Memory in Death (In Death 22)

The cat deserted Summerset to jump into her lap, complain loudly, and knead his claws into her thighs.

“He’s trying you.” Roarke gestured with his cup. “He wants the cookies, and got nowhere with me or Summerset in that area.”

“Well, you can forget it, Fatso.” She lifted him, went nose-to-nose. “But I’ve got something for you.” She dumped him, then went to the tree, pawed around, and came up with a gift bag.

She dug out a pair of

feline-sized antlers, and a toy mouse.

“He’s much too dignified to wear those, or bat about some ridiculous toy,” Summerset protested.

Eve just snorted.

“Catnip.” She held the mouse up by the tail in front of Galahad’s face. “Yeah, that’s right,” she said as Galahad reared up on his hind legs and grabbed the mouse with his front claws. “Zeus for cats.”

“And you, a duly designated officer of the law,” Roarke said, “dealing.”

“I’ve got my sources.” While the cat rolled deliriously with his new toy, Eve stuck the antlers in place. “Okay, you look really stupid, so this is only for tonight. We humans have to get our kicks somewhere.”

“Is he trying to eat it,” Roarke wondered, “or make love to it?”

“I don’t want to think that hard about it. But he’s not thinking about cookies anymore.”

She sat again, propped her feet on Roarke’s lap. And when Roarke ran an absent hand up her calf, Summerset took it as his cue.

“I’ve prepared something simple for dinner, assuming you’d enjoy having it in here. I’m having mine with some friends in the city.”

“You have friends?” nearly popped out of Eve’s mouth, but Roarke squeezed her ankle in anticipation.

“Everything is in the kitchen unit.”

“Enjoy your evening, then.”

“I will, and you, too.”

Another ankle squeeze had Eve wincing. “Um, yeah. Merry.”

When they were alone, she shoved at Roarke’s arm. “Take it easy, will you? I was going to say something.”

“I know very well what you were going to say. We’re having peace on our particular square of Earth until Boxing Day.”

“Fine, I can do it if he can. Besides, I plan to get really drunk.”

“Why don’t I help you out with that?” He rose, and poured her more wine.

“What about you?”

“I’ll have some, but I think one of us has to keep his wits. That cat is stoned,” he commented, glancing down at the floor where Galahad rubbed himself lasciviously over the mouse.

“Well, seeing as he’s fixed, he can’t ever have sex. I just figured he should have a little thrill for the holiday. I’m counting on getting some thrills myself.”

Roarke lifted a brow. “I can help you with that, too.”

“Maybe I was talking about cookies.”

He dropped onto the couch, full-length beside her. And fastened his mouth on hers.

“Not drunk yet,” she murmured.