Echoes in Death (In Death 44)

“Roarke. I can’t.”

“Take. Just take.”

He watched her, all but drowned in her. The crisp, professional clothes disheveled from his hands, the weapon at her side as much a part of her as a limb.

Her face warmed by sex and the candlelight and alive with the crazed pleasure they brought each other.

And he watched as those eyes, those sharp and cynical cop’s eyes, went blind from it.

He dragged her back, wrapped tight around her. Let himself break.

She shuddered against him, quaking aftershocks. Then, fighting for breath, went lax.

“There you are.” He pressed his face to the curve of her neck, simply overwhelmed by her. “Relaxed again.”

“That was more than a minute.”

“Time well spent. I adore you beyond reason, Eve.”

“Who needs reason? But I guess we’ll remember at some point to get naked first.”

She eased back, laid a hand on his cheek. “I have to get back to it.”

“So we will.”

“I think I’m going to stop off, change clothes. Might as well get the comfort on.”

“Another fine idea.”

She swung off him, hitched up her trousers. “Was it hard? Not that,” she said when he laughed, “because, obviously. I mean adjusting to me. The cop thing.”

“Shockingly easy.”

She shook her head as he rose, took her hand. “I never can figure it.”

“Who needs reason?” he reminded her.

She changed into flannel pants, an ancient hooded sweatshirt, and thick socks. She noted Roarke’s choice wasn’t so different from hers, but he somehow looked stylishly casual while she knew she just looked sloppy.

In her office she programmed coffee while Roarke strolled into the kitchen. He came out with two slabs of chocolate cake.

“Where’d you get that?”

“I just popped off to the cake factory.” He set the dessert plates down on her command center. “Your AutoChef, Lieutenant.”

“I had chocolate cake?” She took a bite, made a sound not dissimilar from one she’d made during sex. “I had really amazing chocolate cake?”

“Apparently. Now we both do.”

“Excellent.” And stuffing in a second bite, got back to work.

* * *

It took a couple hours, and more complications than she’d expected. What about the couple who’d been married in April but were divorced as of September? Or the couple who hadn’t been married, but were now, like the Patricks?

She opted for different columns, and quashed the automatic annoyance when Roarke completed his half before she did.

He didn’t interrupt her, simply got himself a brandy, then sat in front of her office fireplace, swirling and sipping and toying with his PPC.