Glory in Death - J. D. Robb [115]
“I’d rather be dowdy and comfortable.” But she resisted tugging at her butt-molding skirt.
“Well.” He took her arm, eased her toward a shielding arborvitae. “Now that we’ve exchanged the obligatory small talk, I’d like to tell you you’ve done an excellent job on the investigation.”
“I bumped with Angelini.”
“No, you pursued a logical line, then you backtracked and found pieces others had missed.”
“The albino junkie was a fluke, sir. Just luck.”
“Luck counts. So does tenacity—and attention to detail. You cornered him, Dallas.”
“He’s still at large.”
“He won’t get far. His own ambition will help us find him. His face is known.”
Eve was counting on it. “Sir, Officer Peabody did fine work. She has a sharp eye and good instincts.”
“So you noted in your report. I won’t forget it.” When he glanced at his watch, she realized he was as edgy as she. “I promised Feeney a bottle of Irish whiskey if he broke it by midnight.”
“If that doesn’t do it, nothing will.” She put on a smile. There was no use reminding the chief that they hadn’t found the murder weapon in Morse’s apartment. He already knew.
When she spotted Marco Angelini step into the room, her shoulders stiffened. “Excuse me, Chief Tibble. There’s someone I have to speak to.”
He laid a hand on her arm. “It isn’t necessary, Dallas.”
“Yes, sir, it is.”
She knew the moment he became aware of her by the quick upward jut of his chin. He stopped, linked his hands behind his back, and waited.
“Mr. Angelini.”
“Lieutenant Dallas.”
“I regret the difficulties I caused you and your family during the investigation.”
“Do you?” His eyes were cool, unblinking. “Accusing my son of murder, subjecting him to terror and humiliation, bringing more grief upon already impossible grief, putting him behind bars when his only crime was witnessing violence?”
She could have justified her actions. She could have reminded him that his son had not only witnessed violence, but had turned away from it without a thought but to his own survival, and had compounded his crime by attempting to bribe his way out of involvement.
“I regret adding to your family’s emotional trauma.”
“I doubt if you understand the phrase.” He skimmed his eyes down. “And I wonder if, had you not been so busy enjoying your companion’s position, you might have caught the real murderer. It’s easy enough to see what you are. You’re an opportunist, a climber, a media whore.”
“Marco.” Roarke spoke softly as he laid a hand on Eve’s shoulder.
“No.” She went stiff under the touch. “Don’t defend me. Let him finish.”
“I can’t do that. I’m willing to take your state of mind into account, Marco, as the reason you would attack Eve in her own home. You don’t want to be here,” he said in an undertone of steel that indicated he was taking nothing into account. “I’ll show you out.”
“I know the way.” Marco’s eyes stabbed at Eve. “We’ll put our business association to an end as soon as possible, Roarke. I no longer trust your judgment.”
Hands balled into fists at her side, Eve trembled with fury as Marco strode away. “Why did you do that? I could have handled it.”
“You could have,” Roarke agreed, and turned her to face him. “But that was personal. No one, absolutely no one comes into our home and speaks to you that way.”
She tried to shrug it off. “Summerset does.”
Roarke smiled, touched his lips to hers. “The exception, for reasons too complicated to explain.” He rubbed away the frown line between her brows with his thumb.
“Okay. I guess I’m not going to be exchanging Christmas cards with the Angelinis.”
“We’ll learn to live with it. How about some champagne?”
“In a minute. I’m going to go freshen up.” She touched his face. It was getting easier to do that, to touch him when they weren’t alone. “I guess I ought to tell you that Mars has a recorder in her bag.”
Roarke gave the dent in her chin a quick flick. “She did. I have it in mine now, after I let her crowd me at the vegetarian table.”
“Very slick. You never mentioned pickpocketing as one of your skills.”
“You never asked.”
“Remind