J. Robb - Loyalty in Death

"You were with me." He took her arms, gave her a quick, surprising shake. "You can't change that. And I want you with me again. Damn it, Dee, I'm not done."

He was kissing her, with all the helpless rage and lust and confusion that roared through him. She made some little sound, a sound caught between despair and relief. And was kissing him with all the vivid fury and need and bafflement that pumped inside her.

Eve walked in, stopped dead in her tracks. "Oh, jeez."

They were too busy trying to swallow each other to hear her.

"Man." She pressed her fingers to her eyes, half hoping they'd disappear before she lowered them. No such luck. "Break it up." She jammed her hands in her pockets and tried to ignore the inarguable fact that McNab's hands were clamped on her aide's ass. "I said break it up!"

The shout got through. They leaped apart as if someone had snapped a spring between them. McNab hit a chair, knocked it over, then stared at Eve as if he'd never seen her before.

"Oh. Whoa."

"Clamp it shut," Eve warned him. "Not a word out of you. Sit down, shut up. Peabody, damn it to hell and back again. Why don't I have my coffee?"

"Coffee." Eyes dazed, blood screaming, Peabody blinked. "Coffee?"

"Now." Eve pointed to the AutoChef, then made a show of looking at her wrist unit. "You are now on duty. Anything that happened here before this mark was on your own time. Is that clear?"

"Uh-huh, you bet. Listen, Lieutenant – "

"Zip it, McNab," she ordered him. "I don't want any discussion, any explanations, any verbal pictures drawn of activities pursued on your own time."

"Your coffee, sir." Peabody set it down, shot McNab a look of dire warning.

"Lab reports?"

"I'll check on them now." Relieved, Peabody hurried to a chair.

Feeney came in. The bags under his eyes were in danger of drooping past his nose. Seeing him, Peabody got up again, ordered more coffee.

He sat, nodded absently in thanks. "The emergency teams managed to clear down to the site of the last explosion, Malloy's last known location." He cleared his throat, lifted his cup, drank. "The shield appeared to be in place, but the blast took it out. They said it would have been over quick."

No one spoke for a moment; then Eve got to her feet. "Lieutenant Malloy was a good cop. That's the best I can say about anybody. She died doing her job and trying to give her men time to reach safety. It's our job to find the people responsible for her death and take them down."

She opened the file she'd brought in, took out two photos, and moved to the boards to fix them in place.

"Clarissa Branson, aka Charlotte Rowan. B. Donald Branson. We don't stop," Eve said, turning, with eyes bright and cold. "We don't rest until these two people are in a cage or dead. Labs, Peabody. McNab, I want the report on Monica Rowan's 'link. Feeney, I need Zeke in interview one more time. Maybe if you take him, you'll push a button I missed. He might have heard something, seen something, that can give us a line on where to look."

"I'll take care of it."

"And I want another round with Lisbeth Cooke, too. Same deal. If you can spare the time, you'd probably get more out of her by going to her place and playing the sympathetic ear."

"She a weeper?" Feeney wanted to know.

"Could be."

He sighed. "I'll take extra hankies."

"There'll be a trail," Eve continued, scanning the faces of her team. "Where they went under, where they're going next, where and when they've targeted the next one. They'll know we're following the Apollo line now and probably know we've made – or will make – Clarissa as James Rowan's daughter."

She moved back to the board, pinning up another photo. "This was Charlotte Rowan's mother. I believe her daughter gave the order for her execution. If this is true, understand we're dealing with an individual with a cool and focused mind. A skilled actor who doesn't mind getting blood on her hands. She has, with her husband, arranged or carried out the murder of four people we are aware of, one tied to her by blood, one by marriage, and is responsible for the deaths of hundreds through terrorist acts that are no more than disguised blackmail for gain.

"She won't hesitate to kill again. She has no conscience, no morals, and no loyalty to anyone but herself and a man who's been dead for over three decades. This is not a creature of impulse but of calculation. She's had thirty years to plan what she's now setting out to accomplish. And so far, she's kicking the shit out of us."

"You took out two of her droids," McNab pointed out. "And she didn't get the bonds."

"That's why she's going to hit again and hit hard. Money's part of the motive, but it's not all. Mira's analysis indicated a large ego, a mission, and a sense of pride. Pulling from that, she is Cassandra." Eve tapped a finger on the photo. "Not just the woman, but the whole. And her ego and pride took a hit last night – and she hasn't yet accomplished her mission. She can't be dealt or bargained with because she's a liar, and she's enjoying playing the goddess, high on power and blood. She believes what she's saying. Even when what she's saying is a lie."

"We've still got the scanners," McNab pointed out.

"And we'll use them. E and B's going to be shaken up, and they're also going to want payback for Anne. They'll work their asses off on this one."

"Labs, Lieutenant." Peabody held out the copy. "Blood, skin, and hair samples from the Branson hearth match B. Donald Branson's DNA."

Eve took them, noted the fresh worry in Peabody's eyes. "They'd have been clever enough to think of that. They stored the blood, and she had plenty of time to plant the other samples while she was pretending to clean up the mess."

"They haven't come up with a body yet." When McNab spoke, Peabody turned her head to watch him. "They've got divers down now." He moved his shoulders. "I'll keep in touch."

Her mouth wanted to tremble, but she firmed it, nodded briskly. "Appreciate it."

"Maine's shooting me down the 'link unit from Monica Rowan's place," he continued. "They found a slew of jammers and code-spanners in the kitchen. Her 'link log's been blocked. I'll unblock it."

"Get it down. I'll take the Branson house and the offices. Anything develops, I want a tag, pronto." She yanked out her communicator when it signaled. "Dallas."

"Sergeant Howard, Search and Rescue. My divers found something. I think you'll want to see this."

"Send through your location. I'm on my way." She glanced toward McNab. As he rose, Peabody stepped forward.

"Sir, I know you have reason to keep me off this part of the investigation. I don't believe those reasons are valid at this time. I request, respectfully, to accompany you as your aide."

Eve considered, tapped her fingers on her thigh. "Are you going to keep talking to me that way? All tight-assed and formal, using long, polite sentences?"

"If I don't get what I want, yes, sir."

"I admire a good threat," Eve decided. "You're with me, Peabody."

– =O=-***-=O=-

The wind whipped like a nest of angry snakes and had the ugly water of the river churning. Eve stood on the scarred and littered dock, cold to the bone, as one of the search team uncovered the body.

"We probably wouldn't have come on it for days if you hadn't told us to start looking for a mechanical. Even with that, we got lucky. You wouldn't fucking believe what people dump in this river."

He crouched down with her. "Looks a hell of a lot better than a floater would by this time. No bloat, no decay. Fish gave him a try, but they don't get off on synthetics."

"Yeah." She could see the nicks and dents where fish had taken nibbling samples. One had apparently given the left eye a hell of a go before giving up. But the diver was right; he looked a hell of a lot better than a floater.