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Release gushed through her, a flood that scorched her system. Floundering, she dug her fingers into the rug, tried to find some anchor to hold her. But she was flying, catapulted out of control.

And still he wouldn’t stop.

Couldn’t stop.

The small, mad sounds she made inflamed him, whipped his already crazed blood into a fever of greed. Every gulp of air he took in was full of her, the hot, sharp taste of woman. His.

His mouth raced up her shuddering body, feasted on her breasts while he plunged his fingers into her.

She came again, brutally, and her shocked cry was a dark thrill to him, the sudden bite of her nails on his back a vicious pleasure.

“Say it. Say it back to me,” he demanded while his breath heaved, while he watched her eyes go blind as he pushed her to the edge yet again. “Damn it, I’ll hear it from you.”

Somehow, through the madness ruling her, she understood. Not surrender, even after this, it wasn’t surrender he asked for. But acceptance. Her throat burned, her system screamed to mate. As she opened for him, lifted to him, she fumbled out the Gaelic.

“Mine,” was what she said. “You’re mine, too.” And her mouth rose to his as he drove himself inside her.

She lay beneath him, enervated, stupefied. Her ears were ringing, making it impossible to think. She wanted to find herself in this body that had responded so primitively. But more, she simply wanted to wallow in the echoes of sensations that still rippled through her.

When he shifted, she would have rolled to her stomach, the position she assumed when exhaustion ruled. But he plucked her off the floor, into his arms. “We’re not done yet.”

Leaving the wreckage of her office behind, he carried her out, and took her to bed.

When she woke, light was streaming through the sky window, her body pulsed with a thousand sly aches. And he was gone.

She lay where she was, on a bed that had been well used, on sheets that were tangled to ropes, and let the tug-of-war between shame and pleasure play out inside her. Nothing was resolved, she realized. Nothing was balanced. She rose, went in to shower wondering if they’d fixed anything or only damaged it further.

She managed to dress for the day without once meeting her own eyes in the mirror. Her harness and weapon were on the table in the sitting area. Wondering when he’d put them there, she strapped it on.

And with her weapon in place, she felt steadier. Or did until she walked into her office and found Peabody staring at the carnage.

“Ah . . . some party,” Peabody said.

“We had an incident.” Eve kicked the broken lamp aside, strode directly to her desk. Her only goal at that moment was to stay in charge. “I have information that needs to be considered in the investigation. Sit down.”

Peabody cleared her throat, righted a chair. It was the first time in her memory her lieutenant had started a morning briefing without a cup of coffee in her hand. But Peabody sat, took out her memo book.

“An IAB operation has come to my attention,” Eve began, and told her aide what she needed to know.

When she was done, Peabody set her book on her knee. “If I can offer an opinion, sir, that sucks.”

“Your opinion is noted and agreed with.”

“They’ve been impeding two homicide investigations by withholding pertinent data. Even IAB doesn’t have that right.”

“No, they don’t, and I’m going to deal with it. In the meantime, I’d like you to contact Dr. Mira and request that our consult be moved here. I don’t want IAB catching any scent. Call McNab in. I want a harder, closer look at the list from the One twenty-eight, and I want that done here, too. Until we’ve worked out the feeding chain, officially, we give Internal Affairs nothing.”

“So much for solidarity,” Peabody muttered. “Those rat bastards.”

“Put your personal feelings aside. Cops are being murdered. We can’t afford the indulgence of resentment.” But she felt it, deep and dark inside her. “I want to inform Whitney of this new information in person. I’ll be back within two hours