"I've got nothing to discuss with you." She slung the file bag over her shoulder, then shoved him when he blocked her path to the door.
"You want to fight then? Well, isn't it handy I'm in just the mood for it. But we'll take this to neutral territory."
"Neutral territory, my ass. There is no neutral territory with you. You own the goddamn city."
"We'll take this out of here, Lieutenant, unless you want to have a bloody, shouting fight with your husband for a couple dozen cops to hear. Doesn't matter a damn to me, but you'll be sorry for it when you've come to your senses."
"I've got all my senses." And because she did, she managed to keep her voice low. "Let's take it outside, pal."
"Outside it is."
They didn't speak again, but the volume of their silence had several cops easing back when they pushed into the elevator. She stalked onto the garage level ahead of him, then knocked his hand away when he reached for the driver's side door.
"I'm driving," he told her, "as you've too much blood in your eye to do the job."
Deciding to pick her battles, Eve strode around the car and dropped into the passenger's seat.
He didn't tear out of the garage, though he wanted to. She'd just try to have him arrested for some traffic violation, he thought nastily. He, too, was picking his battles. Still he wove through traffic with a kind of controlled violence that had other vehicles giving way. Another time, she would have admired it, but at the moment his skill simply reinforced her resentment.
He pulled over at the west edge of Central Park, slammed out of the car while she did the same on the opposite side.
"I don't own this."
"I bet that sticks in your craw."
"What I own, don't own, acquire, don't acquire, is irrelevant."
"You don't own my badge."
"I don't want your goddamn badge." He crossed the sidewalk and kept walking across the green summer grass.
"Controlling something's the same as ownership."
"I've no desire to control your badge, or you for that matter."
"That comes off pretty lame from somebody who's just managed to do both."
"For Christ's sake, Eve, that wasn't what that was about. Use your head for a minute. Stop being so prideful, so flaming stubborn that you see everything as a bloody attack. Do you think Whitney would have agreed to consider this angle if he didn't believe it was a viable method of stopping this woman? Isn't that your primary goal?"
"Don't stand there and tell me what my goal is." She jammed a finger into his chest. "Don't you stand there and tell me what my job is. I've been doing this job since you were still running smuggled contraband. I know what it is."
She stormed away from him. Prideful? Stubborn? Son of a bitch. Then whirled back. "You went over my head, you went behind my back, and you had no right, no right to go to my superior and shove your way into this investigation in a way that undermines my authority, that negates that authority in front of my team. And if anyone had pulled that on you, you'd have had their head on a fucking platter and their blood for sauce."
He started to speak, then took a good swallow of his own pride. "That's very annoying."
"Annoying? You call it—"
"It's annoying," he interrupted, "when you're right. When you're completely right, and I'm wrong. I apologize for it. Sincerely."
"Would you like a suggestion as to where you can shove your sincerity?"
"No need." Irritated with himself, with her, he dropped down on a bench. "I'm sorry for the method. That's the truth. I didn't consider the reflection on you carefully enough, and I should have."
"No, you just get a brainstorm and drop in on your good friend Jack."
"And if I'd come to you with it, you'd have given it all the proper consideration? Don't bother to come up with some clever line, Lieutenant, as we both know you'd have pushed it aside. I'd've pushed back, and we'd have had a row about that."
"Until you got your way."