In Death 09 - Loyalty in Death

we can do is move forward and try to stop the next. I need your report."
    "You want business as usual?" In a move Eve didn't bother to block, Anne snagged her by the shirt front. "You can stand here and look at this and want business as fucking usual?"
    "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," Anne snapped. "And right now I don't need you in my face." She shoved Eve aside and pushed her way through the ruins.
    "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.
    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