In Death 25 - Creation in Death

the scatter of cops on weekend evening shift barely glanced over.
    Inside her office, he closed the door, leaned back against it while she kicked her desk. “When you’re done abusing inanimate objects, tell me what happened.”
    “I screwed up, that’s what happened. Fuck, fuck, and shit. I messed up.”
    “How?”
    “What would it have taken me? Ten minutes? Five? Five minutes to give him the rundown before the briefing. But I didn’t think of it, never crossed my mind.” Obviously at wit’s end, she fisted her hands on either side of her head and squeezed in. “What the hell’s wrong with me that it never crossed my mind?”
    “Once more,” Roarke suggested, “with clarity.”
    “Feeney, I didn’t feed him the new data, tell him about the new angle we’d work. That the suspect had contacted the target, lured her to him rather than doing the grab on the street. The way we’d worked the first case. Damn it!”
    Her desk took another slam with her boot. “I just lumped him in with everyone else, didn’t take into account that he’d led the first investigation. All I had to do was pull him aside, tell him, ‘Hey, we’ve got something fresh.’ Give him a little time to take it in.”
    “He didn’t react well, I take it?”
    “Who could blame him?” she tossed back. Her tired eyes were dark with regret. “Jumped on me with both feet. And what do I do? I get my back up, that’s what I do. Can’t just say, hey, I’m sorry, I got caught up in the roll and didn’t think it through. No, can’t say that. Oh well, shit!”
    She covered her face a moment, heeled away the tears that got away from her. “This isn’t good.”
    “Baby, you’re so tired.”
    “So the fuck what? So I’m tired, that’s the job, that’s the way it is. Tired means nothing. I bitch slapped him, Roarke. I told him to take a break, to go home. Why didn’t I just knock him down and rub his face in it while I was at it?”
    “Did he need a break, Eve?”
    “That’s not the point.”
    “It certainly is.”
    Now she sighed. “Just because it was the right call doesn’t mean it was right. He said I didn’t respect him, and that’s not true. That’s so far from any truth, but I didn’t show him respect. I told you before, the other one was on him—that’s command. All I did by handling it this way was add to that weight.”
    “Sit down. Oh, for Christ’s sake, sit for five minutes.” He strode over, all but lifted her bodily into her chair. “I know something about command, and it’s often not pretty, nor comfortable, and very often it’s not fair. But someone had to make the calls, the decisions. Maybe you didn’t account for his feelings, and you can regret that if it helps you. But the simple fact is, you had a great deal more on your mind than coddling Feeney.”
    “It’s not coddling.”
    “And he had a great deal on his, and obviously needed to vent some of the pressure,” Roarke continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Which he did, quite handily, I’d say, on you. Now you’re both feeling sorry for yourselves.”
    Her mouth dropped open in sheer shock for two seconds, then twisted into a snarl. “Bite me.”
    “I hope to have the energy for that at some point in the near future. You told him to go home because you understood, even if you were angry and hurt, you understood he needed to step away for a time. He went because he understood, even being angry and hurt, that he needed to. So, mission accomplished, and I imagine sometime tomorrow, you’ll both clean up the fallout and forget it. Correct?”
    She sniffled, scowled. “Well, if you want to be all insightful and reasonable about it.”
    “He loves you.”
    “Oh, jeez.”
    Roarke had to laugh. “And you love him. If you were just cops to each other, it might still be a bit tricky. Add love, and it’s a very thorny path the two of you walk when you’re entrenched in something like this.”
    From where she sat she could still kick her desk. She did so, but lightly this time. “You sound like Mira 101.”
    “I’ll take that as a compliment. Any better?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe.” She pressed her hands to her temples. “My head’s killing me.”
    He merely reached into his pocket, took out a tiny case. Thumbing it open, he held it out to her. She frowned down at the little blue pills. Standard blocker, she knew, just as she knew he’d nag her to take one if she balked—which would only make the headache worse. Or