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Chapter 3
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NORMAL, EVE THOUGHT, WHEN SHE STRAPPED on her weapon harness. She felt normal again. Maybe those whiners who were forever talking about expressing your feelings were onto something.
God, she hoped not. If they were, she’d end up neck deep in mangled bodies.
Regardless, she felt steady—steady enough to scowl at the nasty weather whirling outside the bedroom window.
“What exactly do they call that business? ” Roarke asked as he stepped beside her. “It’s not snow, not rain, not even really sleet. It must be—”
“Crap,” she said. “It’s cold, wet, crap.”
“Ah.” He nodded, rubbed the back of his knuckles absently up and down her spine. “Of course. Maybe it’ll keep people indoors and you’ll have a quiet day.”
“People kill each other inside, too,” she reminded him. “Especially when they get fed up looking out the window at crap.” Because she sounded just like the woman he adored, he gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder.
“Well, it’s off to work for you, then. I’ll be handling link conferences here for another hour or so before I have to go out in this.” He turned her, gripped the lapels of her jacket, kissed her quick and hard. “Be safe.”
She reached for her coat, started to swing it on, and felt the slight bulge in the pocket. “Oh, I picked this up for Dennis Mira. Just a, you know, Christmas token thing.”
“Looks like him.” Roarke nodded at the scarf she held, even as his eyes laughed at her. “Aren’t you the clever shopper?”
“I didn’t shop. I picked it up. Do you think there’s any way it could get wrapped?”
With a half smile, Roarke held out his hand for it. “I’ll notify the elves. And I’ll have it put with the antique teapot you bought for Mira—which you didn’t shop for either, but, as I recall, came across.”
“That’d be good, smart ass. See you later.”
“Lieutenant? You haven’t forgotten our Christmas party?”
She spun around. “Christmas party? That’s not tonight. Is it? It’s not.”
It was small of him, he could admit it. But he loved seeing that quick panic on her face as she tried to remember which day was which. “Tomorrow. So if you’ve anything you need or want to come across to pick up beforehand, it should be today.”
“Sure. Right. No problem.” Shit, she thought as she headed downstairs. Was there anything else? Why were there all these people who had to be crossed off her pick-up-something list? Was she actually going to have to start making a list?
If it came to that it might be best to move away altogether and start over.
She could dump the whole business on Roarke, of course. He actually liked to come across stuff to pick up. The man shopped—something she avoided at all possible costs. But if you were going to end up with all these people in your life, it seemed you should at least spend a half a minute picking something up, personally. Plus, she thought it was another kind of rule.
Relationships were lousy with rules, that much she’d learned. It was just her bad luck that she usually tried to play by them.
One of the rules she enjoyed was verbally bitch-slapping Summerset on her way in or out the door. He was there—of course he was there, the skeleton in a black suit—in the foyer.
“My vehicle better be right where I left it, Nancy.”
His lips thinned. “You’ll find the object you call a vehicle currently embarrassing the front of this house. I require any and all additions or adjustments to your personal guest list for to
morrow’s gathering by two this afternoon.”
“Yeah? Well, check with my social secretary. I’ll be a little busy serving and protecting the city for lists.”
She strolled out, then hissed. List? She was supposed to have a list for this, too? What was wrong with just running into someone and telling them to come on by?
She hunched against the nasty, freezing rain, slid into her car. The heater was already running. Summerset’s work, probably, which would have to go on the list of reasons not to strangle him in his sleep.