“You know, if cops put more thought and creativity into fashion and grooming, it might improve public relations.”
Eve hopped on an up glide and watched a trio she recognized from Illegals troop onto a down. Stubbled faces, scarred shoes, and a sag at the side of each jacket where the sidearm rested.
They looked fine to her.
“Yeah, we’re putting together a seminar on that. Defensive Fashion.”
“That’s not out there,” Trina insisted. “Clothes can be like a defense, or an offense-”
“Tell me.”
“Or a statement or a reflection. Yours say you’re not only in charge but more than willing to kick ass.”
“My pants say I’m in charge?” Eve didn’t need Mira’s various degrees to recognize babbling nerves.
“The whole deal. Dark colors, but not somber. Good fabrics, clean lines. Could power things up now and again, strong reds or greens, sharp blues.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You should wear sunshades.”
“I lose them.”
“Well, stop. What are you, twelve? Sunshades would totally complete the package. Is this going to take long? Do you think this is going to take long? What if I can’t do it? What if I get it wrong? What if-”
“Stop. What are you, twelve?” At Trina’s nervous laugh, Eve stepped off the glide. “It takes as long as it takes. You need to stop, you stop. Yancy’s the best I’ve got, best I’ve worked with. And if you get it wrong we’ll just toss you in a cage for a few hours, until you get it right.”
“You’re rocking on this.”
“Some.” She pushed through doors.
Yancy was already there, setting up at his workstation. He rose, shot out his quick, easy smile. “Lieutenant.”
“Detective. Appreciate you coming in early for this.”
“No big. Trina?” He offered a hand. “How you doing?”
“A little tipped, I guess. I never did this before.”
“Just relax. I’ll steer you through it. How about something to drink? Something cold?”
“Uh, maybe. Maybe like a lemon fizz? Diet.”
“I’ll get that for you. Just have a seat.”
Trina watched him walk out. “Whoa, daddy. He’s a yummy one.”
“You’re not here to nibble on him.”
“He’s got to go off-duty sometime.” Trina craned her neck to get a better view of Yancy’s ass before he rounded the corner. “Did you ever bump with that?”
“No. Jesus, Trina.”
“Bet that was your loss. Build like that, I bet he can hammer it all night.”
“Thank you. Thanks so much for putting that into my head. It’ll certainly enhance my working relationship with Detective Yancy.”
“I’d like to enhance his working relationship.” Trina blew out a breath. “Hey, thinking about sex makes me feel not so nervous. Good to know. Plus, it won’t be a hardship to work with Detective Hot Ass.”
“Don’t screw around.” Eve raked a hand through her hair as Yancy came back with Trina’s drink and one for himself. “You know how to reach me,” she told him.
“Yep. Trina and I…” He sent Trina a wink. “We’ll get this guy’s face for you. So, Trina, how long have you been in the business of beauty?”
Eve knew that was the way he worked, getting the witness to relax, talking small, easing them in. She fought back the need to tell him to push it, and simply stepped back. Walked away.
She had enough time to get to her office, organize the data-and her own thoughts-for the briefing. Pull in Peabody, Eve mused, as she aimed for Homicide. Get said data set up.
Do the briefing, then move out for the stupid, annoying morning media briefing. She needed to run the probabilities on herself as a target, work in some time during the day to discuss that with Mira. But she needed to get out in the field, needed to be out on the streets.
If this bastard was watching her, she might spot the tag.
She beelined for her office, then pulled up short when she saw Feeney sitting in her visitor’s chair, brooding over a mug of her coffee.
He got to his feet. Worse for wear, she thought. That’s how he looked, a hell of a lot worse for wear. Her back went up even as her stomach churned.
His eyes, baggy and shadowed, stayed on hers. “Got a minute?”
“Yeah.” She stepped in, closed the door. And for once wished her office was bigger. There wasn’t enough room for them to maneuver around each other, she thought, or to give each other enough space for whatever was coming.
Then it popped out of her, simply popped out without thought or plan. “I want to apologize for-”
“Stop.” He tossed it out so quickly her head nearly snapped back as from a blow. “Just stop right there. Bad enough, this is bad enough without that. I was off. Out of line. You’re primary of this investigation, and you’re heading up this task force. I was off, questioning you and your authority. And I was out of line with what I said to you. So.” He paused, took a good slug of coffee. “That’s it.”
“That’s it,” she repeated. “That’s how it’s going to be?”
“It’s your call on how it’s going to be. You want me off the team, you got cause. You got my notes, and I’ll get you a replacement.”
At that moment she wished he had popped her one instead of handed her these hurtful insults. “Why would you say that to me? Why would you think I’d want you off?”
“In your shoes, I’d think about it. Seriously.”
“Bullshit. That’s bullshit.” She didn’t kick her desk. Instead she kicked the desk chair, sending it careening into the visitor’s chair, then bouncing off to slam against the wall. “And you’re not in my shoes. Stupid son of a bitch.”
His droopy eyes went huge. “What did you say to me?”
“You heard me. You’re too tight-assed, too stubborn, too stupid to put your hurt feelings aside and do the job with me, you’re going to have to get the fuck over it. I can’t afford to lose a key member at this stage of the investigation. You know that. You know that, so don’t come in here and tell me I’ve got cause to boot you.”
“You’re the one who’s going to get a boot, right straight up your ass.”
“You couldn’t take me ten years ago,” she shot back, “you sure as hell can’t take me now.”
“Want to test that out, kid?”
“You want a round, you got one. When this case is closed. And if you’re still carrying that stick up your ass, I’ll yank it out and knock you cold with it. What the hell’s wrong with you?”
Her voice broke, just a little, making them both miserable. “You come in here, stiff and snarly, and won’t even let me apologize. You start spouting off, won’t even let me apologize for fucking up.”
“You didn’t, goddamn it. I fucked up.”
“Great. Fine. We’re a couple of fuckups.”
He sank down in the chair as if the wind had gone out of him. “Maybe we are, but I got more years at it than you.”
“Now you want to pull rank on fuckup status? Great. Fine,” she repeated. “You get the salute. Feel better?”
“No, I don’t feel any goddamn better.” He let out a tired sigh that smothered the leading edge of her temper.
“What do you want, Feeney? What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to listen. I let it eat at me. This one got away from me and I let it eat at me. Taught you, didn’t I, that you can’t get them all, and you can’t beat yourself up when you can’t put the pieces together, not when you gave it your best.”
“Yeah, you taught me.”
“Didn’t listen to myself this time. And that bile just kept rising up out of my belly into my throat over it.” His lips tightened as he shook his head. “You find a fresh angle, and instead of jumping on that, grabbing hold and pushing on that, I jump on you. Part of me’s thinking, ‘Did I miss that? Did I miss that before, and did all those women die hard because I did?’”
“You know better than that, Feeney. And yeah, I get knowing better isn’t always enough. How good was I nine years ago?”