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“Anyway, he went that color, and I’m pretty sure he was going to give me a shove. Then O’Brian came up, got in front of him.”
“That was enough?”
“He said, ‘Remember where you are, Dak. Don’t shame our Ammy, or the rest of your squad.’ Clifton said it was a couple of homicide bitches trying to shame the squad. But he backed off, walked away. Then O’Brian apologized for him, with the sad eyes and father demeanor.”
Eve grunted, and walked straight into the locker room. “Interesting. Interesting dynamics over there.” She thought it through as she undressed.
“O’Brian’s the father figure. The oldest, the most experienced. The rest of them look to him, even before they look to the lieutenant. He has them over for barbecues and—what do you call them—potluck dinners.”
Eve sat to remove the hard black shoes. “Newman, he’s the average joe, just your roll-with-it guy. The one you have a brew with after shift. Keeps his head down, and his mouth mostly shut. Direct opposite of Clifton. Hothead, short fuse, bad attitude. He likes using the badge or his fists to push people around.”
“Well, so do you. Kind of.”
“Yeah, so do I. But for me it’s a nice by-product. With him it’s the priority. Rules and regs, screw that. If you’re going through a door, he’s the one who’s got to go first. His control button’s faulty. The rest of them keep an eye on him, talk him down. But sooner or later . . .” She shook her head. “That short fuse is going to blow.”
Eve hung up her uniform, stowed the shoes, then began to dress. “Grady? She’s smart enough to use the fact she’s got tits when it works for her, and to forget them when it won’t. She’s ambitious, and you can bet she knows how to work everyone else in the squad.”
“She wants the boss’s chair?”
Eve glanced around. “Maybe, but she’s not working as hard for it as I’d expect. But she seems to like being in the small pond. As for the lieutenant, he’s a steady-as-it-goes type. Sticks mostly with the paperwork. Stands for his men, and I can’t fault him there, but Jesus, he’s going to complain to Whitney about how I’m doing my job. That’s weak. It’s fucking weak to go to command like that. You don’t have a strong squad if the helm’s weak.”
Peabody sighed as she buttoned her shirt. “It’s going to be one of them, isn’t it?”
“That’s my money. Maybe more than one of them.” Eve checked her wrist unit. “Callendar and Sisto should dock in about twelve hours. I put Webster’s report on your unit. Read it. Roarke’s got something, so I’m going to talk to him. Then maybe we’ll see if we can invite Alex Ricker down for some conversation.”
“He’ll be neck-deep in lawyers.”
“And won’t that be fun?”
“Like a barrel of rabid monkeys. Oh, Nadine came by. She didn’t bring a crew,” Peabody said quickly. “It was a sympathy call. Genuine. She couldn’t stay, and you were busy, so she said she’d see you tomorrow.”
“About what?”
“Dallas. The shower’s tomorrow. Louise’s shower.”
“Oh.” Crap. “Right.”
“We’ll be by around two to set things up.”
“What things?”
“Stuff.”
“If I can light a fire under . . .” Peabody’s face turned kicked-puppy pitiful. “All right, all right.” No point in pulling out her hair, Eve thought. Just no point. “You set up whatever, and let me know when it’s done. I can work until.”
Maybe longer than until, Eve thought as she headed out, if Callendar came through. It was probably too much to hope for, but it helped to think she might be slapping restraints on Ricker’s contact instead of watching a bunch of women coo over some stupid shower present. Besides . . .
“Oh shit, oh shit, stupid shower present!”
Now she did pull her hair as she made the dash to her office.
Roarke sat in her visitor’s chair, comforta
bly involved with his PPC. He glanced up, let loose a regretful sigh. “You changed. And I didn’t have any time to ogle you in uniform.”
“I have to go shopping!”
Staring at her, Roarke pressed his fingertips to his temple. “I’m sorry, I believe I must have had a small stroke. What did you say?”
