Page 149 of Fury In Death

On the bed he’d laid out her clothes for the day. Trousers several shades darker than his jeans with a leather vest—she had a weakness for leather—the same tone as the jeans but with thin black stripes. Black jacket with the dark gray, in leather again, in a thin line at the cuffs, along the pockets. A white shirt that looked cloud soft, lay with the rest, along with a black belt.

For the boots, he’d gone with the dark gray.

“Objections?”

“I can’t come up with any.”

“I’d suggest you leave the jacket off for the interview and the media.” At her frown, he smiled. “You quite obviously took a hammering, Lieutenant, but you’re not only still standing, aren’t you now, you’re doing the job of the tough, kick-ass cop. You’re more than your weapon, Christ knows, but showing it shows that as well.”

“You really think this all through.”

“Well, it’s a gift. Come eat. You’ll want fuel to do that job.”

She walked over, displaced the cat, sat.

“Scrambled eggs,” he said as he removed the domes. “And a French toast casserole smothered in crushed strawberries. Easy on the jaw.”

She sampled it. “Easy on the jaw, and on everything else. Why is it—”

“Knowing you’d ask why it’s French toast, I educated myself. The dish predates France, but the French added the flair of cinnamon, vanilla, and used better bread. So the name.”

“You could call it whatever, it’d still be really good.”

“You’ve worked out how you’ll approach Banner.”

“Pretty straightforward, considering. I’ll—”

“Surprise me. I do love watching you work.”

“That’s because you’re an Irish upstart. You’ll take over the company, boot out the bad—if any of it’s left by the time numerous law enforcement from numerous countries gets done with it. You’ll enhance the good. You’ll change it.”

“I plan on it.”

“You’ll do it. You’ll spend a fortune, lose a lot with the changes. Then you’ll make two fortunes, at least, probably inside five years.”

“Three should do it.” Then he smiled. “You know a bit more about my business than you think.”

“No, I know you. You make me proud.”

For a moment, she struck him speechless.

“I rag on you about the great gobs of money, the business, all that because I can. And it’s fun. But I don’t think to tell you, at least not just that way, you make me proud of what you do. What you do, it’s what Redman wanted to do. You make the world better. People like Wyst, Banner, it’s all about the money, the power and influence. You get all of that, but you make the world better, never aim to fuck over the little guy. So you earn it.”

“You undo me,” he murmured. “I wonder how much I’d have done that earns it in that way if I hadn’t felt the stare at the back of my neck at a funeral for a friend’s daughter. If I hadn’t turned and seen you.”

“All of it.” She ate some eggs. “Maybe I kick-started the timing, but all of it. That’s who you are. I’m who I am, do what I do because they made me a victim, made me helpless and constantly afraid. So I earned the badge because I need to stand up for the victim. You’re who you are, do what you do because they beat you into the ground whenever they wanted to, they tried to make you nothing. They couldn’t, any more than they could beat the humanity out of you.”

“So here we are.”

“Yeah, and we’re going to keep being who we are and doing what we do. This was good. Jaw’s okay. I would rather not take a punch anytime soon, but it’s okay. So am I, so I’m putting on my ass-kicking cop clothes.”

“Do you want a change in case we can’t get back before the party?”

“Shit.” She shoved her hand through her hair. “Not ready to think about it. That’s okay, right?” She gestured to the bed. “It’s not all dressy—Peabody and Mavis said. I can lock my weapon in the car.”

“It’ll do very well. We’ll put the brace over your support tank.”

She tolerated that, finished dressing. For once Galahad didn’t eye the breakfast dishes. He stayed busy watching her.