“Lieutenant Dallas’s testing was postponed at my order,” Whitney said with snarling fury. “And with your approval.”
“I’m well aware of that.” Simpson angled his head. “I’m talking about speculation in the press. We will, all of us, be under a microscope until this man is stopped. Lieuten
ant Dallas’s record and her actions will be up for public dissection.”
“My record’ll stand it.”
“And your actions,” Simpson said with a faint smile. “How will you answer the fact that you’re jeopardizing the case and your position by indulging in a personal relationship with a suspect? And what do you think my official position will be if and when it comes out that you spent the night with that suspect?”
Control kept her in place, made her eyes flat, had her voice even. “I’m sure you’d hang me to save yourself, Chief Simpson.”
“Without hesitation,” he agreed. “Be at City Hall. Noon, sharp.”
When the door clinked shut behind him, Commander Whitney sat again. “Dickless son of a bitch.” Then his eyes, still sharp as razors, cut into Eve. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Eve accepted—was forced to accept—that her privacy was no longer an issue. “I spent the night with Roarke. It was a personal decision, on my personal time. In my professional opinion, as primary investigator, he has been eliminated as a suspect. It doesn’t negate the fact that my behavior was inadvisable.”
“Inadvisable,” Whitney exploded. “Try asinine. Try career suicide. Goddamn it, Dallas, can’t you hold your glands in check? I don’t expect this from you.”
She didn’t expect it from herself. “It doesn’t affect the investigation, or my ability to continue it. If you think differently, you’re wrong. If you pull me off, you’ll have to take my badge, too.”
Whitney stared at her another moment, swore again. “You make damn sure Roarke is eliminated from the short list, Dallas. Damn sure he’s eliminated or booked within thirty-six hours. And you ask yourself a question.”
“I’ve already asked it,” she interrupted, with a giddy relief only she knew she experienced when he didn’t call for her badge—yet. “How did Simpson know where I spent last night? I’m being monitored. Second question is why. Is it on Simpson’s authority, is it DeBlass? Or, did someone leak the information to Simpson in order to damage my credibility and therefore, the investigation.”
“I expect you to find out.” He jerked a thumb toward the door. “Watch yourself at that press conference, Dallas.”
They’d taken no more than three strides down the corridor when Feeney erupted. “What the hell are you thinking of? Jesus Christ, Dallas.”
“I didn’t plan it, okay?” She jabbed for an elevator, jammed her hands in her pockets. “Back off.”
“He’s on the short list. He’s one of the last people we know of who saw Sharon DeBlass alive. He’s got more money than God, and can buy anything, including immunity.”
“He doesn’t fit type.” She stormed into the elevator, barked out her floor. “I know what I’m doing.”
“You don’t know shit. All the years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you so much as stub your toe on a guy. Now you’ve fallen fucking over on one.”
“It was just sex. Not all of us have a nice comfortable life with a nice comfortable wife. I wanted someone to touch me, and he wanted to be the one. It’s none of your goddamn business who I sleep with.”
He caught her arm before she could storm out of the elevator. “The hell with that. I care about you.”
She fought back the rage at being questioned, at being probed, at having her most private moments invaded. She turned back, lowering her voice so that those who walked the corridor wouldn’t overhear.
“Am I a good cop, Feeney?”
“You’re the best I ever worked with. That’s why—”
She held up a hand. “What makes a good cop?”
He sighed. “Brains, guts, patience, nerve, instinct.”
“My brains, my guts, my instincts tell me it’s not Roarke. Every time I try to turn it around and point it at him, I hit a wall. It’s not him. I’ve got the patience, Feeney, and the nerve to keep at it until we find out who.”
His eyes stayed on hers. “And if you’re wrong this time, Dallas?”
“If I’m wrong, they won’t have to ask for my badge.” She had to take a steadying breath. “Feeney, if I’m wrong about this, about him, I’m finished. All the way finished. Because if I’m not a good cop, I’m nothing.”
“Jesus, Dallas, don’t—”