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She went into her office, started the report.
“Must you?” Roarke said from the doorway.
“I want it done tonight. Over, like the year. I want it out of my head—much as I can manage. It won’t take long, just a summary since it’s all on the record.”
“Then I’ll be in your bullpen having a drink with your cops.”
She froze in place. “A drink? What do you mean, a drink?”
“They’re all of them off duty, by two hours now, I’d say. And someone who won’t be named happened to have a bottle of whiskey handy.”
“Feeney,” she hissed.
“You didn’t hear it from me. Make it snappy, will you, Lieutenant? I want this out of my head as well.”
She made it as snappy as she could, but even then it took more than an hour. He’d come back in by then, settled into her awful chair with his PPC.
“Done. Finished. Gone.”
“And my abused ass here thanks you.”
“How much did you drink?”
“We all had one, and that was enough. A bit of solidarity after the war, you could say. A bit of the strange, even after all this time with you, to find mys
elf in a cop shop, clicking a glass of Irish with a room of cops. Feeney’s going to want a bit of time with you.”
“What? Why?”
“He was shaken down to the soles of his feet, Eve. Christ. So you’ll have a meal with him, or a beer, whatever suits the pair of you, soon as you can.”
“Sure. Yeah.”
“And now, you don’t actually want to go to Times Square, do you?”
“No!” The horror of it all but exploded on her face. “Jesus.”
“Ah, thank all the gods for that.” He let out a long sigh as they stepped out into the garage. “I’ll tell you what I want to do when we get home.”
“It’s what you want to do all the time, anywhere.”
“It’s not till after midnight for that, however eager you are, so we start the new year off with good luck. What I want to do when we get home is get drunk with my wife. And watch the ball drop from the quiet of our own home, with the fire going and the cat sprawled out with us. And every bit of the insanity in this world outside and away from us.”
“I could get drunk.” She nodded at the idea as she got into the car. “Not a whole lot drunk, not just a tiny bit drunk. Just the right amount of drunk.”
“The perfect amount of drunk,” he agreed. “I need another minute.”
“What for?”
“Just this.”
Just holding her, just feeling her heart beat, smelling her hair. Just that.
His entire life was just that.
“All right now,” he murmured. “That’s all right now.”
“I was scared shitless. Usually you don’t have time to be scared—after you can think, holy shit, but not when it’s happening. But I had plenty of time in there. All my people, Roarke. I was so scared. And when I jumped, when I saw Reineke come out, fire, I thought of all those cops. And when I grabbed the switch, I thought of you. Just you.”
