Loyalty in Death by J. D. Robb Page B

and swore. “Shit. That caps it. Call this in. Get some units out here for crowd control. We’re going to have a hell of a crowd once people in this area crawl out from under their beds. And get — “
    At the sound of a car, she whirled, one hand on the butt of her weapon. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or annoyed when she recognized the vehicle that pulled in behind hers.
    “What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded when Roarke got out of the car.
    “I could ask the same. Your leg’s bleeding, Lieutenant.”
    “Not much.” She rubbed a hand under her nose. “I’ve got myself a crime scene here, Roarke, and a hazardous area. Go away.”
    He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and, crouching down, examined the cut before tying the cloth over the wound. “You’ll need that tended. It’s full of grit.” Rising, he stroked a hand over her hair. “Interesting do, and somehow you.”
    She caught Peabody’s smirk out of the corner of her eye but decided to let it pass. “I don’t have time for you, Roarke. I’m working.”
    “Yes, I can see that. But I think you’ll want to make time.” His eyes were cold and flat as he scanned the smoldering rubble. “This used to be my building.”
    “Oh hell.” Eve shoved her hands into her pockets, paced away, back, away again. “Hell,” she repeated and glared at him.
    “I knew you’d be delighted.” He took a disc pouch out of his pocket, offered it to her. He’d already copied the disc and secured it. “I received that this morning. It’s a text message from a group calling themselves Cassandra. Basically, it calls me a capitalist opportunist — which of course is absolutely true — and states that I’ve been chosen in their first demonstration. There’s some tired and tedious political jargon thrown in. The redistribution of wealth, the exploitation of the poor by the rich. Nothing terribly original.”
    His words might have been casual, but the tone was much too controlled. And she knew him. Beneath those cool eyes, violence was bubbling.
    She handled it the only way she knew how, with professional dispatch. “I’m going to need you to come in so I can take a detailed statement. I’ll have to take this as evidence.”
    She broke off as the violence in his eyes swam to the surface. No one, she thought fleetingly, no one could look more dangerous than Roarke in an icy temper.
    Abruptly, he swung away from her to stride through the smoking bricks.
    “Damn it.” Impatient, she scooped a hand through her disordered hair and tossed a glance at Peabody.
    “Units are on the way, Dallas.”
    “Stand at the gate,” Eve ordered. “Secure it if necessary.”
    “Yes, sir.” With some sympathy, Peabody watched as Eve walked over to deal with her husband.
    “Look, Roarke, I know you’re pissed off. I don’t blame you. Somebody blows up one of your buildings, you’ve got a right to be pissed.”
    “Damn right I do.” He spun back to her, fury ripe in his eyes. The fact that she’d nearly backed up a step in the face of it both mortified and infuriated her. She compensated by leaning forward until her boots bumped his shoes.
    “This is a goddamn crime scene, and I don’t have the time or inclination to stand around and pat you on the head because one of your six million buildings got blown to hell. Now, I’m sorry about it, and I understand you feel ticked off and violated, but don’t take it out on me.”
    He gripped her arms and hauled her up to her toes in a move guaranteed to make her snarl and spit. If his property hadn’t been heaved out in a half-block pile of stinking ruin, she might have decked him.
    “Do you think that’s the problem?” he demanded. “Do you think the fucking warehouse is the problem?”
    She struggled to think through her own temper. “Yes.”
    He hauled her up another inch. “You’re an idiot.”
    “I’m an idiot? I’m an idiot? You’re a moron if you think I’m going to stand here making