J. Robb - Divided in Death

“I’ll get it for you.”

“No, I’ll go with you. We’ll look at it together.”

They went back in his private room, and read what he brought up on screen together.

She didn’t sit. She wasn’t going to let her legs go weak on her again. Not even when she read the field operative’s report.

Sexual and physical abuse involving minor female purported to be subject’s daughter. No recorded data on minor, no birth mother or surrogate registered. Intervention is not recommended at this time. If subject becomes aware he is being observed, or if any social or law-enforcement agency is informed of the situation with minor female, subject’s value would be compromised.

Recommend nonaction re minor female.

“They let it go.” Roarke spoke softly, too softly. “I hate fucking cops. Saving your presence,” he added after a moment.

“They’re not cops. They don’t give a rat’s ass about the law, much less about justice. They sure as hell don’t give a damn about an individual. It’s all big picture to them, always was, from the moment they formed at the dawn of the Urban Wars, it was big picture and fuck the people in it.”

She packed away her rage, her horror, and continued to read. It wasn’t until she came to the end that she had to reach out, lay her hand on the console for balance.

“They knew what happened. They knew I killed him. My God, they knew, and they cleaned up after me.”

“For security, my ass. To cover their own culpability.”

“It says… it says the listening devices planted were defective and shut down that night. What are the chances?” she drew a deep breath and read the section again.

Surveillance returned at seven hundred and sixteen hours. No sound or movement recorded on premises for six hours. Assumption that subject had moved on during dark period caused field agent to risk a personal check of room. Upon entering, agent observed subject DOS. Cause of death determined to be multiple stab wounds inflicted with small kitchen knife. Female minor child could not be located on premises.

No data on premises pertaining to Ricker or Roarke. On orders from Home, area was cleaned. Body disposal team notified.

Minor child, female, believed to be subject’s daughter, located under medical observation. Severe physical and emotional trauma. Local authorities investigating. Minor has no identification and will be assigned a social caseworker.

Subsequently local authorities unable to identify minor child, female. Minor subject unable to remember and/or relate name or circumstances. No connection to Troy or this agency can be made. Minor subject has been absorbed by the National Agency for Minors and has been given the name Dallas, Eve.

Case file Troy is closed.

“Is there a file on me?”

“Yes.”

“Did they make the connection?”

“I didn’t read it.”

“Aren’t you just full of willpower?” When he didn’t speak, she turned away from the screen, and took a step toward him.

He took one back. “Someone will pay for this. Nothing will stop me. I can’t kill him, though God, I’ve dreamed of it. But someone will pay for standing by, standing back, and letting this happen to you.”

“It won’t change anything.”

“Aye, by God it will.” Some part of the fury he’d held inside him since reading the reports lashed out. “There are balances, Eve. You know it. Checks and balances, that’s what makes your precious justice. I’ll have my own on this.”

She was cold, already so cold, but his words, the look of him now all but numbed her. “It’s not going to help me to think about you going off and hunting up some spook assigned to this over twenty years ago.”

“You don’t have to think about it.”

A little bubble of panic rose in her throat. “I need you focused on the work-do what you promised to do.”

He stepped around the console, up to her. His eyes were blue ice as he took her chin in his hand. “Do you think I can or will let this go?”

“No. Do you think I can stand back and let you hunt someone down and mete out your personal sense of justice?”

“No. So we have a problem. In the meantime, I’ll give you whatever you need from me on this case. I won’t fight with you over this, Eve,” he said before she could speak. “And I won’t ask or expect you to change your moral ground. I only ask you do the same when it comes to me.”

“I want you to remember something.” Her voice wanted to shake. Her soul wanted to tremble. “I want you to think about this before you do something you can’t take back.”

“I’ll do what I have to do,” he said flatly. “And so will you.”

“Roarke.” She gripped his arms, and was afraid she could already feel him slipping away from her. “Whatever happened to me back in Dallas, I came out of it. I’m standing here because of it. Maybe I have everything that matters to me, including you, because of it. If that’s true, I’d go through it all again. I’d go through every minute of the hell to have you, to have my badge, to have this life. That’s enough balance for me. I need you to think about that.”

“Then I will.”

“I need to get ready for the morning briefing.” To think about something else-anything else. “So do you. This has to be put away for now. If you can’t put it away, you’re no good for me, or your friend.”

“Eve.” He said it gently, as he’d loved her gently, and he brushed the tear she hadn’t been aware of shedding from her cheek.

She broke when his arms came around her. And because they did, she burrowed into him and let herself weep.

She was back in form by the time her team arrived for the briefing. Thoughts of what she’d survived in Dallas were locked away to be taken out later when she was alone, when she could stand them. When she could, she would figure out what could and couldn’t be done.

He’d kill them. She had no illusions. Left to himself, Roarke would hunt down those responsible for the nonaction directive in Dallas, and… eliminate them.

Checks and balances.

He would do this, unless she found the key to his rage, his sense of justice, his need to punish. His need to stand for her and to spill blood for blood for the sake of a desperate and brutalized child.

So she had to find that key, somehow. And while she was looking for it, she was going up against one of the most powerful and self-contained organizations on or off planet.

Her prior plans of expanding the team, of including a strong showing of hand-selected EDD men, had to be put on hold. She had an intricate little bomb on her hands. Too much shifting and passing and it would blow up in her face.

She would keep her team as small and tight as possible.

Feeney. She couldn’t do without Feeney. He was currently chowing down on one of his favored Danishes while he argued with McNab about some Arena Ball player named Snooks.

EDD ace Ian McNab didn’t look like somebody who’d get riled up about Arena Ball. Then again, he didn’t look like a cop either. He was wearing purple leather-look pants, pegged tight as tourniquets at the ankles to show off his low-rider purple gel-sneaks. His shirt was purple stripes and snug enough to show off his narrow torso and bony shoulders. He’d pulled his blond hair back in a relatively simple braid that hung between his angel-wing shoulder-blades, but had made up for the simplicity with a jungle of silver hoops that curved along his left ear.

Though he had a pretty face, narrow and smooth and set off by clever green eyes, he didn’t look like the type the sturdy and steady Peabody would go for. But she did, and in a big way.

You could see what was between them in the casual way his hand brushed Peabody’s knee, the way she jabbed him with her elbow when he tried to take her pastry.