Survivor in Death (In Death 20)

“Don’t breathe,” Eve said in a whisper. “Don’t talk. And maybe you could sort of glide instead of walk.”

He merely cocked his head, then inclined it toward the elevator.

She used manual instead of voice, held her own breath until they’d completed the trip and he was easing Nixie into bed. They backed out of the room together as if the bed contained a homemade boomer.

“When does Summerset take over?”

“Six.”

“Three hours. We should be okay then.”

“I sincerely hope so. I need to sleep and so do you.” He rubbed a thumb on the smudges under her eyes. “Anything new?”

“Yancy’s working on a sketch, but he wants to get back to it in the morning.” In their bedroom, she shed her jacket, then her harness. “I need a few hours down myself. Brain’s mushy. I want to be back at Central around oh-seven hundred. You get any names that look good, you can shoot them to me there.”

She peeled out of her boots, her clothes. “You tired enough not to argue if I ask you to work from here tomorrow?”

“At the moment. But I may revive by sunup.”

“We’ll argue then.”

They crawled into bed, his arm came around her, snuggled her back against him. “That’s a date.”

He didn’t wake before her—another surprise. The low beep from the monitor across the room woke her, and a check of her wrist unit confirmed it was six hundred hours.

The room was still dark, but she could see him, the shape of him. The line of cheek and jaw, the sweep of hair. She’d turned to face him sometime during that short rest. Seeking . . . what, she wondered. Connection, solace, warmth.

For a moment she wished she could simply close her eyes again, curl closer, escape everything but him in the silence of sleep. Her body, her brain, felt so heavy with fatigue. She’d have to dig in, dig deep to find the energy and purpose she’d need to face the day.

As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she could see more of him. The plane of his nose, his cheek, the curve of his mouth. Beautiful. And every plane, every line, every inch was hers.

It made her feel lighter, body and mind, just to look at him.

“I can feel you staring.” His voice was a sleepy murmur, but the thumb and finger of the hand resting on her butt gave her a sharp pinch.

“How come you’re not up making another million and generally laying waste to the business world?”

“Because I’m sleeping. I’ll make another million later, and let someone else start the day laying waste.”

Yes, she thought, lighter and lighter.

“Why are you tired?”

“Because someone won’t shut up and let me sleep.”

“Batteries run down, huh? Maybe you need a recharge.” She wrapped her fingers around him, squeezed, and grinned when he hardened. “Apparently, not running too low.”

“Reserves. You know what happens to sexual predators?”

“You bet. I’m a cop.” She rolled on top of him. “My bats are on low, too. Need a jolt. You know how sex can rev you up?”

“I’ve heard rumors.” His hand stroked over her hair as she worked her way down—and his body flashed fully awake when her mouth replaced her fingers. “I don’t think that’s playing quite fair, but keep it up.”

She laughed, bit his thigh. “Keeping it up’s never been your problem.”

“You’ve got a smart mouth.” His breath caught when she used it again. “Make that brilliant.”

She worked her way up, shifted to straddle him. And from across the room a child’s voice demanded, “Where is Dallas?”