Memory in Death (In Death 22)

He gathered her in, pressing his lips to her throat, her cheek, just holding on. “It’s a treasure. So are you.”

“This is good,” she murmured. Not the things, she thought, and knew he understood. But the sharing of them. The being. “I love you. I’m really getting the hang of it.”

He laughed, kissed her again, then drew away. “You’ve one more.”

It had to be more jewelry, she noted from the size of the box. The man just loved draping her in sparkles. Her first thought when she opened the box was that they not only sparkled, they could blind you like the sun.

The earrings were diamond drops—three perfect round stones in graduated sizes that dripped from a cluster of more diamonds that formed the petals of a brilliant flower.

“Wowzer,” she said. When he only smiled, it hit her. “Big Jack’s diamonds, from the Forty-seventh Street heist. The ones we recovered.”

“After they’d stayed hidden away nearly half a century.”

“These were impounded.”

“I didn’t steal them.” He laughed, held up his game disc. “Remember? Only virtually these days. I negotiated, and acquired them through completely legal means. They deserve the light. They deserve you. Without you, they might still be shut up in a child’s toy. Without you, Lieutenant, Chad Dix wouldn’t be celebrating Christmas right now.”

“You had them made for me.” That touched her, most of all. She picked up the magnifying glass. “Let’s check them out,” she said, and pretended to inspect the gems. “Nice job.”

“You can think of them as medals.”

“A lot jazzier than any medals the department hands out.” She put them on, knowing it would please him. Seeing the way it did.

“They suit you.”

“Glitters like these would work on anybody.” But she wrapped her arms around him, snuggled in. “Knowing where they came from, why you had them made for me, that means a lot. I—”

She jerked back, eyes wide. “You bought them all, didn’t you?”

He cocked his head. “Well, aren’t you greedy.”

“No, but you are. You bought them all. I know it.”

He smoothed a finger down the dent in her chin. “I think we need more champagne. You’re entirely too sober.”

She started to speak again, then buttoned it. The man was entitled to spend his money as he liked. And he was right about one thing. Big Jack’s diamonds deserved better than a departmental vault.

“There’s one more under there,” he noticed as he started to rise. “The one you brought in today.”

“Oh. Right.” Part of her had hoped he’d forget that one. “Yeah, well, it’s nothing much. No big.”

“I’m greedy, remember? Hand it over.”

“Okay, sure.” She stretched out for it, dumped it in his lap. “I’ll get the champagne.”

He grabbed her arm before she could get up. “Just hold on a minute, until I see what I have here.” He shoved aside tissue paper, drew it out, and said only, “Oh.”

She struggled not to squirm. “You said you wanted a picture, you know, like from before.”

“Oh,” he repeated, and the expression on his face had color rising up her neck. “Look at you.” His eyes moved from image to woman, so full of pleasure, of surprise, of love, her throat went tight.

“I just dug it out, and picked up a frame.”

“When was it taken?”

“Right after I went into the Academy. This girl I hung with a little, she was always taking pictures. I was trying to study, and she—”

“Your hair.”