In Death 09 - Loyalty in Death

time. Please, try to understand. Give me today." She closed a hand over his. "He can't hurt me any more than he already has. Give me today to look inside myself and see if there's anything there worth offering you. Or anyone else."
    "I'm not asking for anything."
    "But I am." Her lips trembled into a smile. "Finally, I am. Will you give me a number where I can reach you? I want you to go home now. B. D. won't be back until tomorrow afternoon, and I need this time alone."
    "All right. If you promise that whatever you decide, you'll call."
    "I will." She picked up a memo from the bedside table and offered it. "I'll call you by tonight. I promise." When he'd entered the number, she took it from him, slipped it into the drawer. "Please, go now. I need to see how many pieces I can pick up on my own."
    "I won't be far away," he told her.
    She waited until he reached the door. "Zeke? When I met you in Arizona -- when I saw you, looked at you... something inside me I'd thought had died seemed to stir again. I don't know if it's love. I don't know if I have love anymore. But if I do, it's for you."
    "I'll take care of you, Clarissa. He'll never hurt you again."
    Opening the door and leaving her was the hardest thing he'd ever done.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
    Eve gave her battered vehicle one long scowl as she strode across the garage. It wasn't that appearance mattered much. Since Zeke and Roarke had played with it, the heap was back in top running condition. But it was, by God, a heap.
    "It's goddamn pitiful when a homicide lieutenant has to drive around in a wreck like this while those bozos in Illegals get zoomers." She gave the shiny, streamlined all-terrain two spaces down from hers an avaricious glare.
    "Just needs some body work, some paint, a little new shielding." Peabody opened her door.
    "It's the principle. Murder cops always get the shaft." Eve slammed in her side, a mistake, as the door popped right back open. "Oh fine, great."
    "I noticed that little hitch yesterday when I took it home. What you have to do is lift up some, kind of jiggle it and slide it home. Zeke'll fix it for you first chance he gets. I forgot to mention it to him last night."
    Eve held up her hands, took several slow, deep breaths. "Okay, no point in bitching about it."
    "But you have such a smooth bitching style, sir."
    Eve slanted Peabody a look as she went to work on the door. "That's better. You were starting to worry me. I've hardly heard a single smart-ass remark out of you for two days."
    "I'm off my rhythm," Peabody muttered, and pressed her lips together. She could still taste McNab.
    Eve secured the door. "Problem?"
    "I -- " She wanted to tell someone, but it was just too humiliating. "No, no problem. Where's the first stop?"
    Eve lifted her brows. It was rare for Peabody not to walk through a door she'd opened. Reminding herself that personal lives were personal lives for a reason, Eve backed out of her slot. "Autotron. Get the address."
    "I know it. It's a few blocks west of my place, on Ninth. Ninth and Twelfth. What's there?"
    "A guy who likes bombs."
    She filled Peabody in on the way.
    When she pulled into the garage at Autotron, gate security took one look at her car and strode over snappily to glance at the badge she held up for view.
    "You've already been cleared, Lieutenant. Your space is reserved. Slot thirty-six, level A. It's just up on your left."
    "Who cleared me?" Though she wondered why she bothered to ask.
    "Roarke. Take the first bank of elevators to the eighth floor. You'll be met."
    Her eyes flashed once, then she drove in. "He just doesn't know when to step out."
    "Well, it speeds things up. Saves time."
    She wanted to say she wasn't in any hurry, but it was such a ridiculous lie Eve clamped her mouth shut. And smoldered. "If he's already questioned Lamont, I'm tying his tongue into a knot."
    "Can I watch?" Peabody grinned as Eve braked hard in her parking slot. "I'm getting my rhythm back."
    "Lose it." Irritated, she slammed the door before she remembered, then cursed roundly when the leading edge of it bounced on the concrete floor. "Son of a bitch." She kicked it, only because it seemed called for, then muscled it back into the frame. "Say nothing," she warned Peabody, then stalked to the elevator.
    Peabody stepped into the elevator, folded her hands, and studiously studied the ascending numbers over the door.
    The eighth floor was a wide, airy office and reception area filled with clerks and drones and snazzily