“I have contacted and fully informed Chief Tibble on all areas of these matters. I will request he attend as well. Lieutenant Dallas, I’ll need you in my office at ten hundred. Commander Oberman has requested some of my time today, and has further requested to meet you.”

“Renee’s asked him to intervene. Commander—”

“Intervention will hardly help Garnet now,” Whitney interrupted. “If he asks me to influence or order you to ease off his daughter regarding the murder of Keener, he will be disappointed.”

Whitney got to his feet. “Ten hundred, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir.”

He looked at the screen again. “It’s good work you’ve all done,” he said. “Good work on an ugly business.”

Mira rose. “Would you mind giving me a ride in?”

“Of course.”

She’s worried about him, Eve thought. And she’s not the only one.

She faced the room again. “Dismissed.”

“Hold on, hold on.” Obviously disgusted, Webster shook his head. “You think you can push me out? Get me out of the way before you’re updated by your EDD team and your partner?”

“They have nothing on which to update me. Is that correct?”

“Not a thing,” Feeney said easily.

“They’re having a sale on cashmere sweaters,” Peabody announced. “Not that I can afford one anyway. Naturale—all locations. But that’s probably not what you meant by update.”

Eve gave Webster a cool stare. “It seems we’re done.”

He simply shook his head again, folded his arms.

“If you’d excuse us, Lieutenant Webster and I need a few minutes.”

Feet shuffled. And Roarke continued to lean against the wall. Eve sent him a look that managed to be apologetic and annoyed at the same time. Roarke pushed off the wall.

“Mind your hands, boyo,” he murmured as he passed Webster. “Otherwise, this round I’ll let her have a go at you. And she’s m

eaner than I am.”

Webster rose again, scowled. But stuck his hands in his pockets.

“You’re not cutting me out of this, Dallas.”

“Me, cutting you out? You just stood there and tried to grab my case.”

“Bad cops fall under IAB.”

“Don’t give me your bureaucratic bullshit. If I didn’t expect, and fully understand, that IAB needs to have a hand in this, I wouldn’t have asked for your assist, and you’d still know squat.”

“At which time I played it your way instead of immediately informing my captain. I’m sick to death of this attitude that we’re not cops, not real ones.”

“I never said you weren’t a cop. But you’re sure as hell not Homicide, not anymore. You made your choice there, Webster. You’ve got a job to do. Accepted. So do I, and you’re not making a grab for my investigation.”

“You need the collar? No problem. I’ll make sure you get the credit.”

“I ought to kick your ass for that.” Indeed her hands fisted at her sides. “Fuck you. Fuck you sideways if you think this is about a collar, about credit. If you think—”

“I don’t. I don’t,” he repeated, and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “And that was a cheap shot, Apologies.”

Tags: J.D. Robb In Death Mystery
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