J. Robb - Judgment in Death

His eyes flickered. "That's reaching."

"No. No, it's not." She watched him closely now. "It's accurate. And you knew it. You knew it, starting with Kohli, and that's why you…"

She trailed off as pieces began to shift and fall into another pattern. One that made her stomach churn. "Kohli. You didn't mention him. Just Mills. Because Kohli wasn't garbage, was he, Webster? He was just a tool. You set him up. You used him."

"Leave it alone."

"The hell I will." Her fury was like a living thing, and it was clawing at her brain. "He was under for you. He wasn't taking, you were giving. To make him look wrong, so he could pick up information for you, get closer to Ricker's police contacts."

She closed her eyes as she worked it out. "You picked him because he was clean, and more, because he was average. Almost invisible. A data cruncher who had a strong sense of right and wrong. You'd have played to him, recruited him," she murmured, opening her eyes again and studying Webster's.

"His background in the MPs, that was on his side. He was good at taking orders. You probably offered him extra pay, help him save for the bigger place he wanted for his family while his wife stayed home with the kids. Put a real package deal together, appealing to his sense of duty, sense of family. Then there was the Ricker edge. He'd put in a lot of time on that, had to be bummed when it fell apart. You set him up."

"Nobody held a blaster to his head." Webster's voice was raw as guilt ate at him. "There's a serious problem at the One twenty-eight. Kohli fit the profile for what we needed. All he had to do was say no."

"You knew he wouldn't because he fit the fucking profile. Goddamn it, Webster, goddamn it, he was killed because somebody believed the setup. Somebody killed him for being dirty."

"Are you going to stand there and tell me we should have anticipated that?" He had plenty of fury of his own, and mixed with it was a sticky guilt that made a bitter brew. "It came out of the fucking blue. He was on the job, Dallas. He knew the risks. We all know them."

"Yeah, we know the risks, and we live with them. Or we die with them." But she stepped closer, shoved her face into his. "You used me, Webster, the same way. And nobody asked. You came to me, all friendly, all unofficial, to toss just enough garbage in my path so I'd look in the right places, so I'd find the money Kohli'd put away, just like you told him to. So I'd look and I'd paint him dirty. You had me looking at a good cop and tossing muck at him."

"You think that doesn't make me sick?"

"I don't know what makes you sick."

She started to turn away, but he grabbed her arm. "He'll be exonerated when the time comes. He'll be put in for a posthumous promotion. His family will be taken care of."

At her side, her hand bunched into a fist. But she didn't use it. Instead, she used frigid disdain. "Get away from me. Get out of my house."

"For God's sake, Dallas, nobody meant for this to happen."

"But you jumped right on it when it did. He wasn't even cold."

"It's not my choice." Enraged, he took her other arm, shook her once. "I'm not supposed to be here tonight. I'm not supposed to have told you any of this."

"Then why did you?"

"The bureau will find a way to kick you off the case, or if it suits better, to put you right in Ricker's path. Either way, you're going to walk around with a target on your back. You matter to me."

He jerked her against him, and she was too shocked to block the move. "Hey."

"You matter. You always have."

She slapped both hands on his chest, felt the rapid pump of his heart. The heat. "Jesus, Webster. Are you crazy?"

"I'd prefer that you take your hands off my wife before I break them," Roarke said from the doorway. "But either way works for me."

The voice was rigidly pleasant and didn't fool Eve for an instant. She knew the sound of savagery when she heard it, however elegantly it was cloaked. Just as she recognized it in the frigid blue of Roarke's eyes.

She felt the punch of fear, like a blow to her solar plexus. As a result, her voice was sharp and clipped as she broke Webster's hold and stepped deliberately between him and her husband.

"Roarke. Webster and I are in the middle of a meeting, and a professional disagreement."

"I don't think so. Go find something to do, Eve. Elsewhere."

Insult worked hard to kick fear aside but didn't manage the job. She felt her muscles begin to tremble and had an image of capping off the evening by arresting her husband for murder.

"Get a grip." She did her best to plant her boots. "You've mistaken the situation here."

"No, he hasn't. Not on my end." Webster moved away from Eve. "And I don't hide behind women. You want to do this here?" he said with a nod toward Roarke. "Or outside?"

Roarke smiled, much Eve thought, like a wolf might before a kill. "Here and now."

They leapt at each other. Charged, she would think later when her brain engaged again, like a couple of rams in rutting season. For a moment, she was too stunned to do more than goggle.

She watched Webster fly, come heavily down on a table, which crashed under the weight. Galahad sprang up, hissing, and took a vicious swipe at his shoulder.

He was up quickly, she'd give him that, bleeding. Fists flew with the ugly sound of bone against bone. A lamp shattered.

She was shouting, she could hear herself calling out in a voice that seemed oddly unlike her own. At wit's end, she drew her weapon, hastily checked to insure it was on lowest stun, then fired a stream between them.

Webster's head whipped around in shock, but Roarke didn't so much as flinch. And his fist, already swinging, smashed into Webster's face.

Another table went, splintering into toothpicks. And this time Webster stayed down. Or would have if Roarke hadn't leaned over and hauled him up by the collar.

"Roarke." Her hand steady, Eve kept her weapon trained. "That's enough. Let him go or I'll stun you. I swear I will."

His eyes met hers, hot now, hot enough to burn. He released Webster so the half-conscious man crumpled in a heap. Even as Roarke started toward Eve, Summerset slid into the room.

"I'll just show your guest out."

"Do that," Roarke said without taking his eyes from Eve's. "And close the door. Stun me, will you?" He murmured it, silkily, when he was a foot away.

She backed up, all but hearing her nerves fray. "If you don't calm down, yes. I'm going to go see how bad he's hurt."

"You're not, no. That you're not. Stun me then," he invited, and she heard the alleyways of Dublin in his voice. "Do it."

She heard the doors close, the locks click. Fear had her by the throat, infuriating her even as she took another step in retreat. "There was nothing going on here. It's insulting for you to think there was."

"Darling Eve, if I thought there'd been anything, on your part, going on here, he wouldn't have left breathing." There was no change in his expression as his hand snaked out and knocked the weapon from hers. "Yet you stood between us."

"To try to avoid this." She threw out her arms. "This testosterone explosion. Damn it, you wrecked my place and assaulted an officer, and over nothing. Over my having a professional disagreement with a colleague."

"A colleague who was once a lover, and what I walked in on was personal."

"Okay, all right, maybe. But that's no excuse. If I jumped every one of your old lovers, I'd be bashing every female face in New York and the known universe."

"That's entirely different."

"Why?" She had him now, she thought with satisfaction. "Why is it different for you?"

"Because I don't invite those former lovers into my home and let them put their hands on me."

"It wasn't like that. It was-"