She touched his cheek. “I’ve got to grab a shower and get to this. I planned to dig straight in, so we could maybe have a really late dinner, but then I had to punch you and your blonde tart, a
nd one thing led to another.”
“Of course. Well, we’ll have a shower and you can fill me in.”
He listened, saying little as she ran it through for him. “So,” he said, as she pulled on loose flannel pants and a sweatshirt. “You were right about the girl.”
“That’s no girl, but yeah, I was right. The diary’s going to be one of the nails. I could have it cut open—the box, it’s in—”
“I can promise that’s not necessary.”
“Let’s take it in my office.” She hauled up a field bag. “I want it all on record. So maybe you could fumble just a little with the lock.”
“I certainly will not.”
“Okay, okay.”
“I’d like to explain what Magdelana was doing here.”
She slanted him a look. “Other than trying to lock lips with you?”
“More specifically,” he said carefully as they started out of the bedroom, “why I allowed her in our home.”
“I already got that. You needed to deal with it, with her. Needed to spell it out for her, give her the get lost, and put some of the fear of Roarke in her.”
“How fortunate I am, under the circumstances, to have a woman who understands me. Fear of Roarke?” he repeated.
“You can do the fear of God thing, but see, you can’t see Him, and most people feel He’s not going to really—what is it—smite them. You, however, are flesh and blood, and would do a lot worse than a smite. You’re a lot scarier than God.”
“I don’t know quite how to take that,” he said after a moment. “But meanwhile, do you want to know how this was handled?”
“Yeah, actually, I would.”
He told her while they made their way to her office, while she set down her bag, took out the diary. While she simply stood, staring at him.
“See? See? Holy crap. God wouldn’t have made her insides quiver like that, and you can bet your fine Irish ass they quivered like jelly. Can you really ban her from all your stuff? That’s like eighty percent of the known universe.”
“You exaggerate, it wouldn’t be more than fifty, and, oh, aye.” His grin was fast and fierce. “I bloody well can.”
“And you’ve got data on her that would interest the international authorities?”
“What do you take me for? Of course I do.” He waited a moment, reading her face perfectly. “I’m not giving it to you, Eve. Two reasons.”
“They’d better be good ones.”
“First, it’s not your concern, and don’t even think about raising that fist to me. This is my doing, her coming here, her causing trouble. Second, it’ll keep her up at night, for some time to come, wondering what I have, and what I might do with it. She’ll be looking over her shoulder a long time.”
“I think your first reason’s crap, but the second is really mean, really insidious. I like it a lot, so we’ll call it a wash.”
“Good. Well, I’ll open that for you, shall I, and we’ll have our Valentine’s dinner while we see what’s inside.”
“Um…”
“It’s pizza. It was to be pizza and champagne actually.”
“Seriously?”
“I know my wife as she knows me.” He tapped a finger on her nose. “So it’ll be pepperoni pizza and coffee—with the champagne for another time.”