The In Death Collection Books 6-10 - J. D. Robb [535]
“I’ve got more important things on my mind than your ego, McNab.” She took a deliberate sip of coffee. “Like my semiannual dentist appointment.”
“Why don’t you save up your lame insults until you have a better selection? They don’t work. I’ve had you under me.”
And over him, she thought. Around and through. “Had’s the operative word. Past tense.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s how it is.”
He stepped closer, pulled the cup out of her hand, slammed it down. “Why?”
Her heart began to pound. Damn it, she wasn’t supposed to feel anything. “Because that’s the way I want it.”
“Why?”
“Because if I hadn’t been rolling around with you, I’d have been with Zeke. If I’d been with him, I wouldn’t have just told my parents my lieutenant is trying to clear him on murder charges.”
“That’s not your fault. It’s not mine.” Her breath had begun to hitch, unnerving him. He was mortally afraid she might cry. “It’s on the Bransons. And Dallas isn’t going to let him take the heat from it. Get a hold here, Dee.”
“I should’ve been with him! I should’ve been with him, not you.”
“You were with me.” He took her arms, gave her a quick, surprising shake. “You can’t change that. And I want you with me again. Damn it, Dee, I’m not done.”
He was kissing her, with all the helpless rage and lust and confusion that roared through him. She made some little sound, a sound caught between despair and relief. And was kissing him with all the vivid fury and need and bafflement that pumped inside her.
Eve walked in, stopped dead in her tracks. “Oh, jeez.”
They were too busy trying to swallow each other to hear her.
“Man.” She pressed her fingers to her eyes, half hoping they’d disappear before she lowered them. No such luck. “Break it up.” She jammed her hands in her pockets and tried to ignore the inarguable fact that McNab’s hands were clamped on her aide’s ass.
“I said break it up!”
The shout got through. They leaped apart as if someone had snapped a spring between them. McNab hit a chair, knocked it over, then stared at Eve as if he’d never seen her before.
“Oh. Whoa.”
“Clamp it shut,” Eve warned him. “Not a word out of you. Sit down, shut up. Peabody, damn it to hell and back again. Why don’t I have my coffee?”
“Coffee.” Eyes dazed, blood screaming, Peabody blinked. “Coffee?”
“Now.” Eve pointed to the AutoChef, then made a show of looking at her wrist unit. “You are now on duty. Anything that happened here before this mark was on your own time. Is that clear?”
“Uh-huh, you bet. Listen, Lieutenant—”
“Zip it, McNab,” she ordered him. “I don’t want any discussion, any explanations, any verbal pictures drawn of activities pursued on your own time.”
“Your coffee, sir.” Peabody set it down, shot McNab a look of dire warning.
“Lab reports?”
“I’ll check on them now.” Relieved, Peabody hurried to a chair.
Feeney came in. The bags under his eyes were in danger of drooping past his nose. Seeing him, Peabody got up again, ordered more coffee.
He sat, nodded absently in thanks. “The emergency teams managed to clear down to the site of the last explosion, Malloy’s last known location.” He cleared his throat, lifted his cup, drank. “The shield appeared to be in place, but the blast took it out. They said it would have been over quick.”
No one spoke for a moment; then Eve got to her feet. “Lieutenant Malloy was a good cop. That’s the best I can say about anybody. She died doing her job and trying to give her men time to reach safety. It’s our job to find the people responsible for her death and take them down.”
She opened the file she’d brought in, took out two photos, and moved to the boards to fix them in place.
“Clarissa Branson, aka Charlotte Rowan. B. Donald Branson. We don’t stop,” Eve said, turning, with eyes bright and cold. “We don’t rest until these two people are in a cage or dead. Labs, Peabody. McNab, I want the report on Monica Rowan’s ’link. Feeney, I need Zeke in interview one more time. Maybe if you