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“He is, as I am. Ten minutes,” Kyung promised, “less if I can manage it. I will get you out and away. My word on it.”
She scowled, then reminded herself Kyung wasn’t an asshole. “Ten. Tops.”
“Done.” Kyung pulled open the door to the staging area at the back of the auditorium.
Already too many people, she thought, tripping straight over to cranky. The mayor, the entourage, Tibble, a couple of uniforms, Whitney—and a couple of Trina types bustling around dabbing crap on faces or fiddling with hair.
When one aimed for her, Eve just bared her teeth. “Touch me with any of that, you’ll be eating it.”
Tibble stepped over, shook hands with Eve, then Roarke. “This is very well deserved, on both counts. I’ll speak to this in my remarks, but I want to say to you personally the NYPSD and the City of New York are fortunate to have you as one of their own, Lieutenant.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“And you,” he said to Roarke. “We’re grateful for the time, effort, and expertise you contribute.”
“You’re more than welcome for it.”
“And I think it’s safe to say that the time spent on acknowledgments such as this, however well earned, is something you’d both rather devote to work. But it’s important for the department and the city to make the acknowledgment.”
“Understood, sir, and appreciated.”
“Appreciated more, I expect, if we can keep it brief.” He gave them a nod, s
tepped off, had a word with Kyung.
Even as the mayor spotted them, which Eve knew could mean an endless blather, Kyung gently tapped his shoulder, gestured toward the door leading to the auditorium stage.
“Here we go,” Eve murmured.
They filed out. When she faced the auditorium, Eve had to order herself not to gape.
Not only was every seat filled, but people stood in the back, along the side walls.
She’d expected to see Nadine, no crime beat reporter would miss the moment. She hadn’t expected Mavis, Leonardo, even the baby. Who the hell told them? She spotted her entire division, Mira, Feeney, McNab. Jesus, she thought, who was chasing bad guys?
And there, Charles, Morris, Caro, Reo.
She watched Jamie Lingstrom slide in the doors. Feeney’s godson, an e-ace who wanted to be a cop, had longer hair than the last time she’d seen him.
“It’s the family,” Roarke said quietly.
“What?”
“The family. They’re here.”
She followed his gaze, found his aunt Sinead, his uncles, grandmother, cousins, and God knew. And Summerset. He’d arranged it, Eve realized. Letting Roarke think they were coming in later, but bringing them for this.
For pride, for family. Hell, it did matter, she thought when she saw Sinead beaming. All of it mattered.
She started to say something to Roarke as the mayor approached the podium, then spotted another face in the crowd.
Nixie Swisher. Face sober, eyes steady. She didn’t smile, just continued to give Eve the serious, even stare. In the stare Eve read something she hadn’t considered.
This was for her, too—for Nixie. For all the victims, all the survivors. For every one of the dead she’d ever stood for, or would stand for.
So it mattered. All of it mattered.
19
