The In Death Collection Books 21-25 - J. D. Robb [628]
“This kind of work, the energy bottoms if you don’t keep it pumped. Take a break, get something to power up from Vending. Use a headset for a while.”
“I’m not even through the bloody B’s.”
“Long haul.” She nodded, offered him a soy chip from the open bag at her station. “Take it from me, move around some. Blood ends up in your ass this way, not that yours isn’t prime. But you want to get the blood back up in your head or your brain’s going to stall.”
She was right, he knew it himself. And still there was a part of him that wanted to snarl at her to mind her own and let him be. Instead he pushed back from the station. “Want something from Vending, then?”
“Surprise me, as long as it’s wet and bubbly.”
It did feel good to be on his feet, to move, to step away from the work and the noise.
When he walked out, he noted cops breezing along, others in confabs in front of vending machines. A man, laughing wildly, was quick-marched along by a couple of burly uniforms. He didn’t rate even a glance from the others in the corridors.
The place smelled of very bad coffee, he thought, old sweat, and someone’s overly powerful and very cheap perfume.
Christ Jesus, he could’ve used a single gulp of fresh air.
He selected a jumbo fizzy for Callendar, then just stood, staring at his choices. There was absolutely nothing there he wanted. He bought a water, then took out his ’link and made a call.
When he turned, he saw Mira walking toward him. There, he decided, was the closest thing to fresh air he was likely to experience inside the cop maze of Central.
“I didn’t realize you were still here,” he said.
“I went home, couldn’t settle. I sent Dennis off to have dinner with our daughter, and came back to do some paperwork.” She glanced down at the enormous fizzy in his hand, smiled a little. “That doesn’t strike me as your usual choice of beverage.”
“It’s for one of the e-cops.”
“Ah. This is difficult for you.”
“Bloody tedious. I’d sooner sweat a year running an airjack than work a week as a cop.”
“That, yes, not at all the natural order for you. But I meant being used this way, and not knowing why, or by whom.”
“It’s maddening,” he admitted. “I was thinking a bit ago that I don’t know the bulk of these women we’re trying to contact. They’re just cogs in the wheel, aren’t they?”
“If that’s all they were to you, you wouldn’t be here. I could tell you that you’re responsible for none of what’s happened, or may happen to someone else. But you know that already. Feeling it, that’s a different matter.”
“It is,” he agreed. “That it is. What I want is a target, and there isn’t one. Yet.”
“You’re used to having the controls, and taking the actions, or certainly directing them.” She touched a sympathetic hand to his arm. “Which is exactly what you’re doing now, though it may seem otherwise. And that’s why I’m here, too. Hoping Eve will give me some job to do.”
“Want a fizzy?”
She laughed. “No, but thanks.”
They walked in together, then separated as Roarke went back to his station and Mira crossed to Eve.
“Give me an assignment,” Mira said. “Anything.”
“We’re contacting these women.” Eve explained the list, the approach, then gave Mira a list of names.
Wearing black-tie, he settled into his box in the Grand Tier of the Metropolitan Opera House. He richly anticipated the performance of Rigoletto. His newest partner was secured and sleeping. As for Gia…well, he didn’t want to spoil his evening dwelling on that disappointment.
He would end that project tomorrow, and he would move on.
But tonight was for the music, the voices, the lights, and the drama. He knew he would take all of that home with him, relive it, reexperience it while he sipped a brandy in front of the fire.
Tomorrow, he would stop the clock.
But now, he would sit, tingling with pleasure, while the orchestra tuned up.
He ordered a freaking deli, was all Eve could think when the food began to roll in. There were trays and trays of meats, bread, cheese, side salads, sweets. Added to it, she saw two huge bags—distinctly gold—of the coffee