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IT TOOK TOO LONG, HAD TOO MANY WORDS, far too many cameras. She could tune some of that out. The speeches, the media, the politics didn’t count, not in the long run.
But she allowed herself to touch her fingertips—just the slightest brush—to Roarke’s as Whitney called him up. What mattered was the sheen of pride in Sinead’s eyes, and yeah, even the glint of it in Summerset’s. The unmistakable satisfaction on Feeney’s face, the unified acknowledgment from her division.
The acceptance by the people in her world for the man who meant everything.
“It’s my privilege to present to you the New York City Police and Security Department’s highest civilian honor with gratitude for your invaluable assistance, your contribution, and your valor. You hold no badge, you have no sworn duty, and yet you have given your time, resources, and skills, you have risked and incurred physical harm in the pursuit of justice for the people of New York. Today, we thank you and we honor you for that contribution.”
Did it surprise him that they stood for him? Eve wondered. The uniforms, the detectives, the brass, the rank and file and the bosses of NYPSD? He was so accustomed to power, to position, to holding a room of people in the palm of his hand. But yes, she thought, it surprised him when they all rose to their feet.
And she had no doubt he considered the irony of it all.
The Dublin street rat, the slick and slippery thief who’d spent most of his life outwitting and evading cops now had them standing for him.
“I thank you, all, for this honor. But it’s been my privilege to work with New York’s very finest, to come to know the men and women who serve. And more, to come to understand their dedication, their courage, and their sacrifice. You call it duty, but from what I’ve seen it’s more than that. It’s who and what you are. I’m grateful to have any part of that.”
When he stepped back Eve broke her dignified cop face long enough to grin at him as he stood with the brass for the quick photos.
“Nice,” she murmured when he stepped back beside her.
“So it was. The room would enjoy it if you kissed me now.”
“No.” She might have laughed, but she understood he was perfectly serious. “Firm on that.”
She put the dignified face back in place as Whitney began to speak again.
“We take an oath to protect and serve,” Whitney began. “Every cop takes that oath, accepts that duty. A good cop does more than accept duty, but lives it. Lieutenant Eve Dallas is a good cop. Today she receives the NYPSD’s Medal of Honor, the highest honor given. It is never given lightly.
“The certification specifically addresses the Red Horse investigation, where under the lieutenant’s lead, through her dogged pursuit, her clear-eyed leadership, and her keen skill, Lewis Callaway and Gina MacMillon were identified, apprehended, and will face trial for mass murder and domestic terrorism.”
Applause rippled through the auditorium at that. Eve was tempted to join in—to applaud justice—but knew better.
“This successful investigation saved countless lives,” Whitney continued. “But it doesn’t tell the whole story. Throughout her career, from her very beginnings in uniform, Lieutenant Dallas has displayed the skill, the dedication, and the valor that merit this honor. For that, for the dozen years, for all the cases, all the risks, the sacrifices, for justice served, it’s my professional and personal pleasure to award the Medal of Honor to Lieutenant Eve Dallas. A good cop.”
It was those three words that got her. A good cop. For her that was the highest accolade, the most important tribute she could earn. She had to fight back the emotion that flooded through her—good cops didn’t choke up—as she stepped forward.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Not this time.” He pinned the medal on her, shook her hand. “Thank you, Lieutenant, for your exemplary service.”
He nearly did her in by stepping back, saluting.
She could take a minute, while the crowd stood and applauded, take a minute to pull herself together. And remember what she’d planned to say. Except she couldn’t remember a damn thing.
“Okay,” she managed, hoping that would settle everyone down, including herself. But they just kept going. She glanced toward Kyung for help. And he only gave her a smile, an elegant shrug.
“Okay,” she said again, and as she took another breath, spotted Nixie again.
The young girl stood on her chair so she could see, smiling now. Kevin, the boy she’d be raised with, stood on the chair beside her. Richard and Elizabeth flanked them.
And they were all a part of this, she thought. Richard and Elizabeth, who’d lost their daughter; Kevin, whose junkie mother had deserted him; Nixie, whose entire family had been slaughtered.
And Jamie in the back of the room, once a grieving and defiant kid determined to avenge his sister’s murder.
All of them, and so many more.
“Okay,” she said a third time. “Okay, thanks. I’m … honored and grateful to be awarded this distinction. I’m honored to be part of the NYPSD, and to work with so many good cops. To be commanded by one, to have been trained by one, to partner with one, to head a department with many really good cops. And to have the brain and the canniness, I guess, of a civilian who’d make a pretty good cop himself if he wasn’t so opposed to it.”
That got enough of a laugh to settle her down. “This distinction is theirs as much as mine. Probably more. You don’t close cases without someone having your back, or trusting the cop—or the civilian—going through the door with you.
