“No, you did the job, and it’s appreciated. I can be outraged, but not throw a tirade, and that’ll have more impact. I’d have you do it, but I’m rank, and that’ll have more impact.”
“Okay, I’ll get you her boss.” Now, for the first time, Peabody let out a breath. “You scared the crap out of her.”
“Did I?” Eve pressed the knuckles of her fist to the headache drilling between her eyes. “She’s lucky I told her to get out. I was close to pounding her, then I’m the one you’d be tossing in a cage.”
“She’s not worth it.”
“No. It would have felt good, but she’s not worth it. I’m going to need to pound something.”
“Please, not me.”
“I’ll bust up another sparring droid when I get home. Thanks, and I mean it.”
“I’ll get the boss. You want to take it in your office?”
“Yeah, better.”
“And I’m going to write all this up. I’m going to do Truman first because we want copies of that going to her boss, to the cops in Freehold, and to the Professional Parent Service.”
“Good thinking.” And now with the red haze of fury subsiding, Eve could think, too. “Copy Mira and Whitney on it. I’ll write up the interview with the Cabots. You can take off and go visit your kitchen cabinets and whatever.”
“That can wait.”
“No, we’re already near end of shift, and I’m going to work from home. But first I have a date with a sparring droid.”
Since the meeting with Truman had lit a fire in her, Eve willed a coating of cold professionalism over her tone when she spoke to Truman’s supervisor.
She knew the heat burned through in spite of—maybe because of—the supervisor’s shock and lame—to her ear—excuses.
Maybe she found some satisfaction in Truman’s immediate suspension and the internal investigation to follow, but not enough.
She drove home pissed, which suited the traffic that snarled and bitched all the way uptown.
Most days, driving through the gates, winding up the drive toward the castle-like house that was home brought relief, even gratitude. She had a home, and she had all its beauty, its grace, its peace.
But tonight, it made her feel itchy. She firmly believed Roarke had pushed buttons he had no business pushing, and now she’d have to slog through the whole thing with Mira instead of just getting down to work.
And fine, fine, she thought as the lush green lawns spread and the glorious flowers bloomed, slogging through the whole thing with Mira equaled work.
But.
She didn’t know exactly what followed but because she was too itchy and pissed to think about it.
Her go-to solution when something stuck so hard in her craw to make her itchy and pissed? Punch something. An inanimate something.
She parked, and with visions of beating the crap out of a sparring droid in her head, walked into the cool, lightly fragrant air of the foyer.
Summerset stood, of course, the black-clad, silver-maned scarecrow with the pudgy gray cat at his feet.
It occurred to her Summerset could almost qualify as inanimate.
The cat pranced over to wind between her legs before she headed for the stairs.
“The Miras will arrive at seven-thirty. That should give you enough time to make yourself presentable.”
She kept walking. Punching him could be fun, but—and she knew what followed this one.
She’d feel guilty, then be duty bound to arrest herself on assault charges. And Roarke would be—justifiably pissed.
Instead of a punch, she threw out a rhetorical question as the cat bounded up the stairs ahead of her.
“Do all those suits come with the stick up your ass, or do you just interchange it?”
“Seven-thirty,” he said as he watched her head up. “Cocktails on the patio.”
“Yeah, yeah, fucking yeah.”
Galahad perched on the bed when she walked in, and gave her a long stare with his bicolored eyes. She walked over to give him a scratch and a stroke.
“Crap mood. Need to work it off.”
She turned to grab shorts and a tank, caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and frowned. Summerset didn’t know she had a date with the sparring droid. Why the hell wasn’t she already presentable?
No visible blood, no rips or tears.
She shrugged out of her jacket, tossed it on the bed, removed her weapon harness, and stood in a sleeveless white shirt and khaki trousers.
Presentable, she thought.
“Stick up the ass,” she muttered as she changed, and took the elevator down to the gym.