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"Let me thank you."
She hadn't expected it. She'd been prepared for anger, for accusations. "Why did you push him that way? Why did you keep trying to trip him up? How can you be so hard?"
And what she got was Peabody's shaky gratitude and unhappy eyes. Eve rubbed her hands over her face, closed her eyes. "God."
"I know why you were rough on him this round. I know how much stronger his story is because you were. I was afraid…" She had to suck in breaths, one at a time. "Once I got my head clear, I was afraid you'd give him room, go soft—the way I would. But you hammered him. So, thanks."
"My pleasure." Eve let her hands drop. "He's not going down for this. You can hold onto that."
"I know. Because I'm holding onto you."
"Don't do that." Eve bit off the words and turned away. "Don't."
"I've got to get this out. My family's the most important thing I've got. Just because I don't live close doesn't mean we aren't close. After them comes the job." She sniffled, rubbed a hand impatiently under her nose. "You're the job."
"No, I'm not."
"Yeah, you are, Dallas. You're everything that's right about the job. And you're the best thing that's happened to me since I picked up my badge. I'm holding onto you because I know I can."
Eve's heart quivered. The backs of her eyes burned. "I don't have time to stand here and get sloppy with you." She strode to the door, stopping briefly to tap a finger on Peabody's chest. "Officer Peabody, you're out of uniform."
As the door swung closed behind Eve, Peabody glanced down and saw the third button on her uniform jacket was hanging by a thread. McNab, she realized, hadn't quite torn it off.
"Oh hell." She swore again, viciously, and ripped the button free.
There was a manic dance troupe doing a foot-stomping jig inside Eve's head. She gave a passing thought to rooting out a pain blocker. Then she walked into her office and saw Roarke.
He sat in her ratty chair in his elegant suit. His equally elegant overcoat hung on her ugly coat rack. His eyes were clear, his voice smooth and alert, as he conducted whatever kind of business a man like him conducted at eleven o'clock at night.
On principle, she rapped a fist against the supple Italian shoes currently making themselves at home on the top of her desk. She didn't budge them, but she made her point.
"I'll have to get back to you on the details." His gaze skimmed over Eve. His sharp eyes saw everything. The fatigue, the headache, the simmering emotions held ruthlessly in check. "I have a meeting."
He disconnected, lazily swung his feet to the floor. "Sit down, Lieutenant."
"This is my office. I give the orders here."
"Um-hmm." He rose to go to her AutoChef, and knowing she'd complain, programmed it for broth rather than coffee.
"There was no point in your waiting."
"Of course not."
"You might as well go home. I'm not sure when I'll get there. I'll just bunk here."
In a pig's eye, Roarke thought, but simply turned and handed her the broth.
"I want coffee."
"You're such a big girl now. You must know you can't have everything you want." He moved past her to the door, shut it just as she bristled at him.
"What I don't need, in here, is a smart mouth."
He winged up a brow. "Are you having yours removed? I'm so fond of it."
"I can have two gorillas in uniform in here in thirty seconds. It would make their night to toss you out on your excellent ass."
He sat in her spare chair, stretched out his legs as far as the cramped room would allow, and studied her face. "Sit down, Eve, and drink your broth."
