The In Death Collection Books 21-25 - J. D. Robb [324]
“No. No,” she repeated and walked to his window. “Goddamn it, Feeney. He wants to slap at me for something I did or didn’t do on the job, something one of my squad did or didn’t, that’s okay. But to imply Roarke would use me, that I’d permit it, that’s over the line.”
“Have some almonds.”
She only shook her head.
Feeney dipped his fingers into the bowl of candied nuts on his desk. “Want my take?”
“I guess I do. I come pushing in here when you’re busy, I must need your take.”
“Then I’ll give it to you. I expect some of those honchos—and the lawyers who love them—have been stomping their feet, flapping their jaws. Complaining to the mayor, the chief. Mayor and chief give Whitney the word. He’s got to take the departmental line, give you the warning. Want my take on his personal line?”
“I guess I do.”
“I’ve known him a long time. If he had any genuine concerns in this area, he’d take you off the case. Period. By doing that, he’d cover his ass. Instead, he gave you the word, and he’s leaving his ass hanging out there.”
“Maybe.”
“Dallas?” He waited until she’d turned around. “You got any worries about Roarke on this?”
“No. Goddamn no.”
“You think I do, or that any member of the team currently working the case has any worries?”
The tightness in her chest eased a little. “No. But I’ve got to go to Roarke with this—even if I don’t share a single byte of data with him, I have to go to him with this. If you think I was pissed when I came in here, let me tell you, that was a sunny day at the beach.”
He shoved the bowl of nuts in her direction, and for a moment there was a touch of amusement on his hangdog face. “Marriage is a freaking minefield.”
“Fucking A.” But she relaxed a little, enough to sit on the corner of his desk and pluck up a few nuts. “Sorry.”
“Forget it. We go back a ways, too.”
“I don’t know how much you’ve got on your plate, but if you’ve got room for more I could sure use you on this.”
“I can probably clear a space. Me, I like a full plate.”
“Thanks. All around.”
With her temper defused, Eve headed back down to the conference room, where she found Peabody and Baxter deep into search mode and a mountainous pile of sandwiches. When she entered, Baxter kept his eyes on his screen, but Peabody risked a glance up. Obviously encouraged by what she saw on her partner’s face, she nodded toward the pile of food.
“Figured some hoagies would keep us going through this.”
“Fine.” Though her pissed level was down, so was her appetite. Eve culled out a pile of discs and took a comp unit. Moments later a mug of coffee appeared beside her elbow.
“Ah, also figured you’d want your own brew while we’re at this.”
“Thanks. I imagine you figured I’d share that brew and loaded the AC on that assumption.”
“Would that be an incorrect assumption?” Peabody smiled winningly.
“My assumption would be you’re already slurping it down.”
“Baxter slurps. I, however, sip delicately.”
Eve took a breath. “Listen. The commander wanted more than an update. He had some concerns—or some jerk has concerns—about Roarke being privy to some of this data, through me. Then using same to outswing competitors.”
“No wonder you were ready to kick the first available ass,” Peabody commented.
“Well.” Baxter paused long enough to scratch his cheek. “I’d guess Whitney said what he had to say, even knowing it was flammable bullshit. Must suck being brass.”
The last of Eve’s temper simply dwindled away. “Must. Let’s dig down into this fucking morass and find some goddamn gold.”
They dug for hours. Natalie Copperfield’s data files were organized and efficient, and gave them nothing.
“McNab said there were deletions.” Eve pushed back. “I’ve got what could be interpreted as lost time, or deletions in files. Little holes, if you look at them that way. You got a serious worker bee here.”
“Makes me feel like a slacker,” Peabody agreed, then pokered up. “Which, of course, I’m not. Being a detective, and a dedicated member