Roarke stared at her a moment, saw she was seriously at sea. With a chuckle, he walked over, cupped her chin, skimmed his thumb over the dent in it. "Eve, they were off duty and on each other."
"On each other?" It took her a beat, then two. "Sex? You think they had sex? That's ridiculous."
"Why?"
"Because—because it is. She thinks he's a pest. He goes out of his way to irritate her. I know you thought they had some…thing developing, but you were off. She's busy fooling around with Charles Monroe and he's…" She trailed off, thinking of the odd looks, the silences, the blushes. The signals.
"Oh, Jesus Christ," was all she could say. "Jesus Christ, they're having sex. I don't need this."
"Why should you care?"
"Because. They're cops. They're both cops, and damn it, she's my cop. This kind of shit gets in the way, it messes things up. They'll moon over each other for a while, then something's going to go wrong, and they'll start spitting and slapping."
"Why do you assume it won't work?"
"Because it won't. It doesn't. Your energies and your focus get all split up when they need to be channeled on the job. You start mixing sex and romance and Christ knows what into it, everything gets tilted. They've got no business having sex. Cops aren't supposed to—"
"Have a personal life?" he finished, just a bit coolly. "Personal feelings and choices?"
"I didn't mean that. Exactly. But they're better off without them," she added in a mutter.
"Thank you so much."
"This isn't about us. I'm not talking about us."
"Meaning you're not a cop, and we haven't mixed sex, romance, and Christ knows what into it?"
She'd pushed a button all right, Eve noted and wished she'd broken her finger first. "This is about two cops working on my team and on two messy investigations."
"An hour ago I was inside you, and you were wrapped around me." His voice was more than cool now, it was cold. As were his eyes. "That was about us, and the investigations were still there, messy or otherwise. How long are you going to keep believing you'd be better off without that?"
"That's not what I meant." She got to her feet, surprised to find herself just a little shaken.
"Isn't it?"
"Don't put words in my mouth or thoughts in my head. I don't have time for some marital crisis right now."
"Fine, I don't have the tolerance for one."
When he turned and left her, snapping the door closed between their offices, she lifted a fist. Then, as the temper refused to build and spare her from guilt, she lifted the other and knocked them against her temples.
Heaving out a breath, she strode to the door, opened it, and faced him down. He was already behind his desk and barely acknowledged her.
"That's not what I meant," she said again. "But maybe it's part of it. I know you love me, but I don't know why. I look at you, and I just can't get why it's me. Every time I get my balance, I lose it again. Because it shouldn't be me, and I think it'd kill me if you ever figured that out."
He started to get to his feet, but she shook her head. "No, I don't have time. I mean it. I just wanted to say that, and to tell you it wasn't what I meant. Peabody—she got hurt before, she got bruised because she tipped for a cop—another cop, another case. I'm not going to see that happen to her again. That's it. That's all. I'm going in
. I'll be in touch if there's anything you need to know."
She moved fast. He could have stopped her, but he stayed where he was and let her go.
Later, he told himself, he'd deal with her. And she would have to deal with him.
• • •
Eve strode into Central. The glowing mood with which she'd started the day was now tarnished. She thought it just as well. She'd work better, sharper, if she was edgy. Spotting Peabody, she jerked her chin, then pointed a finger toward her office.
She could see the signs of an unhappy, sleepless night on her aide's face. She'd expected that. She held the door herself until Peabody moved through, then closed it. "As of now, you put Zeke out of your mind. It's being handled, and you have a job to do."