Judgment in Death

CHAPTER ELEVEN

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-"

"And because." He fisted a hand at the front of her shirt, hauling her up until she was forced to her toes. "You're mine."

Her eyes all but bulged out of her head. "What? What? Like property? Like one of your damn hotels?"

"Aye. If you like."

"I don't like. Not one damn bit." She shoved at his hand, twisted, and only succeeded in ripping the shoulder seam of her shirt. Alarm bells went off in her head even as she tried to break his hold with another counter maneuver. She ended up with her back pressed into him and her arms pinned.

"You've crossed a number of lines in a short time, Lieutenant." His voice was warm against her ear. Warm and dangerous. Erotic. "Do you think I'm a man who'll go meekly about your bidding? Do you think loving you has taken my teeth?"

As if to prove otherwise, he sank them lightly in her throat.

She couldn't think, not with the red haze covering her brain. She quite simply couldn't get her breath. "Let go of me. I'm too mad to deal with you tonight."

"No, you're not mad." He whipped her around again, slammed her back to the wall, and yanked her arms over her head. And his face, the face of a condemned angel, was close to hers. "Intrigued is what you are, and reluctantly aroused. Your pulse is pounding, and you tremble. Some of it's fear, just a touch of it to add an edge."

He was right. She could have damned him for it, but need was crawling through her like savage little ants.

"You're hurting me. Let go of my hands."

"No, I'm not, but perhaps I've been too careful, too often, not to hurt you. Have you forgotten what you took on with me, Eve?"

"No." Her eyes skimmed down to his mouth. God help her, she wanted it on her.

"You're mine, and you'll say it before we're done tonight." He reached out with his free hand and ripped her shirt down the center. "And now I'll have what's mine."

She resisted, but that was pride, and pride was weaker than lust. She twisted her body, hooking a foot behind his in an attempt to overbalance him. He merely shifted his weight into the move and took her down with him.

The shock of the fall knocked the breath out of her, but her knee came up, an automatic jerk of defense. He rolled away from it, still gripping her hands. Pinned her. She bucked, swore at him, whipping her head to the side as his mouth came down.

He settled for her throat. Savaged it, and sent the pulse beneath his teeth and lips bounding.

He might have stopped himself. The civilized veneer he'd coated over himself was hard set and hard won. But the beast inside him had been teased to raging. He wanted it loose. And the scent of her, of his mate, was humming in his blood.

She was strong. He'd pit his strength and his will against hers before, but always with a sense of fair play underneath. Not this time, was all he could think.

Not this time.

He clamped a hand over her breast, found the skin hot and damp. She made some sound between a snarl and a moan, and when he crushed his mouth to hers, she bit.

The quick flash of pain only appealed to the primal lust surging inside him. When he lifted his head, his eyes were wild and fierce. "Liomsa."

He'd said it to her once before, in the language of his youth. Mine. She struggled, fighting herself now, but when his mouth came to hers again, hot and hard and hungry, she lost.

Desire, with its more primitive barbs, scraped through her. She wanted. Wanted. And now her body arched not in protest but in demand, and her mouth met his with feral force.

He released her hands only to jerk her up, yanking what was left of her shirt over her shoulders. Her weapon harness tangled, locking her arms as effectively as restraints. And now the fear leaped back. She was defenseless.

"Say it back to me. Damn you, Eve. Say it." His mouth fused to hers again, then streaked down her throat, over her breasts. His teeth raked at her. And his hands.

On a sharp cry, her head fell back. Pleasure, its edge as keen as razors, sliced at her, leaving what was left of pride in tatters.

Then she was rolling with him over a floor littered with splintered wood in something too fierce to be surrender.

She fought free of the harness and tore at his shirt. She wanted flesh, his flesh. The feel of it, the taste. Every breath she took was a desperate gasp.

His hands took, possessed, bruising as they moved over her. Those long, skilled fingers arousing mercilessly until she was mad for more. He yanked her trousers down her hips, flung them aside. And ruthlessly used his mouth on her.

Release gushed through her, a flood that scorched her system. Floundering, she dug her fingers into the rug, tried to find some anchor to hold her. But she was flying, catapulted out of control.

And still he wouldn't stop.

Couldn't stop.

The small, mad sounds she made inflamed him, whipped his already crazed blood into a fever of greed. Every gulp of air he took in was full of her, the hot, sharp taste of woman. His.

His mouth raced up her shuddering body, feasted on her breasts while he plunged his fingers into her.

She came again, brutally, and her shocked cry was a dark thrill to him, the sudden bite of her nails on his back a vicious pleasure.

"Say it. Say it back to me," he demanded while his breath heaved, while he watched her eyes go blind as he pushed her to the edge yet again. "Damn it, I'll hear it from you."

Somehow, through the madness ruling her, she understood. Not surrender, even after this, it wasn't surrender he asked for. But acceptance. Her throat burned, her system screamed to mate. As she opened for him, lifted to him, she fumbled out the Gaelic.

"Mine," was what she said. "You're mine, too." And her mouth rose to his as he drove himself inside her.

– =O=-***-=O=-

She lay beneath him, enervated, stupefied. Her ears were ringing, making it impossible to think. She wanted to find herself in this body that had responded so primitively. But more, she simply wanted to wallow in the echoes of sensations that still rippled through her.

When he shifted, she would have rolled to her stomach, the position she assumed when exhaustion ruled. But he plucked her off the floor, into his arms. "We're not done yet."

Leaving the wreckage of her office behind, he carried her out, and took her to bed.

– =O=-***-=O=-

When she woke, light was streaming through the sky window, her body pulsed with a thousand sly aches. And he was gone.

She lay where she was, on a bed that had been well used, on sheets that were tangled to ropes, and let the tug-of-war between shame and pleasure play out inside her. Nothing was resolved, she realized. Nothing was balanced. She rose, went in to shower wondering if they'd fixed anything or only damaged it further.

She managed to dress for the day without once meeting her own eyes in the mirror. Her harness and weapon were on the table in the sitting area. Wondering when he'd put them there, she strapped it on.

And with her weapon in place, she felt steadier. Or did until she walked into her office and found Peabody staring at the carnage.

"Ah… some party," Peabody said.

"We had an incident." Eve kicked the broken lamp aside, strode directly to her desk. Her only goal at that moment was to stay in charge. "I have information that needs to be considered in the investigation. Sit down."

Peabody cleared her throat, righted a chair. It was the first time in her memory her lieutenant had started a morning briefing without a cup of coffee in her hand. But Peabody sat, took out her memo book.

"An IAB operation has come to my attention," Eve began, and told her aide what she needed to know.

When she was done, Peabody set her book on her knee. "If I can offer an opinion, sir, that sucks."

"Your opinion is noted and agreed with."

"They've been impeding two homicide investigations by withholding pertinent data. Even IAB doesn't have that right."

"No, they don't, and I'm going to deal with it. In the meantime, I'd like you to contact Dr. Mira and request that our consult be moved here. I don't want IAB catching any scent. Call McNab in. I want a harder, closer look at the list from the One twenty-eight, and I want that done here, too. Until we've worked out the feeding chain, officially, we give Internal Affairs nothing."

"So much for solidarity," Peabody muttered. "Those rat bastards."

"Put your personal feelings aside. Cops are being murdered. We can't afford the indulgence of resentment." But she felt it, deep and dark inside her. "I want to inform Whitney of this new information in person. I'll be back within two hours or contact you if I'm delayed."

"Yes, sir. Would you like me to clean up in here?"

"That's not your job," Eve snapped, then squeezed her eyes shut, took a breath. "Sorry. Personal distraction. Don't worry about it unless something's in your way. Relay to Mira that this consult is now a priority. Have the backgrounds on as many from the One twenty-eight as possible before that consult." She hesitated, then shrugged as she walked toward the door. "And I'd appreciate it if you'd inform Roarke's offices that we'll clear Purgatory by end of day."

– =O=-***-=O=-

He wasn't the least bit interested in Purgatory, even the time he assumed he'd spend there for his sins. Nor was Roarke overly surprised to find Don Webster waiting for him in the reception area of his midtown offices.

Roarke's admin, an exceptional woman of great efficiency and insight, moved into reception, cutting neatly between the two men. "Your schedule is quite full this morning. This gentleman would like to see you and is reluctant to make an appointment for later in the week."

"I'll make time for him now. Thank you, Caro. Webster."

He gestured toward the corridor that led to his office and wasn't displeased to note Webster sported a violent bruise running from under his right eye to his cheekbone and a split lip that had yet to be treated.

His own ribs were aching like a bitch, something he'd refused to see to as a matter of pride. He stepped into his office, moved directly to the desk, but didn't sit. With his hands lightly in his pockets, his body balanced on the balls of his feet, he measured his adversary.

"You want another round, mate?"

"More than I want to see the sunrise," Webster replied, then shook his head when the light came into Roarke's eyes. "But I'm going to have to pass. I hate saying this, but you had every right to pound the shit out of me last night."

"And there," Roarke said smoothly, "we're in perfect accord. And if I find your hands on what's mine again, you'll lose them. That's a promise."

"She'd have taken care of that herself if you'd been five minutes later. Shit, five seconds later. I want you to know that."

"Eve's fidelity was never in question."

"Okay." Webster felt part of the weight that had hung on him through the night lift. "I didn't want you to get the idea that she… hell." He raked a hand through his hair. "We have a professional problem, which I used to move on a personal one. A problem I have," Webster elaborated. "I think I'm in love with your wife."

"That's indeed a problem. I have to admire your courage in saying that to my face." Considering, Roarke chose a chair, took out a cigarette. He caught Webster's quick glance at it, lifted a brow. "Would you like one?"

"I haven't had one in five years. Three months, and… I think it's twenty-six days. I've managed to lose track of the hours. Fuck it." He took one, drew deep until his eyes all but crossed. "I don't know you," Webster continued, "but I know about you."

"I can say the same." Roarke replied. "Did you think Eve hadn't told me you'd once had a night together?"

Doing his best to shrug, Webster sat as well. "It didn't mean anything to her. I knew it then, and I know it now. I know your rep, Roarke. If you want to come after me, that's what you'll do. I'm up for that. I just didn't want Dallas to take any heat for it."

"An attempt like that to protect her would tempt her to kick your balls into your throat."

For the first time, Webster smiled, then swore as the cut lip burned like fire. "Yeah, well." He pressed a finger gingerly to his lip. "When I screw up, I don't like anybody else catching the flak."

"Whatever you know or think you know about me, know this: I don't strike out at women, particularly when they've done nothing but be who they are."

He thought of the way he'd handled her the night before, then ruthlessly pushed that aside again. For later.

"And going after you would make Eve unhappy. I might risk that, but I've no reason to."

Webster stared down at his cigarette. "You're not what I expected."

"I could have been."

"Could have beens don't mean squat." Biting back a sigh, Webster took one last drag. "It's what is that counts. That's ah…" He tapped his bruised cheek. "Something I needed to be reminded of." He crushed out the cigarette before getting to his feet. Meeting Roarke's eyes, he held out a hand. "I appreciate the time."

Roarke rose. He felt a stir of pity, another of respect. Each as unexpected as the other. He accepted the hand, smiled. "I've a fucking bruise the size of a dinner plate on my ribs, and my kidney feels like it's been slammed with a brick."

Despite the split lip, Webster grinned. "Thanks." He started for the door, turned back briefly. "You fit, you know, you and Dallas. Christ, the two of you fit."

They did, yes, Roarke thought when the door closed. But the fit wasn't always comfortable.

– =O=-***-=O=-

Commander Whitney didn't explode when Eve relayed the information she'd come by, but it was a close thing.

"Can you verify?"

"No, sir, not at this time. But my information is accurate. My source unimpeachable."

"And that source is?"

She'd considered this, debated it, and saw no choice. "I regret, sir, that I'm unable to reveal the name of my source."

"I'm not a goddamn reporter, Dallas."

"Commander, this information was given to me in confidence. I have no compunction about using the information but can't name the source."

"You're making it more difficult for me to kick ass in IAB."

"I'm sorry about that."

"I'll hit them with it," he continued, drumming his fingers on his desk. "They'll deny, stall, prevaricate. If, as you relate, this operation has been in place some time, they're going to be very reluctant to open it, even with this office."

He sat back, eyes slitted with concentration. "Politics is a dirty little game. I'm very good at it."

"Yes, sir." Eve allowed herself the barest hint of a smile. "You are."

"Be prepared to be called into The Tower to discuss this matter, Lieutenant," he said, referring to the offices of the police commissioner. "I'll start the wheel rolling."

"I'll be available, Commander. At this time, and until this area of my investigation is resolved to our satisfaction, I'll be working with my team at my home office."

He nodded, already turning to his 'link. "Dismissed."

– =O=-***-=O=-

As she jogged through the garage toward her vehicle, Carmichael hailed her.

"Got a little something that might interest you. I've been through most of the witnesses on my list, and hit with one of the waitresses."

"Hit what?"

"Seems this server did some short time for running scams. Nothing major, a little bait and switch. But it gave her a good eye for cops. She claims she made Kohli as one but didn't think anything of it. Didn't make much of the other cop who came in from time to time and sat at the bar sucking down whiskey sours."

"What other cop?"

"Yeah," Carmichael said with a grin. "That was my question. And the answer was the lady cop. The good-looking blonde. When I nudged her a little more, she gave me a pretty fair description of Captain Roth of the One two-eight."

"Son of a bitch."

"Yeah. The general description could have fit a few hundred women, but it rang bells. So I pulled some photos and had her do a match. She plucked Roth's out, first shot."

"Thanks. Keep this quiet, will you?"

"Can do. I was on my way up to drop the record of the interview on your desk." Carmichael pulled a disc out of her bag. "Want it now?"

"Yeah. Thanks again."

Eve jammed the disc in her pocket, hurried to her car. She was going to squeeze in time for a trip to the One two-eight.

"Peabody." She tagged her aide on the run. "Pull up data on Roth and dig. Don't worry about flags, I want them to wave."

"Yes, sir. Your consult with Dr. Mira is set for your home office at ten-thirty."

"I'll try not to keep her waiting. Pull the data now, make it noisy."

– =O=-***-=O=-

Eve didn't expect a brass band welcome when she walked into the One twenty-eighth. What she got was a number of cool stares, muttered asides. One particularly inventive officer oinked.

Rather than ignoring it, she strolled over to his desk, smiled. "You've got a lot of talent there, Detective. Do you hire out for parties?"

He curled his lip. "I got nothing to say to you."

"That's good, because I don't have anything to say to you, either." She kept her eyes on his until he shifted, looked away. Satisfied, she made her way back to Captain Roth's office.

It was a corner room, one Eve imagined had been hard won, with a pair of windows, a good solid desk, and a thriving vining plant on the sill.

The door was glass, and through it Eve saw Roth surge to her feet when their eyes met. Eve didn't bother to knock.

"How dare you run my personal file without notification?" Roth began. "You're over the line, Lieutenant."

"One of us is." Eve closed the door at her back. "Why are you worried about what I might find in your personal?"

"I'm not worried. I'm furious. There's a matter of professional courtesy, which you've summarily ignored in some vendetta you have to smear my house. I intend to report your conduct to Commander Whitney and all the way up to The Tower."

"Your privilege, Captain. Just as it's mine, as primary on two homicides, to ask you why you concealed the fact from me that you had visited Detective Kohli at Purgatory-a number of times," she added when she saw Roth flinch.

"Your information is inaccurate."

"I don't think so. We talk about it here, Captain, or at Central. Your choice-as a professional courtesy."

"If you think I'm going to let you ruin me, you're mistaken."

"If you think I'm going to let you hide behind your captain's bars, you're mistaken. Where were you on the night Detective Kohli was murdered?"

"I don't have to answer your insulting questions."

"You will if I pull you into Interview. And I will."

"I was nowhere near Purgatory the night Kohli was killed."

"Prove it."

"Oh, I hope you rot in hell." Roth marched around her desk, snapped her privacy screens into place to block the view from the bullpen. "My whereabouts on that night are personal."

"Nothing's personal in a murder investigation."

"I'm a cop, Lieutenant, a good one. Better at the desk than on the street, but a goddamn good cop. My having a drink at a club now and then has nothing to do with Kohli's death or my position as captain of this squad."

"Then why did you withhold the information?"

"Because I'm not supposed to drink." Her color came up, a flag of mortification. "I have a problem with alcohol, and have already been through rehab. But you know that," she muttered and walked back behind the desk. "I'm not going to have a lapse in my recovery endanger my job. I didn't know Kohli was moonlighting in Purgatory when I went in the first time. I went back because he was a familiar face. I didn't mention it because it was irrelevant."

"You know better than that, Captain."

"All right, goddamn it, I was protecting myself. Why shouldn't I?"

They were squared off again, with Roth planted behind the desk. Defending her territory. She'd do whatever it took to hold what she'd worked to win.

"I know damn well you're trying to say Kohli was dirty, that Mills was dirty. You won't say I am."

"There have been a number of substantial deposits in your husband's financial accounts."

"Goddamn it. I'm calling my rep." She reached for her 'link, then curled her hand into a fist. The room was silent as Eve watched her battle for control. "I do that, and this goes on record. You've got me by the short hairs."

She took a deep breath, expelled it. "A few months ago I began to suspect my husband was involved with someone else. The signs were there. Distraction, disinterest, late arrivals, missed appointments. I confronted him, he denied. Some men have a talent for turning such an accusation around until you're at fault. Even when in your gut you know better. Very simply, Lieutenant, my marriage was falling apart, and I found myself unable to stop it. You're a cop, a woman, married. You know it's not easy."

Eve didn't reply nor did Roth expect her to. "I was upset, edgy, distracted. I told myself it wouldn't hurt to smooth out the nerves with a drink. Or two. And I ended up in Purgatory. Kohli was working the bar. We both pretended it was no big deal for either of us to be in there. Meanwhile, my marriage was crumbling. I discovered that my husband was not only rolling around on someone else's sheets but had been steadily transferring funds from our account to one under his own name. Before I could stop it, he'd ruined me financially, had me heading right back into the bottle, and was adversely affecting my work performance.

"About two weeks ago, I pulled myself together. I kicked his lying, lazy ass out and put myself back into rehab. I did not, however, report my counseling, which is a violation of procedure. A minor one, but a violation. Since that time, I have not been back to Purgatory nor had I seen Detective Kohli outside of the job."

"Captain Roth, I sympathize with your personal difficulties during this period, but I need to know your whereabouts on the night of Kohli's death."

"Until midnight I was at an AA meeting in a church basement in Brooklyn." She smiled thinly. "Not much chance of running into anyone I know there, which was the point. After that, I went out for coffee with several of the other participants. We tell war stories. I returned home, alone, about two, and went to bed. I have no alibi for the time in question."

Steadier now, Roth looked into Eve's eyes. "Everything I told you is off record and inadmissible, as I wasn't Mirandized. If you take me in, Lieutenant, I'm going to make it very hard on you."

"Captain, if I decide to take you in, I can promise, it'll be a lot harder on you."