“That’s right. Hold on to me.” He gathered her closer in the dark, rocking her as he would a child until her shudders quieted. “You’re all right now.”
“Don’t let go.”
“No.” He pressed his lips to her temple. “I won’t.”
When she woke in the morning, the dream only a vague smear on her mind, his arms were still around her.
*** CHAPTER SEVEN ***
Eve beat Peabody into Central. It was deliberate, and it cost her a full hour’s sleep that morning. She hoped to file her updated report, then move on, before her aide showed up. If she was lucky, there would be no discussion involving Charles Monroe.
The detective’s bullpen was buzzing. It turned out that Detective Zeno’s wife had given birth to a baby girl the night before, and he’d celebrated by bringing in two dozen donuts. Knowing detectives, Eve snagged one before the unit fell on them like hyenas on scavenged meat.
“Who won the pool?”
“I did.” Baxter grinned around a cinnamon twist with raspberry jelly. “Six hundred and thirty smackeroos.”
“Damn it. I never win the baby pool.” Consoling herself, Eve snagged a cruller. Taking the first bite, she grinned at him. Good old Baxter, she thought. He could be a pain in the ass, but he was meticulous and sharp with details.
He was just perfect. “Looks like this is your lucky day.”
“No shit. I’ve had my eye on this new auto-entertainment system. The six bills plus is going to go a long way toward putting that baby in my ride.”
“That’s great, Baxter, but I mean it’s really your lucky day.” She pulled a clear file of discs out of her bag, those gathered from the uniforms and detectives who’d logged witness names the night of the Draco homicide. “You get the grand prize. Run standard backgrounds and probabilities on these individuals, re Draco. We got close to three thousand names here. Grab a couple of detectives, a few uniforms if you need them, and get statements. Let’s see if you can cut that number in half by the end of the week.”
He snorted. “Very funny, Dallas.”
“I have orders from Whitney to tag somebody for this duty. Tag, Baxter. You’re it.”
“This is bullshit.” When she dropped the file on his desk, his eyes wheeled. “You can’t dump this nightmare on me, Dallas.”
“Can, have, did. You’re dropping crumbs, Baxter. You should remember to always keep your area clean.”
Pleased with the morning’s work, she headed for her office with his curses following her.
The door was open, and the sounds of riffling came clearly into the hall. Eve pressed her back to the wall, danced her fingers over her weapon. The son of a bitch. She had him this time. The sneaking candy thief’s ass was hers at last.
She charged into the room, leading with her fist, and caught the intruder by the scruff of the neck. “Gotcha!”
“Hey, lady!”
She had six inches and a good twenty pounds on him. Eve calculated she could squeeze him through her skinny window without too much trouble. He’d make an interesting smear on the pavement below.
“I’m not going to read you your rights,” she said as she bounced him against the file cabinets. “You won’t need them where you’re going.”
“Call Lieutenant Dallas!” His voice piped out like a rusty flute. “Call Lieutenant Dallas.”
She hauled him around, stared into his jittery eyes, doubled in size behind microgoggles. “I am Dallas, you candy-stealing putz.”
“Well, jeez. Jeez. I’m Lewis. Tomjohn Lewis, from Maintenance. I got your new equipment.”
“What the hell are you talking about? Let me smell your breath. You got candy breath, I’m going to pull out your tongue and strangle you with it.”
With his feet dangling an inch from the floor, he puffed out his cheeks and blew explosive air in her face. “Cracked wheat waffles down to the Eatery, and—and the fruit cup. I ain’t had candy. Swear to God.”
“No, but you might want to consider a stronger mouthwash. What’s this about new equipment?”
“There. Right there. I was just finishing the transfer.”