Kindred In Death

She found the lab empty but for a handful of lab rats tucked in their glass cubes or dozing over paperwork. And the egg-shaped head plastered with thin black hair of the chief bent toward a comp screen while his clever, if creepy, fingers played over both screen and keyboard.

“Status.” She said it like a dare.

He shot her a resentful glare. “I had tickets to the ball game. Boxed seats.”

Bribes, no doubt. “Captain MacMasters had a daughter. Now ask me if I give a flying shit about your box seat.”

“She wouldn’t be less dead if I was chowing on a dog, sucking down a brew, and watching the Yankees on freaking Peace Day.”

“Gee, you’re right. It’s too bad she got raped, sodomized, raped again, terrorized, and choked to death on freaking Peace Day just to inconvenience you.”

“Jesus, chill.” The murderous gleam in her eye must have gotten through his own ire as he waved those spider fingers in the air. “I’m here, aren’t I? And I already ran the glass. You got cherry fizzy and barbs. The mickey comes up as Slider, liquid form, with a small kick of powdered Zoner.”

“Zoner?”

“Yeah, just a touch. Didn’t need it, not with the Slider, but the combo gives the user freaky dreams. Usually, you wake up with a mother of a migraine. I don’t see an upside to sucking down this particular cocktail, but it takes all kinds.”

“So, she’d have suffered even when she was out. And come back in pain.”

“He’d wanted to just knock her out, the Slider’d do it. You have to figure he wanted the edge. I got DNA and prints, and both match the vic’s. I was just sending it over. You could’ve saved yourself the trip.”

“What about the sheets, her clothes?”

“I’m not a freaking machine. I’ve got them logged in, and I’m going to run them. Sweepers lit them up on scene-just like I figure you did-no semen. He suited up most like. But we’ll give them a full scan. If his suit sprang a leak the size of a pinhole, or he drooled, we’ll find it. Before you ask, the cuffs are standard issue. I took a gander and they look new. Or at least they hadn’t seen any use to speak of before this. Blood and tissue match the vic’s. No prints. Fibers caught in them, probably from the sheets. Harpo can take those in the morning.”

She couldn’t argue. He’d done the job. “Send the report on the glass-and another as soon as you finish with the sheets, her clothes.”

She left it at that and headed to Central with the low hum of a headache at the base of her skull.

Even on Peace Day, cruising toward evening, Central buzzed. Protect and serve meant 24/7, and peace be damned. Bad guys, in their various forms, on their various levels, didn’t take time off. She imagined there were precincts across the island filled with not-so-bad guys who’d had too much holiday brew, indulged in some holiday pushy-shovey, or had their wallets lifted in the parade crush.

She took the glides rather than the faster elevators to give herself just a little more time to level out.

She wished she had something to pummel. Wished she could take twenty to swing into one of the on-site gyms and tune up a sparring droid. But eight hours after the tag from Whitney, she strode into the bullpen in Homicide, and straight through to her office.

Coffee, she thought-the real deal-would have to substitute for the release of punches and sore knuckles.

He sat in her visitor’s chair, one she knew was miserably uncomfortable because she didn’t want anyone to settle into her space too long.

But he sat, working on his PPC, his sleeves rolled up, his hair tied back as it was when he prepared to dive into some thorny task or was already in the thicket.

She shut the door.

“I thought you’d be with Feeney.”

“I was.” Roarke sat where he was to study her face. “They haven’t been back from the scene long. They’re setting up in the conference room you booked.”

She nodded, walked straight to her AutoChef to order coffee. “I just want a minute to organize my thoughts for the briefing. You can tell them I’m on my way.”

She’d wanted to brood out her ski

He’d risen and stepped behind her. He made less noise than their cat. And he took the mug of coffee out of her hand to set it aside.

“Hey. I want the kick.”

“You can have it in a minute.” All he did with those strong, seeking blue eyes on hers was touch his fingertips to her cheeks.

“Okay.” Letting go, just letting go, she stepped into his arms. She could close her eyes and be enfolded, be held, be loved and understood.

“There now.” He turned his head to press his lips to her hair. “There.”

“I’m okay.”

“Not quite. I won’t ask if you’ll pass this on. You wouldn’t even if a colleague hadn’t asked you for help.” At the shake of her head, he kissed her hair again, then eased her back so their eyes met. “You need to prove you can get through it.”

“I am getting through it.”

“You are. But I think you forget you need to get through nothing alone.”

“She was older than I was. Twice my age. Still…”

He stroked her back when she shuddered, just one hard tremor. “Still. Young, defenseless, i

“I’d already stopped being i

“No, you never could.”

She held and was held another minute, then stepped back. “I was wishing I had time to go beat the living crap out of a sparring droid.”

“Ah.” He had to smile. “A never-fail for you.”

“Yeah. This was better.”

He picked up her coffee, handed it to her. “Taking a blocker for the headache would be better yet.”

“It’s not so bad, not so bad now. I’ll work it off.”

“The pizza I ordered should help.”

“You ordered pizza?” The part of her that yearned warred against the part of her that wanted to maintain discipline. “I’ve told you not to keep buying food for my cops. You’ll spoil and corrupt them.”

“There’s only one cop I’m interested in spoiling and corrupting, and pizza happens to be a weakness of hers.”

She drank her coffee doing her best to scowl at him over the rim. “Did you get pepperoni?”

5

FEENEY CHOMPED DOWN ON A LOADED SLICE. He stood at the conference table, focused on the pie while Jamie and McNab attacked a second one. Her former partner, now captain of the Electronic Detectives Division managed to balance what was left of the slice and what appeared to be a tube of cream soda while studying crime scene photos Peabody had yet to tack to the murder board.

He’d had his hair chopped recently, Eve noted, but it did little to combat the spring of ginger and wires of gray that spooled through it. His face, weathered and worn, drooped like a sleepy hound’s. She figured he’d bought the shit-brown jacket he’d paired with wrinkled trousers before his best boy, McNab, had been weaned from his mother’s tit.

In contrast, the young EDD ace and Peabody’s cohab sizzled in atomic red cargos and a tee the color of radioactive egg yolks scrambled with lightning bolts. His long blond hair was tucked back from his thin, pretty face in a slinky braid.

Since it was there, Eve scooped up a slice.

“You okay having Jamie work on this?” she asked Feeney.

“He’s going to push on it anyway. It’s better if he does it where I can keep my eye on him.” He took a swig of cream soda. “He’s going to be rocky right off, but he’ll steady up. I knew Deena, too. Good kid.” He kept his eyes on the crime scene photos. “Sick fuck. This one’s going to spread through the department. You’ll have more cops lining up for detail on this than you can use.”