“It was. Mandarin. And I don’t speak above a handful of basic words. Comp translator, two-way.”
Her brow knit even as he crossed to the AutoChef. “I’ve never seen—heard—a translator that clear. It sounded like you, not comp-generated.”
“Something we’ve been working on for a while, and are selling in a few key markets.” He handed her the coffee he’d programmed for her. “It makes it easy to do business when it feels and sounds like a conversation rather than a translation.”
“What was the thing? The holo?”
“A complex we’re building outside of Beijing.” His eyes darkened as he studied her face. “You had a nightmare.”
“Sort of. It wasn’t bad. It’s okay.”
But she didn’t protest when he drew her in, held her. The warmth finally came back to her bones. “I’m sorry. I had to take care of this.”
“At five-thirty in the morning? Or earlier, since you looked to be way into it when I got here.”
“It’s twelve hours later in Beijing. I’d hoped to be done before you woke up.” He drew her back. “No point asking if you’d get a bit more sleep.”
“Pot, kettle,” she repeated. “I’m going to grab a swim. That and the coffee should set me up.”
“All right then. We’ll have breakfast when you’re done. I’ve got a few things I can see to.”
“It’s still shy of six in the morning.”
He smiled. “Not in London.”
“Huh. That always strikes me weird.” She stepped back. “How much of this stuff do you do when I’m conked?”
“It depends.”
“Strikes me weird,” she repeated, and used his elevator to ride down to the pool.
By seven, she was fueled, dressed, and ready for the briefing. It didn’t surprise her to find a buffet set up in her office. Roarke, she knew, insisted on feeding her and her cops as well. She wondered why, and decided to ask Mira one of these days.
She poked her head in Roarke’s office through the adjoining door. “I’m going to close this. You’re already up-to-date.”
He made some sound of agreement as he scanned his comp screen. “Tell Feeney I should be clear by two, and can give him some time.”
“All right.”
She shut the door as she heard Peabody, McNab, and Jamie chattering their way down the hall.
“Get what you’re going to get,” she ordered, “and don’t dawdle.”
“I smell meat of pig.” McNab shot to the buffet like a neon bullet with Jamie on his heels.
Peabody sighed. “I’m on a diet.”
“There’s a bulletin.”
“No, really. We’re going to try for the beach next day off. I hate bathing suits. I hate me in bathing suits. And yesterday, there was pizza. I think it’s still in my thighs.” She sighed. “I hope there’s fruit, maybe a few low-calorie twigs.”
Peabody shuffled toward temptation as Feeney came in. “Baxter and his boy are right behind me, so I better get over there first. McNab, stop hogging the hog.”
“Told you there’d be food,” Baxter said, and pointed. “Get your share and mine,” he told the young, slightly seasoned Trueheart. Then he crossed to Eve.
As was his habit, Baxter wore a very slick suit. But there was no smart-ass on his handsome face this morning.
“We’re up-to-date, or up-to-date on the last data you sent. I didn’t know the kid, but I know MacMasters. I worked out of the same squad with him when I was a rook and he was a detective on his way to LT. He’s as good as they come. If you hadn’t pulled us in, I’d have angled for it. If budget gets to be a problem, we’ll kick any OT off the books.”