a hand on Eve’s shoulder. “And give one. Show the bleeding jackeen what a Clare man’s made of!” he shouted. “Our boy’s more Clare man than Dubliner, and make no mistake of it.”
“Plenty of New York in him, too,” Jenkinson claimed. “Fucking ring that fucker’s bell! Sorry for the language,” he said to Sinead.
She smiled. “Not a’tall.”
Blood in his eyes now, and ribs singing, Roarke plowed a fist into Cobbe’s throat, barely dodged a kick aimed at his balls.
That move incited boos and colorful objections from the crowd.
“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