hard at work.” Roarke slipped in across from her.
“A lot of leads means a lot to tie together. Why don’t you own This Place?”
“Happens I do.”
“No, not this place, the club called This Place.”
He smiled at her. “Would you like to?”
“Not especially. It just struck me it’s got some of your style and class. I hit two others you do own—also classy.”
He smiled at her, but she saw the way he studied her face. “It’s just been a long one,” she said.
“And more to come. We’ll have a pint and some food.”
“I’m good with coffee.”
“Which is what you’ve downed, no doubt, most of the day. A half pint for you, which won’t hurt you a bit. I’ll suggest you follow it with the fish and chips, which is exceptional here.”
A beer might smooth out some of the edges, she thought. And fish and chips never hurt. “Okay, that’ll work.”
While he ordered, she put away her notes. And when he simply took her hand, the wall she’d held in place all day crumbled.
“It was like his hobby, that’s how I see it. I know it was a sickness. Nobody takes so many risks—personally, professionally—needs so much control over women, gains such satisfaction out of using them the way he used them without a sickness. But he treated it like … like a hobby, a serious one. The way some people treat, I don’t know, golf, or crafting, or whatever. I’d bet my ass if he was alive, if I’d caught him, had him in the box, that’s just how it would come out he saw it.”
“It’s your job, Lieutenant, to know that, understand that, as much as it’s your job to find his killer.” Those eyes, those incredibly blue eyes, looked straight into her. Saw everything. “Empathizing with the women he used doesn’t change any of that.”
“Empathizing isn’t objectivity.”
“And bollocks to that. If feeling, relating, understanding isn’t part of the job, well then, why aren’t droids investigating?”
She frowned over that while the server brought out the beer. “It’s a line though, and some cases make it harder not to tip over on one side or the other.”
“You have excellent balance.”
“It pisses me off. He got away with it for years, using his power, his money to use, abuse, and humiliate to get his rocks off. And it pisses me off that someone decided to be judge, jury, and executioner. It pisses me off that some have the mind-set that taking a life is some sort of act of heroism. She—because it’s going to be a woman or women—tortured and killed him and called it justice.”
However weary she might have been, her eyes went hard, went cop flat. “And it’s not, goddamn it. He’s out of it now, isn’t he? He suffered for a few hours, and now he’s out of it, when real justice would have put him in a cage, taken away that power, that money, his freedom for years.”
He listened, nodded, sipped his beer. “There was a time, not so long ago, before I met a cop such as you, I’d have tipped on her side of the line.”
“I know it.” She muttered it, scowled at her own beer.
“And the fact that I now lean more toward yours can still surprise me, but there you have it. And I see, too, because I know my cop, what else is in that heart and mind of yours, and you need to put that part of it away, as you’re nothing like the one you’re hunting.”
She started to object, then to dissemble, then just shrugged and drank some beer.
But he knew his cop, his wife, his woman, and pressed.
“You were a terrorized child who took a life to save her own. You suffered for it more and for longer than you’d ask of another.”
“I know what it’s like to make that choice.”
Because the flash of fury that spiked inside him wasn’t what she needed, he smothered it, and spoke in practical tones.
“And more bollocks to that, as it wasn’t a choice planned or calculated, or even on impulse. It was live or die in the moment. Pity the child you were, Eve, and stand for her as you
“A lot of leads means a lot to tie together. Why don’t you own This Place?”
“Happens I do.”
“No, not this place, the club called This Place.”
He smiled at her. “Would you like to?”
“Not especially. It just struck me it’s got some of your style and class. I hit two others you do own—also classy.”
He smiled at her, but she saw the way he studied her face. “It’s just been a long one,” she said.
“And more to come. We’ll have a pint and some food.”
“I’m good with coffee.”
“Which is what you’ve downed, no doubt, most of the day. A half pint for you, which won’t hurt you a bit. I’ll suggest you follow it with the fish and chips, which is exceptional here.”
A beer might smooth out some of the edges, she thought. And fish and chips never hurt. “Okay, that’ll work.”
While he ordered, she put away her notes. And when he simply took her hand, the wall she’d held in place all day crumbled.
“It was like his hobby, that’s how I see it. I know it was a sickness. Nobody takes so many risks—personally, professionally—needs so much control over women, gains such satisfaction out of using them the way he used them without a sickness. But he treated it like … like a hobby, a serious one. The way some people treat, I don’t know, golf, or crafting, or whatever. I’d bet my ass if he was alive, if I’d caught him, had him in the box, that’s just how it would come out he saw it.”
“It’s your job, Lieutenant, to know that, understand that, as much as it’s your job to find his killer.” Those eyes, those incredibly blue eyes, looked straight into her. Saw everything. “Empathizing with the women he used doesn’t change any of that.”
“Empathizing isn’t objectivity.”
“And bollocks to that. If feeling, relating, understanding isn’t part of the job, well then, why aren’t droids investigating?”
She frowned over that while the server brought out the beer. “It’s a line though, and some cases make it harder not to tip over on one side or the other.”
“You have excellent balance.”
“It pisses me off. He got away with it for years, using his power, his money to use, abuse, and humiliate to get his rocks off. And it pisses me off that someone decided to be judge, jury, and executioner. It pisses me off that some have the mind-set that taking a life is some sort of act of heroism. She—because it’s going to be a woman or women—tortured and killed him and called it justice.”
However weary she might have been, her eyes went hard, went cop flat. “And it’s not, goddamn it. He’s out of it now, isn’t he? He suffered for a few hours, and now he’s out of it, when real justice would have put him in a cage, taken away that power, that money, his freedom for years.”
He listened, nodded, sipped his beer. “There was a time, not so long ago, before I met a cop such as you, I’d have tipped on her side of the line.”
“I know it.” She muttered it, scowled at her own beer.
“And the fact that I now lean more toward yours can still surprise me, but there you have it. And I see, too, because I know my cop, what else is in that heart and mind of yours, and you need to put that part of it away, as you’re nothing like the one you’re hunting.”
She started to object, then to dissemble, then just shrugged and drank some beer.
But he knew his cop, his wife, his woman, and pressed.
“You were a terrorized child who took a life to save her own. You suffered for it more and for longer than you’d ask of another.”
“I know what it’s like to make that choice.”
Because the flash of fury that spiked inside him wasn’t what she needed, he smothered it, and spoke in practical tones.
“And more bollocks to that, as it wasn’t a choice planned or calculated, or even on impulse. It was live or die in the moment. Pity the child you were, Eve, and stand for her as you
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