There was piped in music with someone singing about drinking and war, and a lot of signs written in Gaelic, and framed pictures of what Eve assumed were famous Irish people. The waitstaff all talked with Irish accents, though their server's accent had a definite Brooklyn edge to it.
Since she'd had occasion to spend some time in an actual Irish pub, she could tell the owner-who she imagined was somebody named Greenburg-wasn't even close to being Irish.
And thinking it made her think of the Penny Pig. And Roarke.
"Why don't you tell me what's on your mind, kid?"
"I think he's going to move within the next forty-eight hours, so-"
"No, not about the case." There was a bowl of peanuts in the shell between them, but he shoved it aside, got out his bag of candied almonds. "You got trouble at home?"
"Shit, Feeney." Because it was there, she dug into the bag. "I've got Summerset at home. Isn't that enough?"
"And Roarke off somewhere while his man's at home with a busted pin. Must've been important to pull him away just now."
"It was. It is. God." She braced her elbows on the table, then dropped her head into her hands. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I don't know if I should tell you. I don't know if he'd want me to tell you."
"He doesn't have to know you did. It doesn't go beyond here."
"I know that." He'd trained her, Eve thought. Taken her green from the Academy. And she'd trusted him. He'd partnered with her, gone through every door. And she'd trusted him.
"I'll have to tell him I told you. I think that's one of those marriage rules. There are too fricking many of them."
Feeney didn't interrupt her, and when he'd finished his beer, ordered another.
"It's got to mess him up, you know? You go your whole life thinking one thing, dealing with what you believe is truth, then you get slammed in the gut, and it all changes around on you." She sipped her beer. "He doesn't get drunk. He'll dance up to the line, should the occasion call for it. But even when it's just the two of us off somewhere, he doesn't go over the line. He's going to stay aware, in control. That's core Roarke."
"You shouldn't worry because a man ties one on."
"I wouldn't, if the man wasn't Roarke. He did it because he's hurting and needed to get away from the pain. Feeney, he can take a hell of a lot of pain."
So can you,Feeney thought. "Where is he now?"
"In Clare. He left me a message-damn time difference. He said I shouldn't worry, he was fine. He was probably going to stay there, another day at least, and he'd be in touch."
"Did you tag him back?"
She shook her head. "I started to, then I started second-guessing myself. Is it like nagging? I don't know. He said he wanted to handle this himself. He's made it pretty clear he doesn't want me involved."
"And you're letting him get away with that." He sighed, heavy, and his basset hound eyes seemed to droop lower. "You disappoint me."
"What am I supposed todo! I'm in the middle of this investigation, and he says he's going to Ireland. He won't wait, won't give me time to figure things out. Okay, he can't wait-I can get that. He's got a problem, and he'd want to deal, straight off."
"One of those marriage rules is if one of you's in pain or trouble, you're not in it alone. You suffering here, him there. That doesn't work for either of you."
"Well, he left. He was on his way out when he told me, for Christ's sake. I'm still pissed about that."
"So you should be out the door behind him."
She drew her brows together. "I'm supposed to go to Ireland? Now? He said he didn't want me there."
"If he did, he's lying. That's a man for you, kid. We can't help it."
"You think he needs me to be there?"
"I do."
"But the case. I can't just-"
"What am I, a rookie?" Feeney had the wit to look insulted. "You don't think I can manage as temporary primary for a couple days? Or do you just want the collar yourself?"
"No. No! But I'm working all these angles, and the odds of him hitting again in the next couple of days are-"
"If you got word Roarke was hurt, bleeding from the ears, would you worry about the case or get your ass moving?"
"I'd get my ass moving."
"He's bleeding from the heart. So you go."
It was so simple. A no-brainer when put just that way. "I'll have to clear it, and set up some schedules for tomorrow. Get a report in."
"Then let's go do it." Feeney pocketed his nuts.
"Thanks. Really."
"No problem. You buy the beer."
It took some doing, asking for favors, fighting the urge to triple check every detail she'd already double checked.
It took blocking every natural instinct and putting her travel arrangements into Summerset's hands.
She went home to pack a light bag, reminding herself she could be reached anywhere, at any time. That she could, if necessary, fly home as quickly as she was flying away. And that she could run an op by remote control. She had a capable team.
She wasn't the only cop on the NYPSD. But she was Roarke's only wife.
Still, she paced the plush confines of his fastest jet shuttle as it careened across the Atlantic in the dark. She reviewed her notes, reread the files and witness statements.
Everything that could be done was being done. She'd ordered round-the-clock surveillance on the garage and the van. EDD had installed a homer on the van as backup.
If he came for it, they'd move in and have him in custody before he could finish keying in the ignition code.
All the trace evidence was being matched. Within twenty-four hours, forensics would have eliminated anything from Ernestine and her church group, the garage employees, the victims. What was left would be the killer's.
They'd have DNA, and a solid case.
She had men in the data club, men at the universities, Louise on the medical front. Something would break, and soon.
She tried to sit, relax. But couldn't.
That was all cop stuff. She knew what she was doing as a cop.
But where she was headed was wife territory. She'd learned some of the ground, and considered she'd figured how to negotiate it fairly well. But this sector was uncharted.
If he didn't want her there, was she going to make things worse?
She plugged a disc into her PPC and played back the message he'd left on her home office 'link while she'd still been at Central clearing the way to leave.
"Well, I hope you're sleeping." He smiled, but he looked so tired, she thought. Worn out tired. "I should've called before. Things got… complicated. I'm about to go to bed myself. It's late here. Early, more like. I can't seem to remember the time change-imagine that. I'm sorry I haven't spoken with you today-yesterday. What the hell."
He gave a half-laugh, pinched the bridge of his nose as if to relieve some pressure. "I'm punchy, need a couple hours down, is all. I'm fine, no need to worry. Things aren't what I expected here. Can't say what I expected. I'll call you after I've slept a bit. Don't work too hard, Lieutenant. I love you."
He wasn't supposed to look so tired, she thought on a sudden spurt of anger. He wasn't supposed to look so befuddled, so damn vulnerable.
Maybe he didn't want her there, but he was just going to have to deal with it.
***
Dawn was shimmering over the hills when Roarke stepped outside. He hadn't slept long, but he'd slept well, tucked up into a pretty, slanted-ceiling bedroom on the top floor, one with old lace curtains on the windows and a lovely handmade quilt on the wide, iron bed.
They'd treated him like family. Almost like a prodigal son returned home, and they'd served roast kid and pandy as the Irish version of fatted calf.
They'd had aceili, packed with food and music and stories. People, so many people gathering around to talk of his mother, to ask of him, to laugh. To weep.
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