Loyalty in Death

The fire sprinklers had gone off so that streams and puddles of wet ran through the waste. Her feet squelched as she pushed through. The stench was bad, very bad. Blood and smoke and ripe gore. She forced herself not to think about what littered the floor, ordered herself to ignore the two emergency workers who were weeping silently as they marked the dead, and looked for A

"We'll need extra shifts at the morgue and the labs, to deal with IDs." Her voice was rusty, so she cleared it. "Can you clear that with Central, Feeney?"

"Yeah, goddamn it. I brought my daughter here on her sixteenth birthday. Fucking pigs." He yanked out his communicator and turned away.

Eve kept going. The closer she came to point of impact, the worse it got. She'd been there once before, with Roarke. She remembered the opulence, the elegance. Cool colors, beautiful people, wide-eyed tourists, excited young girls, groups of shoppers crowding at tables to experience the old tradition of tea at The Plaza.

She fought her way through rubble then stared, cold-eyed, at the blackened crater.

"They never had a chance." A

"Do you know what they used?"

"There were children." A

Eve could see it, and much too well. She already knew it would come back to her in dreams. But she turned, faced A

"You want business as usual?" In a move Eve didn't bother to block, A

"They do," Eve said quietly. "That's all this is to them. If we're going to stop them, we have to do the same."

"You want a goddamn droid. You can go to hell."

"Lieutenant Malloy." Peabody stepped forward, laid a hand on her arm.

Eve had forgotten Peabody was there, and now shook her head. "Stand back, Officer. I'll settle for a droid if you can't give me your report, Lieutenant Malloy."

"You'll get a report when I've got something to give you," A

"She was off, Dallas, way off."

"Doesn't matter." But it stung, Eve realized, more than a little. "She'll pull herself back together. I want you to edit that from the record. It isn't pertinent. We'll need masks and goggles from the field kit. We won't be able to work in here otherwise."

"What are we going to do in here?"

"The only thing we can at this point." Eve rubbed her stinging eyes. "Help the emergency team collect the dead."

It was miserable and gruesome work – the kind that would live inside you always unless you turned off everything you were.

It wasn't people she was dealing with, she told herself, but pieces, evidence. Whenever her shield began to slip, whenever the horror of it crept through, she yanked it up again, blanked her mind, and went on with the job.

It was dark when she stepped outside with Peabody. "You all right?" Eve asked.

"I'll get there. Jesus, Dallas, sweet Jesus."

"Go home, take a soother, get drunk, call Charles and have sex. Use whatever works, but blank it out."

"Maybe I'll go for all three." She tried for a halfhearted smile, then spotted McNab coming their way and stiffened like a flagpole.

"I need a drink." He looked directly, deliberately at Eve. "I need a whole bunch of drinks. Do you want us back at Central?"

"No. We've had enough for one day. Report at eight hundred hours."

"You got it." Then, following the lecture he'd given himself off and on throughout the day, he made himself look at Peabody. "You want a lift home?

"I – well…" Flustered, she shifted from foot to foot. "No, um. No."

"Take the lift, Peabody. You're a mess. No point in fighting public transpo at this hour."

"I don't want…" Before Eve's baffled eyes she blushed like a schoolgirl. "I think it would be better…" She coughed, cleared her throat. "I appreciate the offer, McNab, but I'm fine."

"You look tired, that's all." And Eve watched in amazement as his color rose as well. "It was rough in there."

"I'm okay." She lowered her head, stared at her shoes. "I'm fine."

"If you're sure. Well, ah, eight hundred hours. Later."

With his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched, he headed off.

"What's the deal here, Peabody?"

"Nothing. No deal." Her head came up sharply, and despising herself, she watched McNab walk away. "Not a deal. Not a thing. Nothing going on."

Stop it, she ordered herself as babbling continued to stream out of her mouth. "Zip. Zero happening here. Oh look." With outrageous relief for the distraction, she saw Roarke step out of a limo. "Looks like you've got a lift. A class one."

Eve looked across the avenue, studied Roarke in the blinking red and blue emergency lights. "Take my vehicle and go home, Peabody. I'll get transpo to Central in the morning."

"Yes, sir," she said, but Eve was already crossing the street.

"You've had a lousy day, Lieutenant." He lifted a hand, started to stroke her cheek, but she stepped back.

"No, don't touch me. I'm filthy." She saw the look in his eyes, knew he'd ignore her, and yanked the door open herself. "Not yet. Okay? God, not yet."

She climbed in, waited for him to settle beside her, order the driver to take them home, then lift the privacy screen.

"Now?" he said quietly.

Saying nothing, she turned to him, turned into him. And wept.

– =O=-***-=O=-

It helped, the tears and the man who understood her enough to offer nothing more until they were shed. When they were home, she took a hot shower, and the wine he poured her and was grateful he said nothing.

They ate in the bedroom. She'd been certain she wouldn't be able to swallow. But the first spoonful of hot soup hit her raw stomach like a blessing.

"Thanks." She sighed a little, leaned her head back against the cushions in the seating area. "For giving me an hour. I needed it."

She needed more than an hour, Roarke thought, studying the pale face, the bruised eyes. But they'd take it a step at a time. "I was there earlier." He waited while her eyes opened. "I would have done what I could to help you, but civilians weren't permitted."

"No." She closed her eyes again. "They're not."

But he had seen, briefly at least, he had seen the carnage, the horrors, and her. He had seen her deal with it, her hands steady, her eyes dark with the pity she thought she hid from everyone.

"I don't envy you your job, Lieutenant."

She nearly smiled at that. "You can't prove that to me when you're always popping up into it." With her eyes still closed, she reached out for his hand. "The hotel was one of yours, wasn't it? I didn't have time to check."

"Yes, it was one of mine. And so are the people who died in it."

"No." Her eyes flashed open. "They're not."

"Only yours, Eve? Are the dead your exclusive property?" He rose, restless, poured a brandy he didn't want. "Not this time. The doorman who lost his arm, who may yet lose his life, is a friend of mine. I've known him a decade, brought him over from London because he had a yen to live in New York."

"I'm sorry."

"The wait staff, the musicians, the desk and bell staff, every one of them died working for me." He turned back, and a fierce and cold fury rode in his eyes. "Every guest, every tourist who wandered through, every single person was under my roof. By Christ, that makes them mine."