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“When it makes you sad or discouraged, and it will, this process as you call it, think of Peabody in that shower stall, trapped, while two people who’ve exploited their badges to line their own pockets discuss the business of murder.”
She sat in silence for a couple blocks. “That was well put,” she said after a while. “Succinct, and all that. And good advice. Then there’s Keener. He was probably a schmuck, almost certainly a very bad guy, but he’s mine now. And the cop who left him choking on his own vomit in that filthy tub? He’s going to be mine, too, right up until I slam the cage door on him.”
Roarke had barely braked in front of the house when Peabody rushed out.
“You found him.”
“First stop,” Eve confirmed. “Luck of the draw. It’s all on record, and the scene’s being monitored.”
“Set up like an OD?”
“Yes. It corroborates your statement.”
“I don’t know whether to be relieved or sorry,” Peabody said as McNab ran a hand down her back. Strain shadowed her eyes, leeched her color.
“Be neither. Acknowledge it, then move on. We’ll have plenty to deal with in the morning. Get some sleep. Take the room you usually take when you flop here.”
“You’re not going to contact Whitney?”
“It’s nearly three in the morning, but you’re free to wake him now if you’re in a hurry.”
“No, that’s okay. Ha. A little sleep would be good.”
“Then go get some.” To make a point, Eve started up the stairs.
“Is there anything you need tonight?” Roarke asked them.
“No.” McNab took Peabody’s hand, gave it a squeeze. “We’re set.”
Roarke leaned down, kissed Peabody’s brow. “Then sleep well.”
He followed Eve into the bedroom, closed the door as she took off her weapon harness. The strain showed in her, he noted, as it had in Peabody. A rub on the back, a hand held might help a bit. But he knew what would shift her mind, at least briefly.
“You owe me makeup sex, but I’m happy to take your marker.”
As he’d expected, she scowled at him. “Why do I owe the makeup sex?”
“Because you were partially sorry first.”
She narrowed her eyes as she sat to pull off her boots. “That just means you lagged behind in the partially sorries. I think that means you owe me. I’ll take your marker.”
“I might agree with that, on the condition that your part of said agreement includes the far-famed sexwear.” He watched her pull an oversized NYPSD T-shirt over her head. “Which I’m hoping that isn’t.”
“I can agree to those terms.” She climbed into bed.
“Then it’s a date.” He slid in beside her, wrapped her against him.
“I have to program the alarm.”
“What time?”
“Ah, I’m going to contact Whitney at six-hundred sharp. I should probably give myself an hour to prepare.”
“Five then. Don’t worry. I’ll wake you.”
Trusting he would, she closed her eyes.
She’d have sworn five minutes passed when she woke to the seductive scent of coffee. She slitted her eyes open and saw him.
