Leverage in Death (In Death, #47)

by J.D. Robb

February dribbled into March 2061.

“Gimme a fucking break, girlie!” Eve held up her badge, smiled with all the warmth of the early March wind. “Lieutenant Girlie. What would you like me to break?”

“He’s barely an acquaintance, but I can confirm, yes, a wanker, and a git on top of it.

I’d judge Jordan has the brains of a bag of wet mice, but he’s sly enough, and has a certain slick charm that he slithers into to convince the unsuspecting to invest or lend or offer him bounties.”

“But you’ve gone and made a very talented woman a friend. A true and good one, and that’s the breaks.”

Here’s what I care about: You tried to help someone, and when you couldn’t, you called the cops.”

Stupid, stupid Oscars. “I didn’t know you were going.” “Not just going. I’m performing.”

believe absolutely in the law, the need for it, the rules of it, the need and rules of it that lead to justice. I’d be nothing without believing that. But that was a different time and place, and circumstances. You had no one in authority you could trust to serve and protect, to stand for you when a fucking monster threatened to rape, torture, and kill two children. He’d have followed through on that threat because there was no one to stop him. You did. Roarke’s here because you stopped Patrick Roarke, because you protected the child he was at that time, in that place, in those circumstances. That’s enough for me.” “There were no cops such as you in that time and place.”

And he said—I thought you’d like to know—a ninja woman saved him.”

I’m sharing this amazing award with the smartest, bravest, most dedicated cop and frustrating person I know. Thanks. Holy crap! Thanks!”