“I’m saying the circle’s too tidy to ignore. I nearly didn’t tell you,” he added, resting his forehead on hers.
“Give me a minute.” She stepped away from him, leaned out on the rail, stared out over the resort. But she was seeing that cold, dirty room, and herself huddled in the corner like an animal. Blood on her hands.
“He had a deal going,” she said quietly. “Some deal or other, I think. He wasn’t drinking as much—and it was worse for me when he wasn’t good and drunk when he came back. And he had some money. Well.” She took a deep breath. “Well. It plays out. Do you know what I think?”
“Tell me.”
“I think sometimes fate cuts you a break. Like it says, okay, you’ve had enough of that crap, so it’s time you fell into something nice. See what you make out of it.” She turned back to him then. “We’re making something out of it. Whatever they were to us, or to each other, it’s what we are now that counts.”
“Darling Eve. I adore you.”
“Then you’ll do me a favor. Keep yourself scarce for the next couple of hours. I don’t want to give Skinner any opportunities. I need to talk to him, and he won’t talk if you’re with me.”
“Agreed, with one condition. You go wired.” He took a small jeweled pin from his pocket, attached it to her lapel. “I’ll monitor from here.”
“It’s illegal to record without all parties’ knowledge and permission unless you have proper authorization.”
“Is it really?” He kissed her. “That’s what you get for bedding down with bad companions.”
“Heard about that, did you?”
“Just as I heard that a large portion of your fellow cops walked out of the speech. Your reputation stands, Lieutenant. I imagine your seminar tomorrow will be packed.”
“My…Shit! I forgot. I’m not thinking about it,” she muttered on the way out. “Not thinking about it.”
She slipped into the conference room where Skinner was leading a seminar on tactics. It was some relief to realize she’d missed the lecture and had come in during the question-and-answer period. There were a lot of long looks in her direction as she walked down the side of the room and found a seat halfway from the back.
She scoped out the setup. Skinner on stage at the podium, Hayes standing to his back and his right, at attention. Two other personal security types on his other side.
Excessive, she thought, and obviously so. The message was that the location, the situation, posed personal jeopardy for Skinner; but he was taking precautions and doing his job.
Very neat.
She raised her hand, and was ignored. Five questions passed until she simply got to her feet and addressed him. And as she rose, she noted Hayes slide a hand inside his jacket.
She knew every cop in the room caught the gesture. The room went dead quiet.
“Commander Skinner, a position of command regularly requires you to send men into situations where loss of life, civilian and departmental, is a primary risk. In such cases, do you find it more beneficial to the operation to set personal feelings for your men aside, or to use those feelings to select the team?”
“Every man who picks up a badge does so acknowledging he will give his life if need be to serve and protect. Every commander must respect that acknowledgment. Personal feelings must be weighed, in order to select the right man for the right situation. This is a matter of experience and the accumulation, through years and that experience, of recognizing the best dynamic for each given op. But personal feelings—i.e., emotional attachments, private connections, friendships, or animosities—must never color the decision.”
“So, as commander, you’d have no problem sacrificing a close personal friend or connection to the success of the op?”
His color came up. And the tremor she had noticed in his hand became more pronounced. “‘Sacrificing,’ Lieutenant Dallas? A poor choice of words. Cops aren’t lambs being sent to slaughter. Not passive sacrifices to the greater good, but active, dedicated soldiers in the fight for justice.”
“Soldiers are sacrificed in battle. Acceptable losses.”
“No loss is acceptable.” His bunched fist pounded the podium. “Necessary, but not acceptable. Every man who has fallen under my command weighs on me. Every child left without a father is my responsibility. Command requires this, and that the commander be strong enough to bear the burdon.”
“And does command, in your opinion, require restitution for those losses?”
“It does, Lieutenant. There is no justice without payment.”
“For the children of the fallen? And for the children of those who escaped the hand of justice? In your opinion.”
“Blood speaks to blood.” His voice began to rise, and to tremble. “If you were more concerned with justice than with your own personal choices, you wouldn’t need to ask the question.”
“Justice is my concern, Commander. It appears we have different definitions of the term. Do you think your goddaughter was the best choice for this operation? Does her death weigh on you now, or does it balance the other losses?”