J. Robb: Treachery in Death

She told herself to end it, to step back over the line.

“You’re done,” she said. “This is done.”

“I say when it’s done!” Renee launched at her; Eve pivoted to meet the attack. They hit the door like a cannonball and spilled into the squad room in an intimate tangle of violence. They rolled, jabbing fists, hit the side of a desk with a crack like thunder.

Eve stopped the thumb aiming for her eye by gripping Renee’s wrist, twisting it. On a cry of pain, Renee grabbed Eve’s hair, nails gouging scalp, and yanked viciously.

More stars exploded in a field red as blood.

“Fuck me! Hair pulling? That’s it !” She wrenched Renee’s wrist back, reveled in the screech—and with her scalp screaming flipped Renee onto her back. “Pussy.” She balled her fist, drove it once, twice into Renee’s face, reared back for a third, but pulled up short when the grip on her hair dissolved, when the eyes staring into hers went glassy.

“ I s ay when it’s done.” Eve swiped blood from her mouth. “And it’s done. Jesus Christ, it’s done.” She rolled off, sat on the floor, tried to slow the air wheezing into her burning lungs. “Peabody!”

“Sir!” Peabody stepped forward from the crowd of cops—and a particular civilian—who’d already moved into the squad room.

This time Eve swiped under her nose, then pressed it gingerly. Not broken, she determined, just bloody. “She’s yours.”

“Huh?”

“I’m the one whose ears are ringing, for God’s sake. I said she’s yours. Your collar. Take her.”

“But, Dallas, you—”

Though it hurt pretty much everywhere, she discovered, Eve pushed to her feet. She wondered if her injured knee had puffed to the size of a basketball, or just felt that way.

“Detective, I just gave you a directive. I expect you to follow it without any backtalk and arrest this individual who is a disgrace to her badge, her lineage, and her goddamn gender. Hair-puller,” Eve said in disgust, and nursed a hand over her tender scalp.

“Yes, sir.”

“One minute.” Eve crouched down, painfully, bent close to Renee’s face, and spoke for only the two of them. “You see that cop, Renee? The one who’s about to take you? She’s the reason. She’s the reason you’re down and you’re out. She’s more of a cop, more of a woman, more of a human being than you ever were. And she’s my partner.”

Eve straightened, with effort and with considerable discomfort. “Get her gone,” she told Peabody.

“With pleasure, Lieutenant. Renee Oberman,” she began as she bent to cuff the prisoner, “you’re under arrest.”

Peabody listed the charges as she dragged Renee to her feet. At Eve’s head jerk, McNab moved in, took Renee’s other arm. Peabody recited the Revised Miranda as they perp-walked her out.

“Lieutenant.”

Eve struggled not to wince as she came to attention. “Yes, sir, Commander.”

“It was unnecessary to engage in physical contact with the suspect, to break procedure and set aside your weapon, and do so when you clearly had the suspect under control.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Unnecessary,” he repeated, “but just. And I believe it was as satisfying to experience as it was to observe. I suggest you visit the infirmary and get cleaned up and treated. It will be my unfortunate duty to inform Commander Oberman of his daughter’s arrest.”

“Sir, as head of the investigative team, and partner to the arresting officer, I feel that should be my duty.”

“You know command better than that, Dallas. It’s mine to lift. You did well.” He turned, scanned the cops in the room. “You all did well.”

And shouldering his command, he walked out.

Roarke walked over, handed her her weapon and a towel. She didn’t know where the hell he’d come up with the towel, but it looked clean. She wiped some of the blood off her face.

“I’d kick your ass for putting your weapon down,” he murmured, “except as I said before, I’m fond of it. And because at the core, I agree with Whitney. Besides”—he took the towel, dabbed at her face himself—“I took fifty off the new guy.”

“What? Santiago?”

“I wagered him you’d bait her into a fight so you could pummel her a bit. He was the only taker.” He leaned down, softly, softly kissed her swollen mouth. “But he doesn’t know you as well as the rest. Yet.”

She might’ve smiled, but knew it would hurt. “Well, he’s the new guy. I’ve got to ...” She trailed off, noting the room was still full of cops. Thinking of the kiss she would’ve scowled, but that would hurt, too.

“What’re you all still doing here? Don’t you have homes? Dismissed.”

To her utter shock Baxter shifted to attention, snapped a salute, held it. “Lieutenant,” he said, and every cop in the room followed suit.

She forgot every ache, every pain, every bruise and cut. There wasn’t room with the pride.

“Good work. All of you. Good work.” She returned the salute. “Dismissed.”

As they filed out, Feeney walked to her. He laid a hand on her shoulder, and he nodded. “Not bad,” he said. “Not bad at all.”

When he walked off, it was with a strut in his step.

Eve let out a breath. “I have to sit down a minute.” She did, then lowered her head into her hands. “God. Oh, God.”

Hearing the tears in her voice, Roarke knelt. “You’re in pain. Baby, let me get you to the hospital.”

“It’s not that. Or yeah, it’s a little that. But it’s mostly . . .” She dropped her head on his shoulder, smearing blood on his beautifully cut jacket. “What they did. All of them. How they stood up. All of them. Knowing what I have in them. I can’t ... I don’t know how to say it.”

“You don’t have to. I think I know.”

“They’re everything she’s not. Everything she abused, raped, killed, exploited. They’re the reason I . . . not the reason I do it, but the reason I can.” She lifted her head, swiped at tears and blood. “You’ll buy that drink for the house?”

“I will, yes. Darling Eve.” He laid his lips on her cheek. “My cop.”

“Roarke.” Tears pressed and burned again. She let some go, just let them fall. She could let them fall with him. She gripped his lapel, transferred more blood as she looked in his eyes.

“I want to go home, okay? I just need to go home now. You can fix me up there. It’s not so bad. You can take me home and fix me up. Because at the end of the day you’re what does. You’re what fixes me up.”

“Eve.” He pressed his lips to her brow, held there a moment. Just held. “All right then. I’ll take you home, and I’ll fix you up.”

“Thanks.” When he helped her to her feet, she leaned against him. “You’re the reason, too. Why I can do it.”

“Then I’ll fix you up so you can do it another day.”

As they started out of the room, she hissed. “Shit! It is pretty bad. Still go-home-and-fix-me-up territory, but, Jesus, she could fight. At least until the hair-pulling incident.”

“You were holding back a little.”

She frowned. “Who says?”

“Who knows you?”

So she sighed, leaned on him again. “Maybe I held back a little, until—”

“The hair-pulling incident.”

“It was insulting, and really demeaned the moment.”

He laughed, and he took her weight. She hobbled to the elevator so he could take her home, fix her up. So she could do it all another day.