by J. D. Robb
“And who doesn’t enjoy the vacation whoopee? And no, that’s not what it is—or that’s not the potential of it. They’re adults, Eve, and they’ll figure it out, one way or another. Meanwhile, I enjoyed our little interlude—and watching them enjoy each other.”
“And now he’s going off to watch people sing and dance, and I’m going back to work.”
“Do you think he’s derelict in his duties?”
“No.” She let out a long breath. “No, I know he’s on top of it. And I know when I’m being pissy.”
He made the turn to home. “Would it help if I tell you how very entertaining—even arousing—it was for me to watch you metaphorically grind Renee into fuming dust to the tune of ‘Whiskey in the Jar.’”
“Maybe. It was fun.” She rolled her shoulders. “It was satisfying. More fun, more satisfying when it stops being metaphorical, but pretty damn entertaining.”
“And arousing?”
She shot him a quick, cocky grin. “Maybe.”
They got out of the car, and he caught her hand before she could start up the steps. “Come with me.”
“No, you don’t. I’ve got to—”
“Take a walk with me on this bright summer evening. Love’s in the air, Lieutenant.”
“You mean watching me be a bitch got you stirred up.”
“It did. Oh, it did.” He gave her arm an easy swing with his. “When we go inside, we’ll work. But just now? There’s a bit of a breeze—finally—and it’s stirring in the gardens, and the woman I love has her hand in mine.”
He broke a blossom from a bush—she couldn’t have named it—and tucked it behind her ear.
It didn’t feel foolish, but sweet. So she left it there and walked with him.
They paused a moment at the young cherry tree she’d helped him plant in memory of his mother.
“It looks good,” she commented.
“It does. Strong and healthy. And next spring it’ll bloom again—we’ll watch it bloom again, you and I. It means a great deal.”
“I know.”
“She thinks you married me for power,” he said as they walked on. “Renee. As that’s what she’d have done. The power and the money is one in the same to her.”
“She’s wrong. I married you for the sex.”
He grinned. “So sure of that am I that I work diligently to hold up my end of it.”
They wandered into a small orchard, perhaps a dozen trees, branches heavy with peaches.
“Does Summerset actually use these to make pie?”
“He’s a traditionalist.” Roarke searched out one that looked ripe, twisted it free. “Have a taste.”
“It’s good. Sweet,” she said when she had.
“He’s after adding a few cherry trees.”
“I like cherry pie.”
Roarke laughed, took a bite of the peach when she offered. “I’ll give him the go.”
It smelled of summer, of ripe fruit and flowers, and green, green grass. The walk in the warmth and the scent, her hand in his, served to remind her she had what she’d envied of Renee’s childhood.
She had her own normal.
“See that spot there?” Roarke gestured to a sparkling roll of green. “I’ve been toying with the idea of having a little pond put in. Just a little one, maybe six feet in diameter. Water lilies and willows.”
“Okay.”
“No.” He skimmed a hand down her back. “What do you think? Would you like it? It’s your home, Eve.”
She studied the space—thought it was fine as it was. It wasn’t as easy for her to imagine little ponds and water lilies as it was for him. “With those weird fish in it?”
“The carp, you mean. We could, yes.”
“They’re a little creepy, but interesting.” She looked at him now. “You stay home more than you used to. Don’t travel nearly as much as you did before. It would probably be easier for you to handle some of the stuff on site—wherever—but you don’t unless you have to.”
“I have more reason to be home than I once did. I’m glad of it. Every day, I’m glad of it.”
“I changed your life.” She looked down at the peach they shared. “You changed mine. I’m glad of it.” And back up, into his eyes. “Every day, I’m glad of it. I’d like a little pond, and maybe something to sit on so we could watch the creepy, interesting fish.”
“That would suit me very well.”
She linked her arms around his neck, laid her cheek on his. Love finds a way, she thought.
“I didn’t follow logic,” she murmured. “Even when I told myself it was inappropriate, it was impossible. I couldn’t. Everything inside me needed you, like breath. No matter what I told myself, I had to breathe. I’d been loved before. Webster thought he did even if I didn’t recognize it, even if I couldn’t give it back. And I had a different kind of love with Mavis, with Feeney. I loved them. I had enough in me for that, and I can look back at who I was and be grateful I did.”
She closed her eyes, drew him in. Like breath. “But I didn’t know how much there was, what there could be. What I could be, before you.
“Before you, there was no one I’d want to walk with. No one I’d want to sit by a little pond with. No one,” she said again, easing back to look at his face, “before you.”
He took her lips softly, letting them both sink into the kiss, into the moment. Into the tenderness.
Sweet, like the peach that rolled out of her hand as they lowered to the ground—and quiet, like the air that whispered around them with the scents of ripened peaches, summer flowers, green, green grass.
She rested a hand on his cheek, tracing down to the strong line of his jaw. His face, she thought, so precious to her. Every look, every glance, every smile, every frown. The first time she’d seen it something had shifted in her. And everything she’d closed off, maybe to survive to that point, had begun to struggle free.
Love shimmered through her, and joy followed.
She gave, offering him her heart, her body, moving with him as elegantly as in a waltz. Not a warrior tonight, he thought, but only a woman. One with a flower in her hair, and the heart she offered in her eyes.
And the woman moved him, unbearably.
“A grha.” His lips roamed her face while the words he murmured came through his own heart, through his blood, in Irish. Foolish words, tender words she wouldn’t understand, but would only feel.
“Yes,” she said, when their lips met again. “Yes. And you’re mine.”
She touched him, sliding his jacket aside, loosening his tie. And smiled. “Always so many clothes.”
He slid her jacket off as well, released her weapon harness. “Always armed.”
“Disarm me.” In a gesture of surrender she raised her arms over her head.
He watched her as he shoved her weapon aside, as he drew her shirt, her tank over her head and bared her to the dapple of evening sun.
Watched as he skimmed his hands over her skin, as he rounded them over firm breasts. She sighed out her pleasure as her eyes went heavy. Then he lowered his head, sampled her, savored her. Stirred her toward moans as he traced his tongue down her torso.
She felt those nimble fingers unhook her belt, and her breath quickened at their touch, at the anticipation of more. He stripped her, inch by inch, using those nimble fingers, his lips, his tongue to saturate her in sensation—slow, steady waves that rolled over her, rolled through her until she was drenched.
Dazzled, dazed, she reached for him, found his lips again with hers. Struggling to take her time, as he had, she touched, and bared. She sampled and savored.
Undid him, he thought. She undid him. She always could. She could make him feel weak as water, strong as a god all at once, and more a man than he’d ever hoped to be. With her, it was more than the thrill of flesh against flesh, more than the heat and beat in the blood.
Love was a gift shared.
When he eased into her, the gift was sweet, and tender. Again, her hand rest
ed on his cheek. Again he watched her heart fill her eyes. Watched until his own flew into them.
She lay quiet for a time, stroking his hair, content to stay pinned under his weight.
“It was a really nice walk,” she said at last.
“Good, healthy exercise, walking.”
She laughed. “I feel pretty healthy right now. Hungry, too.”
“I’m with you there.” He eased up, smiled down at her. “You look healthy, my darling Eve, lying naked in the sunlight.”
“If you’d have suggested a couple hours ago I’d be lying naked in the sunlight I’d’ve called bullshit. But I don’t feel pissed or pissy anymore, so I guess it was healthy.”
She sat up, reached for her tank, then her eyes popped as she tapped a hand on the wire camouflaged between her breasts. “I forgot about the wire.”
“Well, one hopes it’s off or we’ve given Feeney and/or McNab some unscheduled entertainment.”
“It’s off—I cued it in the pub. But, Jesus, I’m not supposed to forget it’s there.”
“You were busy walking,” he said when she dragged the tank over her head.
“It’s a damn good thing I didn’t call out for cinnamon donuts while you were busy walking with me.”
After they’d dressed he took her hand as he had before, gave her arm a little swing with his. “I expect you fancy pizza for dinner.”
“It’d be easy. I’ve got some digging to do, and I need to check Peabody’s progress on hers. Plus you haven’t given me an update on yours—on the finances.”
“We’ll get to that.”
“Problem?”
He wound back through the garden. “There wouldn’t be if you’d bent a bit, given me the go to look into it my way. I’ve got some surface right enough, but I can’t reach under the layers with my hands cuffed, Eve.”
“And if you use the unregistered, I’d have the data, but I couldn’t use it.”
“The unregistered would simplify it.”
“I guess I didn’t realize you could only do simple.”
He stopped, shot her a narrow, frustrated look. “I know damn well you’re aiming at my ego, and well played. I can do it without the unregistered. There are ways, but they’re still my ways. If I do it yours, it could take weeks. I’d think you could trust me to know how far over the line I can go and keep the data clean. Otherwise, you should do it yourself.”
She made a rude face behind his back as he opened the door. Childish, she knew, but it felt good. “If I can get proof Renee has secret accounts, that Garnet does, or Bix, I can clear Webster to open that part of it to IAB. He’s hamstrung, too.”
“Then unstring us, damn it.”
“You don’t have to get mad about it,” she said as they both strode past Summerset and up the steps.
“I’m not a cop,” Roarke reminded her.
“Alert the media.”
“Mind yourself, Lieutenant. I’m not a cop,” he repeated, “and it’s annoying to be asked to perform minor miracles while toeing the line you set.”
It was her turn for frustrated, with a pinch of temper. “I’ve moved it plenty, and you know it.”
“So move it again.”
“Every time I do, I worry I won’t remember where I left it.”
“You couldn’t forget that if you had amnesia. Added to it, I know where. I may not agree, but I know where you put it, and how far you can nudge it and feel you’ve done the right thing. You ought to know the same of me.”
She opened her mouth, prepared to punch back a little, then closed it again. “I do,” she realized. “I guess I do. This is ... a situation. If I had the data, I could pass it officially to Webster for IAB. If IAB could officially open an investigation, they’d find the damn data. I’m trying to find the way between, and what I’m hearing is you can’t get it with the way I’ve set this up. I don’t get why, but—”
“I can bloody do it.”
Insult reared up in his eyes. Not just insult, she decided. Geek insult.
“But it’ll take more time—considerable time.” He lifted his brows, his voice coolly pleasant. “Would you like me to explain all the technical reasons, roadblocks, fail-safes, and so on as to why?”
“Really, no. I don’t get why,” she began again, “but if you tell me you can’t do it this way in good time, it can’t be done this way in good time. My way,” she corrected. “So do it yours. I mean, not all the way yours. Not the unregistered on this, Roarke.”
“I understand that. I’ll work it as close to your line as I possibly can. All right?”
“Yeah.”
He rocked on his heels as he studied her. “That was a quick spat.”
“Probably because there’s still a little sexual haze.”
“You wouldn’t be wrong. Start your digging. I’ll get the pizza.”
She walked to her board first, circled it, studied it. She rearranged a couple of the photos fanning out from Renee, cocked her head and considered.
“I have to go out,” she told him when he came back in with the platter. She walked over, snagged a slice of the pie. “Ow. Hot.”
He shook his head as she shifted the slice from hand to hand. “Try this,” he suggested, handed her a plate. “Where are we going?”
“Not we. I need to talk to a cop—a female cop in Renee’s squad. Probability is minimal she’s involved in this. Renee doesn’t work with women. She intimidates or eliminates.”
“She hasn’t had any luck intimidating you.”
“Yeah, and that’s a pisser for her. She’s going to face a bigger one when she doesn’t have any luck eliminating me. Strong, Detective Lilah,” Eve told him. “I had a feeling about her the first time I walked into that squad room, and I need to follow my gut on her. And it needs to be a one-on-one.”
“You could tag Peabody rather than go this alone.”
“Then it’s ganging up. I don’t want to intimidate her—mostly because it wouldn’t work unless I put a lot behind it. What I need to do is give her an opening. It’ll give you time to play your geek games without me bugging you.”
“There is that. You’ll engage your wire.”
“Yeah. Everything on record. She’s the new guy,” Eve mused, “but in six months, if she’s any kind of cop, she knows, or senses something’s off. I’m going to give her a chance, and a reason, to talk about it.”
“And if she doesn’t take that chance?”
“I’ve wasted some time. But I’ve got a feeling.”
“Best to follow it then.”
And come back, he thought. To me.
“Couple hours, tops,” she said. She gave him a quick kiss, and he could see her mind was already on her approach as she left.
He stood for a moment, studying the best part of a pizza, and toyed with the button he kept, always, in his pocket. Trust, he reminded himself, was a two-way street. So he’d trust her to do her job, her way. And he’d go do the one he’d agreed to take on, in his.
Eve made the tail in under five blocks.
They were a little sloppy, sure, but she had the advantage of the superlative camera system built into the vehicle Roarke had designed for her.
The tail employed a standard two-vehicle leapfrog, which told her two things. First, she’d worried—or had just pissed off—Renee enough for the woman to order two men to sit on her. And second, Renee wasn’t worried or pissed off enough to delegate a more effective shadow.
Eve engaged her recorder. “I’ve got a tail, a two-point switch-off. Both departmental issues—for Christ’s sake, do they think I’m a moron?”
Really, it was a little insulting.
She read off the makes, models, licenses, then ordered her cams to zoom in on each to document before requesting a standard operator run.
The vehicle currently two blocks behind her was assigned to Detective Freeman. The one breezing by her to circle around the block and take the rear again was assigned to a Detective Ivan Manford.
“We’
ll add you to the list, Ivan. Now, let’s play.”
She cut over to Fifth, continued downtown, deliberately falling into a nice little knot of traffic. She faked a couple of attempts to thread through, watched Freeman’s vehicle swing by. Timing it, she pried her way between a Rapid Cab and a gleaming limo, bulled by, and nipped through a light as it went red.
Manford would pass her to Freeman, she knew, until he could move back into position. But that would be a problem as Freeman had cut west. Eve hit vertical, skimmed over a lane, and to the music of angrily blaring horns, flashed east to play her own brand of leapfrog, nipping in front of a lumbering delivery truck whose driver stabbed up his middle finger.
She couldn’t really blame him.
She swung downtown on Lex, punched it, enjoying the speed and the occasional vertical lift, until she headed west again, shoving her way crosstown.
“Chasing your own tails now,” she murmured, and though she preferred street parking, decided on an overpriced lot two blocks from Strong’s building.
She tucked her vehicle between a couple of bulky all-terrains, engaged her security.
Renee, she thought as she strolled through the warm summer night, would be very displeased.
Working-class neighborhood, she noted, with plenty of people also out for a stroll, or hanging out at one of the tiny tables squeezed in front of tiny cafés or sandwich bars. Traffic rumbled by on its way somewhere else. Some of the shops remained open, hoping to entice some trade from the residents who were too busy earning a living to spend their pay during the day.
She followed a Chinese delivery guy straight into Strong’s building, catching the door on the backswing. He angled off on the second floor of the walk-up, but the scent of kom pao chicken lingered while Eve climbed to three.
Outside Strong’s apartment door Eve caught what sounded like a high-speed car chase. Watching some screen, she concluded. Tucked in for the night, security light a steady red. She flicked her gaze up, spotted the dark eye of a minicam.
So Strong took security precautions, which to Eve’s mind made the detective smart enough to guard her own.
Now, she supposed she’d see just what kind of cop Lilah Strong turned out to be.