New York to Dallas

she’d known, but she hadn’t known, really hadn’t begun to know what she would see and do, what she would learn and come to accept. What she would live through and live with.
    A lot of corners turned, she thought, and one sharp, jagged corner had been turned the moment she’d stepped into apartment 303 at 258 Murray one sweltering day in late September barely six weeks after she’d graduated from the Academy.
    She remembered the fear, the coppery smear of it in her throat, and she remembered the horror like a red haze.
    Would she do anything differently now, now that she did know, now that she was no longer green? She couldn’t say, she decided, and wondered why she’d ask herself the question.
    She’d done the job. That was all any cop could do.
    She heard the outer door open, stepped away from the mirror, shut her locker. And when she turned, there he was.
    She’d told him not to change his schedule, but then Roarke most often did what suited him. Seeing him settled her, brushed away the question she couldn’t answer, dimmed the light on the past she wished she could will away.
    He smiled at her—beautiful, just fucking beautiful in his slick business suit, the black mane of his hair gleaming nearly to his shoulders.
    She knew every plane and angle of that amazing face, every line of the long, rangy body. And still, there were times just looking at him stole her breath as nimbly as the thief he’d once been.
    “I love a woman in uniform.” Ireland wove through his voice like a shimmer of silver.
    “The shoes suck. I told you that you didn’t have to come. It’s just a formality.”
    “It’s so much more, Lieutenant, and I wouldn’t miss it for worlds. When I think of all the years I spent dodging cops, and never once considered how bloody sexy a woman could be in dress blues. Or maybe it’s just my woman. My cop.”
    He stepped forward, brushing his thumb over the shallow dent in her chin as he lifted her face. He kissed her, very lightly, and his stunning blue eyes searched hers. “What’s wrong?”
    “It’s just work.” He saw, she knew, what others didn’t. “Something came up.”
    “You’ve caught a case?”
    “Not exactly. I don’t have time to get into it right now. But I’m glad you came. It won’t take long. You’ll only have to put off buying a couple third-world countries and listen to the mayor make a boring speech.”
    “Well worth the price.” He kept his hand on her face a moment. “You’ll tell me later then.”
    “Yes.” She would. She could. He was another corner turned, the biggest and the best. She’d met him at another ceremony, one for the dead, she the primary investigator on a murder, he a suspect with a shady past, a dubious present. A man with the face of a fallen angel and more money and power than the devil himself.
    Now he was hers.
    She took his hands, felt the shape of his wedding ring against her palm. “It’s a long story.”
    “We’ll make time for it.”
    “Later.” She shrugged it off. “You’re right. This is more than a formality. It’s important for Peabody, and for Detective Strong. The moment’s more than the medal, and a hell of a lot more than the boring speech. They earned it.”
    “And you, Lieutenant.”
    She spoke her earlier thoughts. “I did the job.”
    She walked with him to the door. It opened even as she reached for it. Peabody’s main squeeze, Ian McNab, stood, not in the usual wild colors and patterns of the fashionable e-geek, but in spiffy dress blues. He’d even tucked his long tail of blond hair under the cap.
    He said, “Hey, Dallas, looking tight. Roarke, glad you made it.” “Ian, I barely recognize you. You look very official.”
    “Gotta do what you gotta. The shoes bite.”
    “So I hear.”
    “I swung in to let you know they decided to move the deal outside, front steps of Central.”
    “Oh, shut up.”
    Understanding glinted in his green eyes. “The mayor wanted more exposure for the cops that took down Renee Oberman’s ring, and for himself if you ask me. You figure it’s going to get another big bounce in the media. Good cops against bad cops and all that. Anyway, Peabody’s at her desk.” He jerked a thumb over his skinny shoulder. “With her head between her knees. Maybe you could smooth her out so she doesn’t boot when the mayor pins the medal on her.”
    “Oh, for Christ’s sake.”
    She strode out, long and lanky in the uniform, into the bullpen, and over to Peabody’s