She was dead asleep when the 'link beeped. For perhaps the first time in her life, she simply rolled over and ignored it. When Roarke shook her shoulder, she just grunted and yanked the cover over her head.
"I'm sleeping here."
"You just had a call from Whitney. He wants you in his office at Central in an hour."
"Shit. That can't be good." Resigned, she pushed the covers back, sat up. "The test results and evaluation can't be in yet. It's too early. Goddamn it, Roarke. I'm busted."
"Let's go in and find out."
She shook her head, dragged herself out of bed. "This isn't for you."
"You aren't going in alone. Pull yourself together, Eve."
She bit down on the despair, rolled back her shoulders, and looked at him. He was already in a business suit, his hair shining and sleek. The bruise on his cheekbone had nearly faded away with treatment, but the shadow of it added just a hint of the dangerous.
"How come you already are?"
"Because staying in bed half the morning unless sex is involved is a waste of time. Since you didn't appear to be cooperative in that area, I started my day with coffee instead. Stop stalling and go take your shower."
"Okay, fine, great." She stalked into the bathroom so they could worry in different rooms.
She refused breakfast. He didn't press. But as he drove downtown, she reached for his hand. He held it until he'd parked at Central and turned to her.
"Eve." He cupped her face, relieved that though she was pale, she didn't tremble. "Remember who you are."
"I'm working on it. I'll be all right. You can wait here."
"Not a chance."
"Okay." She took a bracing breath. "Let's do it."
They rode in silence. As cops piled off and on the elevator from floor to floor, gazes flickered toward her, then away. There was nothing to be said, and no way to say it.
Her stomach rolled as she stepped off, but her legs were steady as she approached the outer office of the commander.
The door was open. Whitney stood behind his desk and gestured her inside. His gaze shifted briefly to Roarke.
"Sit down, Dallas."
"I'll stand, sir."
They weren't alone in the room. As before, Tibble stood at the window. Others sat silently: Feeney with his morose face, Peabody with her lips clamped tight, Webster eyeing Roarke specutively. Before Whitney could speak again, Mira hurried in.
"I'm terribly sorry to be late. I was with a patient." She took a seat beside Peabody, folded her hands.
Whitney nodded, then opened the center drawer of his desk. He took out her badge, her weapon, laid them in the center. Her gaze lowered to them, lingered, then lifted without expression.
"Lieutenant Webster."
"Sir." He rose. "The Internal Affairs Bureau finds no cause for sanction or reprimand or for further investigation into the conduct of Lieutenant Dallas."
"Thank you, Lieutenant. Detective Baxter is in the field, but his investigative report on the homicide of Officer Ellen Bowers has been written and filed. The case has been closed, and Lieutenant Dallas is cleared of any suspicion or involvement in that matter. This confirms your evaluation, Dr. Mira."
"Yes, it does. The test results and evaluation clear the lieutenant in all areas and confirm her aptitude for her position. My reports have been entered into the subject's file."
"So noted," Whitney said and turned back to Eve. She hadn't moved, hadn't blinked. "The New York Police and Security Department offers its apologies to one of its finest for an injustice done to her. I add my own personal apology to it. Procedure is necessary, but it is not always equitable."
Tibble stepped forward. "The suspension is lifted and will be expunged from your record. You will not be penalized in any way for the enforced time away from the job. The department will issue a statement to the media detailing what facts are deemed pertinent and necessary. Commander?"