Ceremony in Death - J. D. Robb [54]
“Would you like me to put one of my trusted employees on him?”
“No, but that’s what I’m going to ask you to do.” She turned to the mirror, raked fingers through her hair in lieu of a comb. “I’m bringing this home, too many angles of it. I’m sorry.”
He walked to her, turned her around, caught her face in his hands. “You can’t separate what you do from who you are. I don’t expect or want you to. What touches you, touches me. That’s what I expect and what I want.”
“The last case that touched me almost killed you.” She wrapped her hands around his wrist, squeezed. “I need you too much. It’s your own fault.”
“Exactly.” He bent down, kissed her. “That’s what I want as well. Go to work, Lieutenant.”
“I’m going.” She strode to the door, paused, glanced back. “I don’t want to hear from Traffic that my husband was hotdogging the skyways in his minichopper.”
“You won’t. I bribe too well.”
It made her laugh as she headed back down to fetch Peabody and face the first media onslaught.
She’d no more than strapped into her vehicle when she heard the throaty purr of an expensive engine. Wincing only a little, she glanced east and saw the sleek little copter with its tinted one-way glass cabin and whirling silver blades rise, circle playfully—and illegally—before bulleting off.
“Wow! What a machine. Is that Roarke’s? Have you been up?” Peabody craned her head to try to get a last look. “That is one rapid mother.”
“Shut up, Peabody.”
“I’ve never been up in a personal.” With a wistful sigh, Peabody settled. “Makes the units Traffic use look like dog meat.”
“You used to be intimidated when I told you to shut up.”
“Those were the good old days.” Grinning, Peabody crossed her ankles. “You handled the kid really well, Lieutenant.”
Eve rolled her eyes. “I know how to interview a cooperative witness, Peabody.”
“Not everybody can handle a teenager. They’re brutal, and fragile. That one’s seen more than anyone should.”
“I know.” So had she by that age, Eve remembered. Perhaps that’s why she’d understood. “Prepare yourself, Peabody. The sharks are circling.”
Peabody grimaced at the pack of reporters crowded outside the gate. There were minicams, recorders, and hungry looks. “Gee, I hope they get my best side.”
“Tough when you’re sitting on it.”
“Thanks. I’ve been working out.” Automatically, Peabody wiped off the grin and assumed a blank, professional expression. “I don’t see Nadine,” she murmured.
“She’s around.” Eve hit the remote for the gates. “Furst wouldn’t miss this one.” She timed it, opening the gates seconds before the nose of the car would have brushed iron. Reporters streamed forward, engulfing the car, aiming their cameras, shouting their questions. One or two were ballsy or stupid enough to step onto private property. Eve took note, switched the volume on her outside speakers to blast.
“The investigation is ongoing,” she announced. “There will be an official statement at noon. Any media representative who trespasses on this property will not only be prosecuted but will be blocked from all data.”
She all but slammed the gates on scrambling feet. “Where the hell are the uniforms I left on duty?”
“Probably eaten alive by now.” Peabody stared through the reporter who plastered himself against her side of the windshield. “This one’s kind of cute, Lieutenant. Try not to damage his face.”
“His choice.” She kept driving. Someone bounced off her fender and cursed. There was a slight bump, and a very loud scream.
“That’s ten points for the foot,” Peabody commented, secretly thrilled. “See if you can swipe that one there. The woman with the yard of legs in the green suit. That’ll get you five more.”
The reporter clinging to the windshield slid off as Eve juggled the wheel. “Missed her. Well, can’t win them all.”
“Peabody.” Eve shook her head, hit the accelerator, and headed downtown. “Sometimes I worry about you.”
She wanted to see Whitney first, but wasn’t surprised to find Nadine waiting in ambush at the first-level interior