“What . . .” It struck her. “Jesus, Feeney.”
“You started it. I’ll start setting it up.”
“I want two officers on you at all times. That starts now,” Whitney added.
“McNab and I will take tonight.”
“They’ve seen you,” Eve reminded Peabody.
“They won’t make me.”
Mira slipped out, waiting until Roarke put his ’link away.
“I’m going to apologize to you,” she began. “I couldn’t, in good conscience, keep my opinion to myself, even knowing how she’d react, what she’d do. But I’m sorry.”
“I’m obliged to accept what she does. What she is,” he added, reminding himself that she, in turn, accepted him. Hardly realizing he did so, he slid a hand into his pocket, found the button he carried there. That tiny piece of her. “That obligation started when I fell in love with her, and was sealed when I married her. Before you told her, I’d been engaged in a vicious internal debate about telling her myself.”
“I see.”
He held her gaze for a long moment. “I don’t know which side of me would’ve won.”
“I do. You’d have told her, then had your argument over her reaction in private.”
“I expect you’re right.”
“What troubles you more? What she’s planning to do, or the fact that she’s in the position of doing it because her connection to you qualified her?”
“Toss-up. They have utter contempt for me, and enjoy letting it show. Just enough. I suppose they think I’d be insulted, or have my feelings hurt.”
“As you said, they don’t understand you.”
“If they did, they’d have tried to kill her already. They think killing her will inconvenience me, certainly disrupt my personal and professional lives for a bit, cause me some distress.”
He turned the button in his fingers. “They’d enjoy all of that. If they knew losing her would destroy me in levels they can’t imagine, they’d cut her into pieces and bathe in her blood.”
“No.” Eve spoke from the doorway. “No, they wouldn’t because I’m better than they are. They can’t beat me, and they sure as hell can’t beat us. Can you give us a minute?” she asked Mira.
“Yes.” She touched Roarke’s arm before she went back inside the conference room.
“Do you really think those two trust-fund fuckwits could take me down?”
Oh aye, he thought, her ego was healthy enough—so was her temper. But by God, so was his. “Think, no. But neither would I have thought those two trust-fund fuckwits could or would murder nine people or more, and have the NYPSD chasing their tails.”
“Chasing our . . .” Fury erupted. He’d have sworn his skin singed in the hot flow of its lava. “Is that what you call this? Is that what you call putting a solid case together in under a week? Making connections that tie th
em up out of sweat and sleepless nights and solid, consistent police work? Chasing our tails?”
“So solid a case you’re about to paint a target on your back rather than trust that solid case and police work.”
“This is police work, goddamn it. This is the job, and you know it. You knew it from the jump, and if you can’t back me when—”
“Stop there,” he warned her. “I haven’t said I wouldn’t back you, but I won’t be pushed into it.”
“I don’t have time to ease into it, to debate and discuss. I didn’t put it together, and I should have. I didn’t see it until Mira pointed it out, and it should’ve been flashing like fucking neon in my brain. I’ll know who their next target is if it’s me, and I won’t have to stand over somebody else I couldn’t save.”
“I understand that, and you, very well.” Christ, he was tired. He couldn’t remember when he’d last been so bloody knackered. “Do you really expect me to have no concerns, no worries, no dark thoughts? Reverse it. I’m putting myself up as bait. What do you do?”
“I trust you enough to know you can and will handle yourself, and use the resources you have available to ensure your own safety.”