credit. He likes you."

"Then why hasn't he ever jumped me?" Peabody lifted drenched eyes.

"Um... sex isn't everything?" Eve hazarded.

"Oh sure, easy for you to say. You're married to the mongo sex god of the century."

"Jesus, Peabody."

"You are. He's gorgeous, he's built, he's smart and sexy and... and dangerous. And he loves you. No, he adores you. He'd jump in front of a speeding maxibus for you."

"They don't go very fast," Eve murmured and was relieved when Peabody gave a watery laugh.

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah." Eve glanced toward the connecting doors, felt a hard, almost painful tug. "Yeah, I know. It's, ah, it's not that Charles isn't attracted to you. It's that..." Where the hell was Mira when she needed her? "That he respects you. That's it."