“Is that the way of it?” Dancing back, Roarke swiped at the blood on his face. “Fair or foul then.”
He spun, knocked Cobbe back with a roundhouse kick.
There you go, Eve thought. There you are.
Cobbe flailed back into Brian and Santiago, who shoved him back into the makeshift ring where Roarke waited, crouched in a fighting stance.
He sprang up, blocked a blasting right cross with his forearm, answered it with a short-armed jab that had Cobbe’s nose spurting blood.
A blow got by him, landed hard against his weeping ribs, but he didn’t feel it. He was beyond that now. Elbow jab, backfist, cold, methodical. All he heard was Cobbe’s labored breathing, the crunch of knuckle against bone.
When Cobbe tried to claw at his eyes, he swept Cobbe’s legs out from under him. And went down with him.
He rolled once, ignoring Cobbe’s attempts to short-jab his ribs.
And cold, methodical, battered Cobbe’s face with three vicious blows.
He wanted a fourth, wanted forever as he stared into the bloodied face, the glazed eyes under him.
“We’re a long way, you fecking bastard, a long way from the streets and alleys of Dublin when you made the misery of my life worse for the sport of it.”
He swiped at his face again. “You’re done now. And so am I.”
When he stood, they cheered.
“Your prisoner needs some medical attention, Inspector,” Eve commented.
“This isn’t how things are done.”
“It’s how they’re done here,” Aidan countered. “I’ll ring up Ailish—she’s a medic and my wife’s sister. She’ll come tend to that worthless shite who meant to kill my mother this very day. Don’t you tell us how things are done, English.”
“Do that now, won’t you, Aidan? And we’ll get some whiskey and an ice pack for our Roarke. Will you have some tea, Inspector?”
He let out a sigh as he walked over to restrain a barely conscious Cobbe. “I wouldn’t mind a whiskey, to tell you the truth. How the bloody hell do I explain the condition of the prisoner to my superiors?”
“In his attempt to escape capture and cause harm to civilians,” said Whitney, eyes calm and sober as he stepped over to look down at Cobbe, “the prisoner assaulted Roarke, whom he vowed to kill. They engaged in a physical battle during which the expert consultant, civilian, attached to the NYPSD, contained the prisoner, who is now herewith remanded to your custody.”
When Abernathy just stared at him, Whitney stared back. “Would you like to contradict the statement of the commander of the New York City Police and Security Department, his lieutenant, his detectives, these civilian witnesses—all of whom assisted in your arrest of a contract killer who has eluded justice for more than twenty years?”
“No. Actually, that sounds about right to me. I need a secure area inside so he can get medical attention. I have to arrange for transport.”
Whitney nodded. “A long time coming, Cobbe. Ryan,” he said, “Ellen Solomen had a sister.”
“Anja Greenspan. We’ll notify her, Jack.” He put a hand on Whitney’s shoulder. “We’ll close it up.”
Eve waited until Roarke managed to break free of the men busy reliving the fight. Waited until he came to her.
“Thank you for that, for knowing I needed it.”
“You’d have done the same for me.”
“Have done.”
“Yeah, I guess you have. Now you’re all beat up, bloody, and wet. How are the ribs?”
“Hurt like a bastard.”
“I bet. Let’s go ice them down. What’s a jackeen?” she asked as they walked to the house.
“It’s a Dubliner—an insult to a Dubliner.”
“Okay, well, apparently you’re not a jackeen, but a Clare man. I can figure out what a Clare man is.”
“That’s a high compliment in these parts.”
“They love you.” She opened the door for him. “So do I.”
Sinead waited with whiskey, ice packs, a first-aid kit. “Ailish will tend to that Cobbe, as he got the worst of it, but I can deal with you well enough. I’ve plenty of practice. And you as well,” she said to Eve. “He caught you one there.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Sit down, the pair of you. You don’t care for the whiskey, Eve. I have some very nice wine.”
“I’m on duty,” she began. Then sat, then sighed. “Screw it, I’m really not. I’d like a glass of wine, thanks.”
“Put this on that bruise then, and I’ll get you some.” Sinead passed Eve an ice pack, turned to Roarke. “Such a pretty face,” she said, cupping his chin in her hand. “Even now, a pretty face. Your mother would be proud of you, my own, as I am.”
She drew him to her, gently, kissed the top of his head. “Of both of you,” she told Eve. “It takes a strong woman to stand back and let her man do what she wants to do herself. Don’t think I didn’t see it, and understand it.
“Now.” She walked over to get the wine. “Let’s get our Eve a glass, and clean up that pretty face.”
Just then Aidan opened the back door. “They said they need someplace, right and tight, to keep that bastard until they can fix him up and move him out.”
“Take him to the root cellar. I won’t have the likes of him in my kitchen.”
Eve sipped the wine, sighed again. “It takes a strong woman to stand her ground when a bunch of cops try to move her aside. You’re unshakable, Sinead. I see where Roarke gets it.”
Smiling, Sinead wrung out a cloth from the bowl on the table. “Nothing you could say at this moment pleases me more.”
Abernathy came in. “I beg your pardon.”
“No, you’re welcome. There’s whiskey and glasses right there on the counter if you wouldn’t mind pouring your own while I clean my boy up.”
“Thank you, very much.” He poured a generous three fingers. Downed half of it. “The prisoner’s being secured in the root cellar. Your niece—cousin—I’m sorry, it’s confusing. In any case, she’s just arrived and will see to Cobbe’s medical needs. We have my agents and your Detective Jenkinson, and Mr. Podock—who was very insistent—guarding him.”
He sipped whiskey again, more slowly. “Lieutenant, I owe you.”
“I did my job.”
“You did, and with the fine officers of the NYPSD, including your civilian consultant, and madam, this family, have aided in Cobbe’s capture. Within days of being assigned to the investigation of Galla Modesto’s murder.
“With that in mind,” he continued, “I’d like to offer you the first—limited—interview with the subject at this time.”
“No shit?”
“Not in the least. It will, of course, be recorded, and I need your word there will be no physical contact.”
Eve sat back. “Do you want a confession out of him?”
“It’s not necessary, but as you know, it’s the icing on the cake.”
“My consultant comes into the interview with me.”
“I don’t see how that’s—”