In Death 14 - Reunion in Death

studied the results. It would do, she decided, then went into a deep crouch and drew both secondaries.
    "That's quite a picture you make, Lieutenant." Roarke strolled in, his shirt carelessly unbuttoned. Her vision was sharp enough to see that Feeney had finished wiring him as well. "Sure you have enough hardware there?"
    "I'm not finished." She straightened, picked up a pair of restraints from the dresser. She looped them through the belt, secured them behind her left hip.
    "Put some heels on those boots, add a whip, and we'd really have something." He walked a measuring circle around her. "As is, you're bound to intimidate the other attendees."
    "I got that covered." She picked up a jacket in the same fluid black and silver. It shimmered to her knees.
    Angling his head, Roarke circled his finger. Though she was annoyed she did a pair of quick turns. The jacket billowed, giving provocative hints of the body slicked into the skin suit, and draped cleanly over the police gear at her back.
    "You'll definitely do," he decided. He feathered his fingers over her cheek, over the fading bruises she'd concealed. "But I wish you weren't quite so worried."
    "I'm not worried." She picked up the teardrop diamond he'd once given her, looped the chain over her neck. And added the St. Jude medallion to it. "Got my protection. Anyway, some bitch goes after my man, I'm going to take her down. That's it."
    "Darling, that's so sweet."
    She met his gaze in the mirror as she fought on the Sea Queen's earrings, made herself grin as he was. "Yeah, that's me. Just a sentimental slob. You gonna suit up, or are you going casual?"
    "Oh, I'll find something appropriate, so I don't embarrass my fashionable wife."
    She watched him go to the personal department store he called a closet. "Is your transmitter activated yet?"
    "No. Tested, then put on hold. Feeney's very strict about EDD eavesdropping in the bedroom."
    "Okay. Look I know you're not going in empty. I want you to leave whatever weapon you're planning to take here."
    He chose a suit of midnight black. "Is that an order, Lieutenant?"
    "Don't get snotty with me, Roarke. You take one of your collection and by any chance have to use it, we've got trouble I don't want to have to deal with."
    "I can deal with my own trouble."
    "Shut up. Leave your weapon home. I'm giving you one of mine."
    He turned, a shirt in his hand. "Are you?"
    "I got a temporary carry license for you, one night only. Tibble put it through." She opened a drawer, took out a small stunner. "It's not lethal, but it'll jam up the circuits just fine, and you don't need anymore than that for personal protection."
    "This from a woman who currently has more weapons than hands."
    "I'm the badge, you're not. Don't make this into some manly ego thing. I know you can handle yourself, and you'd rather play it that way. But this has to go down clean. Any screwups and she'll use them in court to muck up the trial. You take something unauthorized, and you're putting a weapon in her hand."
    He opened his mouth and she could see the annoyance, the refusal on his face. She shook her head. "Please, do this for me."
    The annoyance came out, one long hiss of breath. But he held out a hand for the stunner. "Fighting dirty. Your way then."
    "Thanks."
    The please, the thanks, instead of anger and orders, told him she was a lot more worried than she wanted him to know. "You've covered every angle, every contingency, every circumstance," he told her.
    "No." She opened the evening bag she'd carried. Her badge, backup communicator, and yet another weapon she didn't feel obliged to mention were already inside. "There's always something else. She'll be there. I know it. My gut knows it. We finish this tonight."
    ...
    "All clear. No sign of subject. Beginning next sweep. And these little eggroll deals are aces."
    Feeney's voice was bell-clear in Eve's ear, and a welcome relief to the party chatter in the ballroom. "Copy that," she replied. Leaving the weight of small talk to Roarke, she did her own sweep.
    The badges she'd selected moved through the crowd, mingling, merging. Even McNab, somewhat conservatively dressed in sapphire blue and canary yellow, wouldn't have caused a second glance. No one would make them as cops, unless they knew where to look.
    It was always in the eyes. Flat, watchful, ready, even as they laughed at a joke or made one, even as they nibbled on canapes or sipped mineral water.
    Out of the twelve hundred and thirty-eight people