Ceremony in Death - J. D. Robb [85]
It would be tough to sell the PA on religious contributions as extortion, but it might be a start.
“With Wineburg’s name linked to Cross’s cult, I can pull her into Interview. I think we’ll make it, say, around eleven thirty.”
“You’ve got the spot with Nadine at eleven forty-five.”
“Yeah.” Eve’s smile spread. “That’ll work.”
“Oh.”
“It’s not my fault if some big-nosed reporter finds out I’m questioning Selina Cross, knows I’m primary on two recent homicides, then puts two and two together.”
“And goes on air with it.”
“Might shake up some of these fine, upstanding Satanists. Some people get real chatty when they’re shook. Get me that data, and I can shake them harder.”
“I bow to you.”
“Save it until we see if it works. You use this unit. I can use one of Roarke’s to make the first pass. Computer, copy disc, print out hard copy.” She glanced up at the movement in the doorway, went very still. “Abort,” she murmured and braced to take the next hit from Feeney.
“Peabody.” He sent her a quiet look out of sleep-starved eyes. “I need a moment with your lieutenant.”
“Sir?” Though she rose, Peabody waited for Eve’s signal.
“Take a break, Peabody. Get yourself some coffee.”
“Yes, sir.” She headed out, feeling the needles of edgy tension prickling the air.
Eve didn’t speak, simply stood. Her body was set, he noted, not to defend, but to absorb the next blow. Her eyes were carefully empty. But her hand that she braced on the desk shook. He stared at it a moment, amazed and ashamed that he’d caused that.
“Your, ah, Summerset said I should just come up.” It was warm in the room, but he didn’t remove his rumpled overcoat. Instead, he shoved his hands in the pockets. “I was off yesterday. Coming down on you was off. You were doing your job.”
He saw her lip tremble, as if she would speak or make some sound. Then she firmed it again and said nothing. She looked, he realized, whipped.
“You broke her heart.”
“Her father beat her, tortured her, raped her.”
“You’ve been her father for ten years.”
How the hell was he supposed to deal with that? And how could he possibly ignore it?
“The things I said—I shouldn’t have.” He pulled his hands free to scrub them hard over his face. “Jesus, Dallas. I’m sorry.”
“Did you mean them?” It was out before she could stop it. She held up a hand, turned away, stared blindly out the window.
“I wanted to mean them. I was pissed.” He crossed to her, his hands flapping uselessly. “I got no excuse,” he began. He touched her, then snatched his fingers away from her shoulder when she cringed. “I got no excuse,” he said again after a steadying breath. “And you got a right to step back from me. I jumped hard where I shouldn’t have jumped.”
“You don’t trust me now.” She skimmed the back of her hand over her cheek, ashamed the single tear had gotten past her guard.
“That’s bullshit, Dallas. There’s nobody I trust more. Look, goddamn it, it takes a laser hit to get me to apologize to my own wife. I’m telling you I’m sorry.” Impatient now, he grabbed her arm, pulled her around. She froze. Her eyes were bright, tears sheening them but not, thank Christ, falling. “Don’t go female on me, Dallas. I can’t kick myself in the ass much harder than I already am.”
He jerked up his chin, tapped a finger on it. “Go ahead. Free shot. We won’t say anything about you punching out a superior officer.”
“I don’t want to hit you.”
“Goddamn it, I outrank you. I said take your shot.”
A ghost of a smile flitted around her mouth. He looked so fierce, she thought, those drooping camel eyes sparking with temper and frustration. “Maybe after you shave. That stubble’d skin my knuckles.”
Relief flooded through him at the slight curve of her lips. “You’re going soft. Living the high life with that rich Irish son of a bitch.”
“I beat hell out of a sparring droid last night. One of Roarke’s finest.”
“Yeah?” Pride swelled in him, ridiculously.
She tucked her tongue in her cheek. “I pretended it was you.”
He grinned, took out the bag of candied almonds from his pocket, offered it. “E-detectives