Glory in Death - J. D. Robb [3]
It was just as well, as her ’link beeped instantly.
“Lieutenant.”
She bit back a sigh as she stared into Whitney’s wide, grim-eyed face. “Commander.”
“My office, now.”
There wasn’t time to close her mouth before the screen went blank.
The hell with it, she thought. She scrubbed her hands over her face, then through her short, choppy brown hair. There went any chance of checking her messages, of calling Roarke to let him know what she was into, or of the ten-minute catnap she’d been fantasizing about.
She rose again, worked out the kinks in her shoulders. She did take the time to remove her jacket. The leather had protected her shirt, but her jeans were still damp. Philosophically, she ignored the discomfort and gathered up what little data she had. If she was lucky, she might get another cup of cop coffee in the commander’s office.
It only took Eve about ten seconds to realize the coffee would have to wait.
Whitney wasn’t sitting behind his desk, as was his habit. He was standing, facing the single-wall window that gave him his personal view of the city he’d served and protected for more than thirty years. His hands were clasped behind his back, but the relaxed pose was negated by the white knuckles.
Eve briefly studied the broad shoulders, the grizzled dark hair, and the wide back of the man who had only months before refused the office of chief to remain in command here.
“Commander.”
“It’s stopped raining.”
Her eyes narrowed in puzzlement before she carefully made them blank. “Yes, sir.”
“It’s a good city all in all, Dallas. It’s easy to forget that from up here, but it’s a good city all in all. I’m working to remember that right now.”
She said nothing, had nothing to say. She waited.
“I made you primary on this. Technically, Deblinsky was up, so I want to know if she gives you any flak.”
“Deblinsky’s a good cop.”
“Yes, she is. You’re better.”
Because her brows flew up, she was grateful he still had his back to her. “I appreciate your confidence, Commander.”
“You’ve earned it. I overrode procedure to put you in control for personal reasons. I need the best, someone who’ll go to the wall and over it.”
“Most of us knew PA Towers, Commander. There isn’t a cop in New York who wouldn’t go to the wall and over it to find who killed her.”
He sighed, and the deep inhalation of air rippled through his thick body before he turned. For a moment longer he said nothing, only studied the woman he’d put in charge. She was slim, deceptively so, for he had reason to know she had more stamina than was apparent in that long, slender body.
She was showing some fatigue now, in the shadows under her whiskey colored eyes, in the pallor of her bony face. He couldn’t let that worry him, not now.
“Cicely Towers was a personal friend—a close personal friend.”
“I see.” Eve wondered if she did. “I’m sorry, Commander.”
“I knew her for years. We started out together, a hotdogging cop and an eager-beaver criminal lawyer. My wife and I are godparents to her son.” He paused a moment and seemed to fight for control. “I’ve notified her children. My wife is meeting them. They’ll stay with us until after the memorial.”
He cleared his throat, pressed his lips together. “Cicely was one of my oldest friends, and above and beyond my professional respect and admiration for her, I loved her very much. My wife is devastated by this; Cicely’s children are shattered. All I could tell them was that I would do everything, anything in my power to find the person who did this to her, to give her what she worked for most of her life: justice.”
Now he did sit, not with authority but with weariness. “I’m telling you this, Dallas, so that you know up front I have no objectivity on this case. None. Because