Page 170 of Bonded in Death

“It’s all he’s got,” Peabody commented. “Lies, deceit, masks, wigs. Oh, and the face work so he could massage his gigantic ego and look younger. When it comes to a one-on-one fight? Just another pussy.”

“You’re nothing but an underling serving under a bitch who’s trying to be a man.”

“That’s Lieutenant Bitch to you, asshole,” Peabody snapped back as she rose, leaned forward. “You’re on that side of the table. Shackled. The ovaries on this side are a hell of a lot tougher than your tiny, shriveled balls.”

“The day will come when I’m not shackled. And I’ll kill you. Slowly.”

“Oh. Shiver.” With an eye roll and fake shudder, Peabody sat again.

“We can add threatening an officer—on record—to the charges.”

He turned his head to smirk at Eve. “Your charges are shite. Even if you could prove them, they’re shite. So fuck your charges. I’d say fuck you, all of you, but none of you are my type.”

“We’re all grateful for that small blessing,” Reo commented before Eve continued.

“You drove Rossi in a limo you’d previously stolen—”

“Speculation!”

“Which you had modified,” Eve continued. “And using a canister of phosphine—which you’d also stolen and hidden during the Urbans—filled the passenger area with said poison gas. While you watched Rossi fight to escape, choke, convulse, die through the camera you’d installed.”

“No proof. None whatsoever.”

“We found additional canisters, same poison, same era, same canister type, in your residence.”

“Circumstantial.”

“Wow.” Reo gave a quick laugh. “You should’ve studied a lot harder. And that doesn’t even touch on the fact your prints are on the explosive device planted under the table in Chez Robert, or the fact that Devin McReedy was held captive in a locked room in your basement.”

“With another canister rigged to fill that room with poison gas,” Peabody added. “Or Devin’s hair found in the trunk of the car parked in your garage. The recording you forced him to make, which you then edited and sent from a mobile device.”

“I was going to get to all of that,” Eve complained. “I’m taking things in order. But since we’re there. We tracked the ’link and recording, identified the bus, and the driver ID’d you—or the red wig and beard you wore, and which we again found in your residence. And, of course, we have Devin. You didn’t bother with a disguise after you had him in that room because you were never going to let him leave that room alive.”

“Bollocks and shite and of no consequence. I could have shot the boy in the head and tossed him at your feet and it wouldn’t matter a bloody damn.”

“Just how do you figure that?”

“I’ll be extradited. Nothing I’ve done here matters at all.”

“I see.” And she did. She shot a look at Reo, and to her credit, Reo shot back one of concern and worry before she spoke.

“We can fight it.”

“You’ll lose.” Sitting back, Potter spread his fingers. “You didn’t think ahead, did you? None of you. If that bomb had gone off and killed those three whores and half a dozen besides, you could do nothing. If I’d lured one or more of the rest into that room with the boy and killed them all?”

He shrugged. “Nothing. Impunity. I’m serving life, and, oh yes, they’ll insist on extradition.”

“You got out once, you figure you’ll get out again. And fulfill your purpose.”

He only smiled as Eve looked at Mira.

“He’ll certainly try. He’s failed twice. He despises—we’ll call them The Twelve. He despises them for what they are, what they stood for, the lives they’ve led while his has been locked away. They’re responsible for his loss of freedom, for the wasted years. There must be… would you call it restitution, Mr. Potter?”

“Retribution.”

“You put my card in Rossi’s hand because I’m not only a woman trying to be a man, but one who’s achieved rank in what you consider a man’s job. But more, because I connect to Fox, to one of The Twelve. That was just too good to pass up. You’d beat me, humiliate me, killing him and the rest in the process. Bonus round. And once you’d accomplished that, you could live as whoever you wanted, wherever you wanted.”

“The game’s not over.” His eyes—and there wasn’t madness in them as much as fervor—bored into Eve’s. “Skill and savvy adjusts.”

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