Calculated in Death (In Death 36)

“Why don’t clothes ever talk to me?”

“They do. You don’t always listen. And, to circle back, you’ll enjoy the premiere. I’m arranging for Peabody and McNab and Mavis and Leonardo to go with us in the limo. That makes a statement, too. You’re partners. You’re friends.”

“They’ll be all over that. I hate the gawking. Half the damn people I interviewed yesterday are going to the thing, and . . .” She paused, considered. “Hmmm.”

“And there you are. Now you can consider it part of the job.”

“I might be able to make it work for me. Something to think about.”

He tapped a finger to her head. “Always busy. Black belt and boots.”

“Even I could figure that out.”

Now he brushed his lips over her head, then walked to her jewelry case, scanned, selected. “Studs, subtle again, and classic, with the pop of the carnelian that picks up the color of the jacket.”

“I thought carnelian changed colors.”

“Very funny.” He handed them to her. “Wearing this, you’ll be like a chameleon in the ivory towers of business.”

Once she’d dressed, he angled his head. “Very nice. You know, a scarf would polish it up.”

“Oh sure, I’ll hang something around my neck some bad guy can grab onto and strangle me with.”

“Forget I mentioned it. I’ll give some time to your business today. If I find anything, I’ll let you know.”

“With that schedule I don’t see how you have time to take a leak much less do side work.”

“Yet somehow I manage.” He slipped his arms around her, laid his lips on hers. “You look out for my cop now.”

“I’m so well-dressed nobody’ll make me for a cop.”

“Care to wager on it?”

She shook her head and laughed. “You can look out for my gazillionaire.”

“I’ll be sure to do that.”

Even as she turned to leave, her pocket ’link signaled. She frowned at the readout. “It’s the supervisor at Brewer. Dallas,” she said.

“Lieutenant, it’s Sly Gibbons at Brewer, Kyle, and Martini. There’s been a break-in.”

“What sort of break-in?”

“I—I came in early. I wanted to have some time . . . Someone’s been in Marta’s office. On her computer. Files are missing from her computer, and, and the backups, they’re gone, too. I—”

“Have you alerted building security?”

“Yes, first thing, but when they checked the discs they said there was some sort of glitch. I don’t understand it. I was the last one out of the office yesterday. I secured it myself. I don’t—”

“I’m on my way. Stay where you are, tell security I’m coming in, and I want to see all security discs.”

“Yes. Yes. I’ll be right here.”

“Tidying up,” Roarke said when she clicked off.

“Yeah. They had her keys, her codes, whatever she had in her handbag, her briefcase. Screwed with the security cams. Had to get rid of the files, probably several that don’t apply just to cover. Maybe make it look like a malfunction.”

“Not difficult, unless you look carefully.”