"We have the Drake fundraiser tonight."
Her eyes went grim. "I didn't forget."
"No, I see that." He took her hand, tugging her down for a kiss. "I'll be in touch."
He sipped his coffee as she left and knew this was one time she would be on time for a social event. For her, for both of them now, it was business.
*** CHAPTER EIGHT ***
As her plans had been to dive straight into work, Eve wasn't pleased to see IAB waiting in her office. She wouldn't have been pleased in any case.
"Get out of my chair, Webster."
He kept his seat, turned his head, and flashed her a smile. She'd known Don Webster since her early days at the academy. He'd been a full year ahead of her, but they'd bumped into each other from time to time.
It had taken her weeks to clue in to the fact that he'd gone out of his way to make certain they'd bumped into each other. She remembered now that she'd been a little flattered, a little annoyed, and then had dismissed him.
Her reasons for joining the academy hadn't been for socializing and sex but for training.
When they'd both been assigned to Cop Central, they'd bumped into each other some more.
And one night during her rookie year, after her first homicide, they'd had a drink and sex. She'd concluded that it had been no more than a distraction for both of them, and they'd remained marginally friendly.
Then Webster had shifted into Internal Affairs and their paths had rarely crossed.
&
nbsp; "Hey, Dallas, looking good."
"Get out of my chair," she repeated and walked straight to the AutoChef for coffee.
He sighed, rose. "I was hoping we could keep this friendly."
"I never feel friendly when the rat squad's in my office."
He hadn't changed much, she noted. His face was keen and narrow, his eyes a cool and pleasant blue. He had a quick smile and plenty of charm that seemed to suit the wavy flow of dark brown hair. She remembered his body as being tough and disciplined, his humor as being sly.
He wore the boxy black suit that was IAB's unofficial uniform, but he individualized it with a tie of screaming colors and shapes.
She remembered, too, Webster had been a fashion hound as long as she'd known him.
He shrugged off the insult, then turned to close the door. "When the complaint came down, I asked to take it. I thought I could make it easier."
"I'm not a whole lot interested in easy. I don't have time for this, Webster. I've got a case to close."
"You're going to have to make time. The more you cooperate, the less time you'll have to make."
"You know that complaint's bullshit."
"Sure, I do." He smiled again and sent a single dimple winking in his left cheek. "The legend of your coffee's reached the lofty planes of IAB. How about it?"
She sipped, watching him over the rim. If, she thought, she had to deal with this nonsense, best to deal with it through the devil you know. She programmed another cup.
"You were a pretty good street cop, Webster. Why'd you transfer to IAB?"
"Two reasons. First, it's the most direct route to administration. I never wanted the streets, Dallas. I like the view from the tower."
Her brow lifted. She hadn't realized he had ambitions that pointed to chief or commissioner. Taking the coffee out, she handed it to him. "And reason number two?"