In Death 11 - Judgment in Death

offices.
    Roarke's admin, an exceptional woman of great efficiency and insight, moved into reception, cutting neatly between the two men. "Your schedule is quite full this morning. This gentleman would like to see you and is reluctant to make an appointment for later in the week."
    "I'll make time for him now. Thank you, Caro. Webster."
    He gestured toward the corridor that led to his office and wasn't displeased to note Webster sported a violent bruise running from under his right eye to his cheekbone and a split lip that had yet to be treated.
    His own ribs were aching like a bitch, something he'd refused to see to as a matter of pride. He stepped into his office, moved directly to the desk, but didn't sit. With his hands lightly in his pockets, his body balanced on the balls of his feet, he measured his adversary.
    "You want another round, mate?"
    "More than I want to see the sunrise," Webster replied, then shook his head when the light came into Roarke's eyes. "But I'm going to have to pass. I hate saying this, but you had every right to pound the shit out of me last night."
    "And there," Roarke said smoothly, "we're in perfect accord. And if I find your hands on what's mine again, you'll lose them. That's a promise."
    "She'd have taken care of that herself if you'd been five minutes later. Shit, five seconds later. I want you to know that."
    "Eve's fidelity was never in question."
    "Okay." Webster felt part of the weight that had hung on him through the night lift. "I didn't want you to get the idea that she... hell." He raked a hand through his hair. "We have a professional problem, which I used to move on a personal one. A problem I have," Webster elaborated. "I think I'm in love with your wife."
    "That's indeed a problem. I have to admire your courage in saying that to my face." Considering, Roarke chose a chair, took out a cigarette. He caught Webster's quick glance at it, lifted a brow. "Would you like one?"
    "I haven't had one in five years. Three months, and... I think it's twenty-six days. I've managed to lose track of the hours. Fuck it." He took one, drew deep until his eyes all but crossed. "I don't know you," Webster continued, "but I know about you."
    "I can say the same." Roarke replied. "Did you think Eve hadn't told me you'd once had a night together?"
    Doing his best to shrug, Webster sat as well. "It didn't mean anything to her. I knew it then, and I know it now. I know your rep, Roarke. If you want to come after me, that's what you'll do. I'm up for that. I just didn't want Dallas to take any heat for it."
    "An attempt like that to protect her would tempt her to kick your balls into your throat."
    For the first time, Webster smiled, then swore as the cut lip burned like fire. "Yeah, well." He pressed a finger gingerly to his lip. "When I screw up, I don't like anybody else catching the flak."
    "Whatever you know or think you know about me, know this: I don't strike out at women, particularly when they've done nothing but be who they are."
    He thought of the way he'd handled her the night before, then ruthlessly pushed that aside again. For later.
    "And going after you would make Eve unhappy. I might risk that, but I've no reason to."
    Webster stared down at his cigarette. "You're not what I expected."
    "I could have been."
    "Could have beens don't mean squat." Biting back a sigh, Webster took one last drag. "It's what is that counts. That's ah..." He tapped his bruised cheek. "Something I needed to be reminded of." He crushed out the cigarette before getting to his feet. Meeting Roarke's eyes, he held out a hand. "I appreciate the time."
    Roarke rose. He felt a stir of pity, another of respect. Each as unexpected as the other. He accepted the hand, smiled. "I've a fucking bruise the size of a dinner plate on my ribs, and my kidney feels like it's been slammed with a brick."
    Despite the split lip, Webster grinned. "Thanks." He started for the door, turned back briefly. "You fit, you know, you and Dallas. Christ, the two of you fit."
    They did, yes, Roarke thought when the door closed. But the fit wasn't always comfortable.
    Commander Whitney didn't explode when Eve relayed the information she'd come by, but it was a close thing.
    "Can you verify?"
    "No, sir, not at this time. But my information is accurate. My source unimpeachable."
    "And that source is?"
    She'd considered this, debated it, and saw no choice. "I regret, sir, that I'm unable to reveal the name of my source."
    "I'm not a goddamn