“You still have work,” he pointed out. “Why be distracted by pain and discomfort?”
“Not distracted by it. Using it.”
And using it, she contacted Commander Whitney.
18
Eve hit her AutoChef for coffee the instant she walked into her office. Roarke followed it up by programming her a pizza.
“Oh my God, nothing’s ever smelled that good in the history of smells.”
“See that you eat it, and use these.” He set some ice patches on her desk.
“Okay, yeah. Want a couple slices before you head home?”
“I’m not heading home but up to EDD, where I wager I’ll find Feeney, Callendar, and my new friend Marley. I’ll order up there. Let me know when you’re wrapping things up for the night.”
Before she sat, he took her bruised face—gently, very gently—in his hands and laid his lips on hers.
Held there, just held there.
Understanding, she leaned in. “It probably looks worse than it is.”
“Of all the women I’ve known in my life you’re the only one who wouldn’t have even troubled to look to see for herself.”
She shrugged—felt the movement in various sore spots all the hell over her body. “Looking wouldn’t change it, right?”
Again gently, he brushed a hand over her hair. “Eat your pizza.”
“Count on it.”
Alone, she took that first slice, bit in, just sighed and chewed. She downed the coffee, every drop, because she needed it, then remembered Roarke stocked Pepsi in her AC, ordered a tube.
If you couldn’t have beer or wine, a Pepsi suited a pepperoni pizza just fine.
Eating with one hand, she contacted Reo.
The APA answered fast. “Good God, Dallas. You look terrible! How bad are you hurt?”
“It’s nothing.” Reo didn’t look terrible, Eve noted. She’d taken off her face gunk and looked sort of fresh. “We got twenty-five. Strong got nine. I’m dead sure I got the two still alive who killed Pickering, Duff, and Aimes. And the one who set it up. I’m briefing at seven-thirty tomorrow. You’re going to be filing a shit-ton of charges.”
“Including assaulting an officer, from the look of your face.”
“Yeah. With a deadly. Tank gets that.”
“Do we have an actual name?”
“Somewhere.”
“I’ll find it.”
“We can try for attempted murder of a police officer on Jones, as he fired on me—police stunner on full. That’s some icing on a fat cake. We found illegals, weapons, what will turn out to be stolen property, fake ID equipment, the works. And EDD is working on electronics we confiscated.”
“I’ll alert my boss.”
Eve polished off the slice, snagged another. “Cohen?”
“Sang like a bright yellow canary. You’ll want to talk to Teasdale, but I got the heads-up the feds raided the building serving as warehouse—a property also held by Cohen, Jones, and Vinn—and scooped up plenty. Including a handful of unlicensed sex workers who were, at the time, employed.