J. Robb: New York to Dallas

Now he was hers.

She took his hands, felt the shape of his wedding ring against her palm. “It’s a long story.”

“We’ll make time for it.”

“Later.” She shrugged it off. “You’re right. This is more than a formality. It’s important for Peabody, and for Detective Strong. The moment’s more than the medal, and a hell of a lot more than the boring speech. They earned it.”

“And you, Lieutenant.”

She spoke her earlier thoughts. “I did the job.”

She walked with him to the door. It opened even as she reached for it. Peabody’s main squeeze, Ian McNab, stood, not in the usual wild colors and patterns of the fashionable e-geek, but in spiffy dress blues. He’d even tucked his long tail of blond hair under the cap.

He said, “Hey, Dallas, looking tight. Roarke, glad you made it.” “Ian, I barely recognize you. You look very official.”

“Gotta do what you gotta. The shoes bite.”

“So I hear.”

“I swung in to let you know they decided to move the deal outside, front steps of Central.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Understanding glinted in his green eyes. “The mayor wanted more exposure for the cops that took down Renee Oberman’s ring, and for himself if you ask me. You figure it’s going to get another big bounce in the media. Good cops against bad cops and all that. Anyway, Peabody’s at her desk.” He jerked a thumb over his skinny shoulder. “With her head between her knees. Maybe you could smooth her out so she doesn’t boot when the mayor pins the medal on her.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.”

She strode out, long and lanky in the uniform, into the bullpen, and over to Peabody’s desk.

“Pull yourself together, Detective. You’re embarrassing yourself, and more important, you’re embarrassing me.”

“They’re going to do it outside. In public.”

“So the fuck what?”

“Public,” Peabody said, head still between her knees.

“You’re being honored by this department and this city for having the integrity, the courage, and the skill to take out a blight on this department and this city. Dirty, murdering, greedy, treacherous cops are sitting in cages right now because you had that integrity, courage, and skill. I don’t care if they do this damn thing in Grand Central, you will get on your feet. You will not puke, pass out, cry like a baby, or squeal like a girl. That’s a goddamn order.”

“I had more of a ‘Relax, Peabody, this is a proud moment’ sort of speech in mind,” McNab murmured to Roarke.

Roarke shook his head, grinned. “Did you now? You’ve a bit to learn yet, haven’t you?”

“Sir.” With an audible gulp, Peabody got to her feet.

“Jesus, you’re green and sweaty. Go splash some cold water on your face.”

“ ’Kay.”

“Peabody. Damn it, you earned this. So suck it up, straighten up, and take what you earned with some pride. If you can’t do it out of pride, then do it out of fear, because I swear to God I’ll kick your ass hard and I’ll kick it long if you—”

She broke off as she spotted movement, saw the faces. She thought, Crap .

“Don’t let us interrupt,” Phoebe Peabody said with a breezy smile.

“Mom?” Despite the direct order, Peabody squealed like a girl. “Dad. You came! You came all the way to New York.”

She launched herself at them, jumped up and down in their arms in her uniform shoes.

“We ran into traffic or we’d have been here sooner.” Sam Peabody closed his dreamy gray eyes and hugged his daughter hard. “Everybody sends love. We wanted to deliver it.”

“You’re here. You’re here.”

“Where else would we be?” Phoebe tipped Peabody’s face back, and her pretty face went soft as silk. “Look at my sweet girl. My sweet, brave girl. We’re so proud of you.”

“Don’t, don’t. You’ll make me cry, and I’m not allowed to. Under orders.”

“So we heard.” Tossing back her long, dark hair Phoebe stepped over, gave Eve a hug and a kiss on the cheek. The quick laugh said Phoebe knew the display of affection embarrassed Eve. “You look formidable in uniform. And sexy. Doesn’t she, Sam?”

“She does.”

She got another hug and kiss, right in her own bullpen. Free-Agers, she thought, they just had to spread the love.

She could only sigh with relief when they turned their attention to McNab and Roarke.

“They never wanted me to be a cop,” Peabody said quietly, and drew Eve’s attention. “They love me, and they wanted me safe and home. But they love me, and they let me go. They came to see me get this commendation. I won’t puke or pass out.”

“Good. Take off after the ceremony, spend some time with them.”

“But McQueen—”

“Not our case. Yet. Take the time, Peabody. Things could be bad for a while, so take the good while you’ve got the chance.”

She stood on the steps of Central in air damp and steamy from the morning storm. Maybe she’d have preferred a more private venue for the ceremony—less media, less fuss—but Peabody deserved the moment. As did Detective Strong, who stood with them, braced on crutches.

They’d pulled the crowd the mayor hoped for with plenty of reporters, fellow cops, family, the simply curious. She let the boring speeches roll over her while she scanned.

Nadine Furst, of course, front and center with the media corps. She wouldn’t miss the story, or stint on friendship. She saw Mira, dressed in one of her lovely suits, and reminded herself to speak to the department’s top profiler and shrink about Julie and Tray.

Peabody’s parents, holding hands. Mavis, her oldest friend, stood with them, along with her husband and baby.

She hadn’t expected them. Apparently playing down this whole medal business hadn’t worked. Obviously, she thought, as she spotted Crack—hard to miss a giant, tattooed black guy with feathers hanging from his ears. And beside him stood Charles, the slick former licensed companion along with his new bride, the dedicated Dr. Louise Dimatto.

She felt a flutter of mild horror as she watched Trina elbow her way up to Mavis, nuzzle baby Bella, then shoot Eve a narrowed, critical look.

Jesus, it wasn’t as if anybody could even see her hair under the cap. Anybody but Trina, she decided. She suspected the hair-and-skin tech had X-ray vision.

Eve looked away, found Roarke, decided she felt more comfortable looking at him.

Who wouldn’t?

Then she experienced sheer shock as she was damn sure she caught a glimpse of a bony figure in black. Summerset, Roarke’s majordomo, pain in her ass, walking cadaver, here?

Maybe she was hallucinating due to interminable-speech boredom.

Every cop in her division attended, and as per her request stood on the steps. As did Feeney, her former trainer, partner, and current captain of the Electronic Detectives Division. His hangdog face remained sober, but she thought his eyes were a little glazed.

Imagined hers might be, too.

She tuned in again at the sound of applause, slid her gaze toward Commander Whitney as he joined the mayor. He, too, wore dress blues. She thought, as she often did, of the street cop he’d been before he’d taken the chair.

They moved to Strong. The mayor spoke quietly to her about her service, her injuries, fixed the medal on her chest.

The process repeated with Eve. She didn’t have anything—particularly—against the mayor. But Whitney’s handshake meant more than a politician’s words to her.

“Well done, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Now came the pride as the mayor spoke Peabody’s name. Integrity, honor, courage. She let the smile come—what the hell—as she heard Peabody’s voice, just a little shaky, accept the congratulations and gratitude.