“I’ll settle things here and follow you in. I think you should be able to handle him, Detective.”
“I think a ten-year-old boy could handle him in this shape, sir.” She shook her head as Renquist continued to sob and drum his feet like a child in the throes of a tantrum. Then her head snapped up. “What? What did you say?”
“Do I have to repeat a standard order for prisoner procedure?”
“No. No, sir. Did you . . . did you say ‘detective’?”
“Something wrong with your ears? Oh, by the way, congratulations. Suspect is contained and in custody,” she said into her communicator as she walked from the room. She paused only long enough to wink at Roarke. “All units, stand down. Nice job.”
“Go ahead,” Feeney said to Peabody as she stood shell-shocked with McNab’s kissing noises and applause ringing in her earpiece. “I’ve got this bag of shit.”
With a little whoop, Peabody leaped over Renquist. “Dallas! Are you sure? Really, really sure? The results aren’t posted until tomorrow.”
“Why aren’t you following my direct order re the prisoner?”
“Please.”
“Jesus, what a baby.” But it took every ounce of will to hold back the grin. “I’ve got some pull. I used it. Results will be posted at oh eight hundred. You placed twenty-sixth, which isn’t shabby. They’re taking a full hundred, so you’re in. You could’ve done better on the sims.”
“I knew it.”
“But you did good. All in all you did good. The standard ceremony will be at noon, day after tomorrow. You will not cry during the cleanup of an operation,” she said when Peabody’s eyes teared up.
“I won’t. Okay.” Peabody threw open her arms, lurched forward.
Eve backpedaled. “No kissing! Mother of God. You get a handshake. A handshake.” She stuck out her hand in defense. “That’s it.”
“Yes, sir. Yes, sir.” She took Eve’s hand, pumped it. “Oh screw it,” she said, and wrapped her arms tightly enough around Eve to crack ribs.
“Get off me, you maniac.” But now it was touch and go whether she could hold back the laugh. “Go jump McNab. I’ll
transport the damn prisoner.”
“Thanks. Oh man, oh boy, thanks!” She started to run for the door when it flew open. McNab caught her—and Eve had to give him credit for keeping his feet—in mid-air.
Rolling her eyes for form, she walked back into the bedroom.
“I’ll load him up,” Feeney told her. “Let the girl have time to do her victory dance.”
“I’ll be right behind you.”
“You’ll be sorry.” Renquist’s eyes were still streaming, but the fury was in them again, lighting the tears. “Very sorry.”
She stepped up, into his face, let the silence hang until she saw fear eat away at the anger. “I knew it was you, the first time I saw you. I saw what you were. Do you know what you are, Niles? Pitiful and weak, a coward who hid behind other cowards because he didn’t even have the balls to be himself when he killed innocents. Do you know why I ordered my detective to take you in? Because you’re not worth another minute of my time. You’re over.”
She turned away when he began to weep again. “Give me a lift, sailor,” she said to Roarke.
“It would be my pleasure.” He took her hand when they reached the door, and tightened his grip when she hissed and tried to shake him off.
“Too late to worry about such things now. You winked at me during an operation.”
“I certainly did nothing of the kind.” She folded her lips, primly. “Maybe I had something in my eye.”
“Let’s have a look.” He backed her up against the wall of the hallway, and laughed when she swore at him. “No, I don’t see a thing, except those big, gorgeous cop’s eyes.” He kissed her between them. “Peabody’s not the only one who did good today.”
“I did the job. That’s good enough for me.”
Two days later, she read Mira’s preliminary psych report on Niles Renquist. Then she leaned back, stared at the ceiling. It was an interesting ploy, she mused. If his defense team was good enough, he might just pull it off.