"On each other?" It took her a beat, then two. "Sex? You think they had sex? That's ridiculous."
"Why?"
"Because – because it is. She thinks he's a pest. He goes out of his way to irritate her. I know you thought they had some… thing developing, but you were off. She's busy fooling around with Charles Monroe and he's…" She trailed off, thinking of the odd looks, the silences, the blushes. The signals.
"Oh, Jesus Christ," was all she could say. "Jesus Christ, they're having sex. I don't need this."
"Why should you care?"
"Because. They're cops. They're both cops, and damn it, she's my cop. This kind of shit gets in the way, it messes things up. They'll moon over each other for a while, then something's going to go wrong, and they'll start spitting and slapping."
"Why do you assume it won't work?"
"Because it won't. It doesn't. Your energies and your focus get all split up when they need to be channeled on the job. You start mixing sex and romance and Christ knows what into it, everything gets tilted. They've got no business having sex. Cops aren't supposed to – "
"Have a personal life?" he finished, just a bit coolly. "Personal feelings and choices?"
"I didn't mean that. Exactly. But they're better off without them," she added in a mutter.
"Thank you so much."
"This isn't about us. I'm not talking about us."
"Meaning you're not a cop, and we haven't mixed sex, romance, and Christ knows what into it?"
She'd pushed a button all right, Eve noted and wished she'd broken her finger first. "This is about two cops working on my team and on two messy investigations."
"An hour ago I was inside you, and you were wrapped around me." His voice was more than cool now, it was cold. As were his eyes. "That was about us, and the investigations were still there, messy or otherwise. How long are you going to keep believing you'd be better off without that?"
"That's not what I meant." She got to her feet, surprised to find herself just a little shaken.
"Isn't it?"
"Don't put words in my mouth or thoughts in my head. I don't have time for some marital crisis right now."
"Fine, I don't have the tolerance for one."
When he turned and left her, snapping the door closed between their offices, she lifted a fist. Then, as the temper refused to build and spare her from guilt, she lifted the other and knocked them against her temples.
Heaving out a breath, she strode to the door, opened it, and faced him down. He was already behind his desk and barely acknowledged her.
"That's not what I meant," she said again. "But maybe it's part of it. I know you love me, but I don't know why. I look at you, and I just can't get why it's me. Every time I get my balance, I lose it again. Because it shouldn't be me, and I think it'd kill me if you ever figured that out."
He started to get to his feet, but she shook her head. "No, I don't have time. I mean it. I just wanted to say that, and to tell you it wasn't what I meant. Peabody – she got hurt before, she got bruised because she tipped for a cop – another cop, another case. I'm not going to see that happen to her again. That's it. That's all. I'm going in. I'll be in touch if there's anything you need to know."
She moved fast. He could have stopped her, but he stayed where he was and let her go.
Later, he told himself, he'd deal with her. And she would have to deal with him.
– =O=-***-=O=-
Eve strode into Central. The glowing mood with which she'd started the day was now tarnished. She thought it just as well. She'd work better, sharper, if she was edgy. Spotting Peabody, she jerked her chin, then pointed a finger toward her office.
She could see the signs of an unhappy, sleepless night on her aide's face. She'd expected that. She held the door herself until Peabody moved through, then closed it. "As of now, you put Zeke out of your mind. It's being handled, and you have a job to do."
"Yes, sir. But – "
"I'm not finished, Officer. If you can't guarantee that I'll have all your energy and all your concentration on the Cassandra matter, I want you to withdraw from the team and request leave. Now."
Peabody opened her mouth, closed it again before something nasty could escape. When her control was back, she nodded briefly. "You'll have the best I can give you, Lieutenant. I'll do my job."
"So noted. Lamont should have been picked up last night. Arrange for him to be brought up to interview. When the scanners received from Securities arrive, I want to know about it." Keep her busy, Eve thought. Keep her swimming in grunt work. "Contact Feeney and see if the tap warrant came through on Monica Rowan. Did you sleep with McNab?"
"Yes, sir. What?"
"Shit." Eve shoved her hands in her pockets, paced to the window, back. "Shit." She stopped, and they stared at each other. "Peabody, have you lost your mind?"
"It was a momentary lapse. It won't be repeated." She intended to tell McNab so at the first opportunity.
"You're not… stuck on him or anything?"
"It was a lapse," Peabody insisted. "A momentary lapse brought on by unexpected physical stimuli. I don't want to talk about it. Sir."
"Good. I don't even want to think about it. Get me Lamont."
"Right away."
Delighted to escape, Peabody fled.
Eve turned to her 'link and began to run the incoming messages. When Lamont's name popped, she swore, punched the machine. "Why the hell wasn't this transmission forwarded when it came in?"
Due to a temporary lapse in the system, all transmissions received between one hundred and six hundred and fifty hours were placed on hold.
"Lapses." She smacked the machine again, for the hell of it. "We're just full of lapses these days. Transmit full report on Lamont, hard copy."
Working…
While her unit hiccupped through the printout, Eve signaled Peabody on her communicator. "Don't bother to dig up Lamont. He's in the morgue."
"Yes, sir. The mail just came in. There's another pouch."
Eve's nerves hummed. "I'll meet you in the conference room. Tag the rest of the team. Let's move."
– =O=-***-=O=-
The pouch was tested, cleared. The disc was copied, secured. Eve took a seat at the computer, slid the disc into the slot. "Run and print," she ordered.
We are Cassandra.
We are loyal.
We are the gods of justice.
We are aware of your efforts. They amuse us. Because we are amused, we will warn you a last time. Our compatriots must be freed. Until these heroes have liberty, there will be terror – for the corrupt government, the puppet military, the fascist police, and the innocent they suppress and condemn. We demand payment, as retribution for the murders and imprisonment of the righteous. The price is now one hundred million dollars, in bearer bonds.
Confirmation of the release of the unjustly imprisoned political prophets must be received by sixteen hundred hours today. We will accept a public statement from each individual listed, made live through the national media. All must be accounted for. If even one is not released, we will destroy the next target.
We are loyal. And our memory is long.
Payment must be made at seventeen hundred hours. Lieutenant Dallas is to deliver this payment, alone. The bonds are to be placed in a plain black suitcase. Lieutenant Dallas is to go to Grand Central Station, track nineteen, westbound landing, and await further instruction.
If she is accompanied, followed, tracked, or attempts to make or receive any transmissions from this position, she will be executed, and the target will be destroyed.
We are Cassandra, prophets of the new realm.
"Extortion," Eve murmured. "It's the money. It's the money, not those psycho jokers on the list. A public statement over national screen. A ten-year-old could figure we'd be able to rig that."
She rose to pace and think. "That's smoke. It's the money. And they'll blow the target whether they get it or not. Because they want to."